Choosing time (for Tom and Dori)

My friend Tom passed away recently. He was a professional friend more than a personal one, but he was a friend nonetheless. We knew each other for more than 25 years, and he was an important part of my working world at the time when I was getting my bearings in publishing. We spoke occasionally at the yearly Macworld Expo conferences in the ’90s and beyond, but most of our exchanges were over email (often about a product review he wrote for us). Every time I met Tom or his wife Dori, however, there was a warmth among us that I can only describe as camaraderie and friendship.

I can’t eulogize him to the degree that my friends Andy, Jason and Jeff did, but I can say that he was one of the best writers who ever wrote for me: his prose was clear and clean, and he knew about deadlines better than most (being a well-regarded book author helped with that). Beyond that, I can only say that he was a good man as I knew him, and I’ve always been grateful for the work he did for me, as well as the books he wrote, many of which helped me learn new things long after we stopped working together.

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What I did on my summer vacation

morning in the desert

Last September, I had the good fortune to have the best office in the world: the Alvord Desert.1 Each morning, I got up, made a cup of coffee, and set out my desk and chair with a stack of proofs. There, with an expansive view of the desert playa and Steens Mountain, I worked on a book, the result of an unexpected project that had come together earlier in the year.

The book was not mine, but that of a friend. And, as I worked on the project through the fall and winter, I realized that this was not a one-off event, but possibly the beginning of a new chapter in my life. To that end, I have created a publishing company, Red Notebook Press, and am about to publish its first book.

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Notes:
  1. Over on our blog, you can see “One Last Jaunt through Oregon,” a travelogue of our awesome September trip. My office in each of the places we went was wonderful.[↩]

sunset, hart mountain

Hart Mountain National Antelope Refuge is a rather unbelievable place, 422 square miles of wilderness tucked deep in the southernmost part of Oregon, at 4,000 feet. It is primitive and magnificent, and we were fortunate to spend a week there in September, among the antelope, coyotes, birds, jackrabbits and more. It is definitely a place worth exploring — and revisiting.

What means grief?

 

Grief never really goes away. It lessens over time, receding into the shadows of your consciousness, but it will always be present. You can never let it go completely.

You might think that it can be tamed, this grief, but it cannot; it has burrowed and become a spirit inside of you, one that demands to be part of you for as long as you draw a breath. And you feel that this state of affairs is the correct one; after all, you don’t want to forget that which made you grieve. That would be a rejection of the life you had before grief came calling.

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departures and explorations

road

January 2016 marks a big change for me: I am jobless for the first time in more than a decade, but I am not looking for work. Instead, I am preparing for a voyage of uncertain exploration, and I’m unbelievably excited about it all.

The short story is this: last fall, Susan and I purchased a small travel trailer,1 and our hope is to spend much of this year wandering throughout America (and possibly parts of Canada). My goal for our travels is simple: to photograph the beauty that surrounds us, and to write about some of the things that have been rolling around in my head for the past few years.

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Notes:
  1. A 17-foot, very cozy fiberglass trailer made by Casita. We love it.[↩]

dawn, new mexico

A few weeks ago, I drove down to New Mexico to pick up a trailer that Susan and I were buying. It was a long, crazy, two-and-a-half-day drive to get there, and I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about photos. On my last stretch, I left very early and was driving down the interstate when I noticed the beautiful dawn sky in the east. After thinking about it for a few minutes, I finally pulled over, got the tripod out and took a few shots before the light got too strong.

I loved the little wisp of haze, the deep blue of the sky, and the beginnings of bright sunlight on the horizon. Would have been nice to see a cloud or two (or the rising crescent moon), but I’ll take it.

(Click the image to see it bigger.)