When I started the Red Light District, my intention was to capture moments that I would otherwise not notice. I was inspired by all the red lights I came across during my commute to work. Instead of seeing them as an inconvenience, I decided to consciously appreciate the pause they gave me – the opportunity to breathe and take in the world around me.

With that, here is a photo I took of a train that runs behind the building where my mom lives.

It’s September – without a doubt, my favourite month. Even though the leaves will soon changes and fall to the ground, it is a time of new beginnings. New schools. New grades. New friends. New teachers. New clothes. New school supplies. New adventures.

I used to love going back to school in September. Although the novelty wore off pretty quickly, I always enjoyed the first day of school – charged with so much anticipation.

I welcome September as I pull out my hoodies, sweaters, and sneakers in anticipation of the crisp weather. It is a cozy month.

Tomorrow is Father’s Day.  In honour of that, I am going to give you a rare glimpse of Mr. T (shh – don’t tell him, k?).

Mr. T is an amazing daddy.  He is one of the most engaged dads I have ever known and is completely smitten with Q.  He is affectionate, playful, silly, attentive, protective, and involved.  Q adores him.  All day I hear “Where daddy?” “Daddy home, yet?” “What’s that noise? Is that daddy’s car?”  And, when it finally is, Q loses it and screams with delight.  It never gets old.

They have a special bond that warms my heart.

Today, I went to the waterfront.  Alone.  Armed with my coffee, my camera, and a good book, I set out for a peaceful couple of hours.  As I neared the water, something wasn’t quite right.  There were people there!  Hordes of people.  As I slowly drove along the road to my secret parking spot, I felt disappointment (with a side of mild resentment).  Here I was ready for a peaceful visit to my coveted water only to find I had to share it.

I parked my car, gathered all my necessities and headed toward my spot, hoping that no one was there.  I hoped I could find a bench overlooking the waterbreak and the rocky shore.  Being that my spot was on the fringes of the path, I was able to snag it.

As I sat there nursing my coffee and half-reading my book, I started to pay more attention to my surroundings.  The father throwing rocks into the lake with his daughter.  The older couple parking their bicycles while chatting about the latest happenings of a TV show.  The woman walking her dog along the waves,  it occasionally jumping in and splashing her.  I noticed the robin tentatively approaching me in search of a worm.  The many sailboats on the horizon and the motorboats sailing past them.  I wanted to be on a boat.  Any boat.

I soaked it in, shaking my initial territorial reaction and its accompanying resentment.  I closed my book, chugged my almost-cold coffee, and pulled out my camera.  I don’t fancy myself a photographer.  I like taking pictures, but truth be told, I have no clue what I’m doing.  Nonetheless, I set out on a quest to capture the moments.  There is something about having a camera on hand that makes me more aware of the little things.  The things I usually take for granted.  The beauty in the mundane.

A brave bird.

The view from my bench

The texture of the bark of a tree many years my senior.

As people whizzed past me on their bicycles, inline skates, scooters, and sneakers, I couldn’t help thinking that they were missing out.  That if only they’d stop for a minute, they’d see – and maybe, just maybe, appreciate the world around them.   They had other things on their minds, I’m sure.  Places to go, times to beat, heart rates to raise.

When I stop.  When I look.  When I listen, everything becomes so much clearer.  The moments seem to last longer.  It is apparent to me that I need to do this more often.  I need to check out of my head and truly observe.  Truly be aware.  And, truly appreciate the world in which I live.

How do you connect to the world around you?  How do you capture moments?

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More moments, captured. sarahcasm’s Flickr

I love this.  So simple and gentle and lovely.

Some of the giraffe spots look like hearts.

I have been struggling to write about happiness.  Everything I come up with sounds so trite and simplistic.  And… I can’t get Happiness is a Warm Gun by the Beatles out of my head, which is not exactly the inspiration I was seeking.

After struggling for days to craft something inspiring, I started to wonder what the problem was.  What was holding me back and why is it so hard for me to write about happiness? I am a happy person!  Then it occurred to me that maybe that’s why I am having difficulty;  I don’t want to flaunt my happiness.  I don’t want to say Look at me! My life is awesome.  I have no complaints. Why?  I don’t think people want to hear that; people are struggling in their lives – they are unhappy and stressed and sad and lonely and in trouble.

Truth be told, I have reason to be all of those things, too.  But for me, it’s about perspective.  I have more reason to be happy than not and I choose to focus on that; it’s a conscious, active effort in my everyday.  I have the power to choose a happy perspective in my everyday life.

It’s not easy and I haven’t always done it.  I once was the bitter, resentful person who refused to let go of a grudge – weighing myself down with self-pity and projecting my pain onto other people in a futile attempt to protect myself from more pain.  That didn’t work for me.  Happiness provides me with more of a shield than any armour could.

I do my best not to complain – I look at the rain and appreciate the life it brings.  I look at the weeds and appreciate their perseverance.  It’s a choice and it is so liberating.  I haven’t mastered it – far from it.  But, I am getting there and am pleased that my happy moments outnumber my unhappy ones.

Sometimes, I need reminders to shift my perspective; they wait for me to notice them – in my son, in flowers, in bubbles, in photographs, in raindrops on a leaf, in music, in a little smile, or in a clever quote.

My life is happiness.  I don’t have to find it, I just need to chip away at the unhappiness and stress and let it in.  Let it take over.

I am a happy person.  I have moments of unhappiness, but I can’t complain about my life.  It is truly awesome and I am beyond blessed.

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This post is my second installment for Momalom’s Five for Ten. The topic is Happiness

I love dandelions.  They are awe-inspiring.  I know I am supposed to think they are ugly and annoying, but I don’t.

The reasons I love them are the same reasons most people don’t  – they are persistent.  They persevere.  They multiply.  They spread.

Yellow dandelions are pretty – the colour is so rich and full of life!  They are a sign of warmer weather and of growth and of spring.  But, white dandelions? They are my favourite – in them lies so much potential for new life.  They are designed to be carried by the wind and grow wherever they land.  They never die; one dandelion turns into countless dandelions!  And those countless dandelions turn into countless more.  The connectedness of it all amazes me.

There is something magical about an organism that can persevere – weeds and bugs.  They defy us, which brings a smile to my face and a little satisfaction to my heart.

I hope Q is a little like a dandelion – not caring what people think about him and defying the standards of beauty.  I want him to express his potential and persevere when people think he is worthless, or ugly, or inconvenient.  I want him to be persistent and show that he belongs in this world and that he ain’t goin’ nowhere no matter what adversity he may face.

I wish to be as brave as a dandelion.  As defiant.  So sure of my beauty that I feel free to express it and spread it shamelessly.

A dandelion never really dies… it gets carried in the wind and grows wherever it lands.

Edited:  After I posted this, the wind picked up and carried away all the little seeds from the flower in the picture (above). Destination: unknown.

Today we visited the waterfront.  It’s is one of my favourite things to do once the weather gets warmer and nicer.

Water grounds me.  There is something about it that brings me back and gives me perspective – the sound of it, the smell of it, the ebb and flow of it.

There is nothing that calms me more than staring at a body of water that stretches to the horizon.  Boundless.  Powerful.  Full of potential and possibilities.  Unknown and unassuming.

What grounds you?
Does nature give you perspective?

My son love aminals.  Monkeys and elephants are his favourites (and dinosaurs – not sure if they count).  He sees them on TV, reads about them in books, and cuddles up to their stuffing-filled likenesses.

Except for a few pets of family and friends, Q’s exposure to living animals has been restricted to those in cages, behinds bars & fences, and within pens with low walls.

Recently, I realised just how little exposure he got to country living and decided that I wanted to share with him some of the experiences I cherished most as a child – spending time at a farm with the animals and having pretty much free rein to explore.

Last week while visiting my Dad in my hometown, I took Q to the farm I used to frequent as a kid.  My brother, sister-in-law, and their 4 kids (under 5) joined us!

We arrived at the farm at feeding time – the barn was full of sheep and lambs clamouring for food and making a LOT of noise.  A lot.  The farmer’s grandchildren were there – both of whom were under 4… (in case you’re counting, that is 7 children under 5).

As we were adjusting to the smells and sounds of the barn, the farmer’s 23 month old grandson grabbed a pitchfork of hay and started walking around with it.  All us city-folk looked at each other and I wondered when someone was going to rush over, grab it from him, and tell him how unsafe it was and that he should not touch it.  No one did.  He wandered around with it like he did it everyday… and I realised that he probably did!   It struck me.  Here was a boy 2 months younger than my son wielding a pitchfork in a barn, and Q doesn’t even have metal prongs on his cutlery!

I took a mental step back and considered the different ways people live.  What works for one lifestyle and family isn’t necessarily right for another.  It gave me some perspective and made me wonder if I wasn’t giving Q enough credit to fend for himself and take some risks.  At dinner that night, I gave him a metal fork – and you know what?  No eyes were lost and no flesh was stabbed.

After we’d had enough of the barn, we went outside where the tractors were!  Q got to sit in them all by himself – and he hasn’t stopped talking about it since.

Our trip to the farm was refreshing – quite possibly the best day of Q’s life.  As often as I can, I am going to take Q to the farm.  Although he won’t make it there as often as I did when I was a kid, I hope the experiences stay with him and give him perspective as he moves through his life.

It took a pitchfork to make me realise that plastic prongs might be extreme.

How much rein were you given when you were a kid?
How much rein do you give your children?

Yesterday, I took Q for a drive in the country.  It was a bright, beautiful day and I wanted to take some pictures.  I  timed it according to Q’s nap schedule, in anticipation of him falling asleep, which would allow me to get a few good shots.  It was a good plan, though he didn’t fall asleep as quickly as I had expected “Look Mommy! Barn!” “Look Mommy! Horsies!” “Look Mommy. A HOUSE!” He was so excited to not only see new things, but everyday things in a different setting.  It hadn’t occurred to me how little exposure he gets to open fields, farms, rolling hills, and trees growing wherever the seed fell.

As I drove along all the back roads (the smaller, the better), everything felt oddly familiar.  For most of my childhood and all of my adolescence, I lived in a small town surrounded by dairy farms, animals, open fields, and gravel roads.  Sometimes, I think about how enriched my childhood experiences were because of it, but most of the time I take it for granted.

Since we have chosen to raise Q in the city suburbs, we’ll have to make a concerted effort to make sure he knows that milk doesn’t just come from a grocery store, and horses don’t just exist in books.  I want him to learn how to milk a cow, hold a bucket to feed a calf, and dodge bird droppings in a hay mow.  I want him to run through corn fields and climb trees and play with frogs and snakes and all those things I used to love, but that scare me senseless now.

I took a few good pics (all from my car while stopped on the side of the road).  There were many times I wished I could have taken a picture with my eyes; there was so much beauty that I couldn’t capture for fear of our lives – one back road was literally carved into a hill and dropped off with no guard rail!

I drove for an hour and a half and it was the most refreshing, restorative way I could have spent my afternoon.  The best part was that every time I drove east, I was being led by the moon – out in the middle of a sunny day!  If you look closely, you might be able to see it in the photo below.

More pics of my adventure have been posted here. Enjoy!

Were you a city kid or a country kid?
Are you exposing your child(ren) to different ways of living – city or country? How?