I Adore You, Deer

Found photo. Name on back: Will Pfeffer. From the '70s?

Last weekend I found this photo at a thrift store. I got it for a buck (heh). It was stashed in a bin on the floor with several other photos and an old menu. The rest, trash. This image, a treasure.

The scene feels familiar. It is, really. It was almost certainly taken in the Pacific Northwest. I can smell those trees, blasted and dry from the late summer sun. My feet trample the fallen pine needles.

I feel like this deer is calling me back--to what, exactly, I'm not sure. I like to think that if I walked toward him, he'd turn around and lead me somewhere. Back. But back in a way that's really forward.

Kittens on a Screen

Photo of contact between bare feet and dog fur. Do not mistake for the real experience.

A couple of weeks ago, a friend posted a link to a web cam trained on a cat and her kittens. I clicked, and for five minutes I watched the mother cat sleeping. (The kittens were out of view.) That's five minutes of my life I'll never get back. I don't even know this cat, and I was watching her on a screen, sleeping! Later, I clicked to watch the kittens feed and tumble. Of course I did. Bet you would have, too. Kittens. Cute, cute, cute. "Kittens" is even a cute word.

There's nothing wrong with watching kittens on a screen. Except, recently I realized I'm mortal and that my remaining years are almost certainly fewer than the ones I've lived so far. So, maybe watching kittens on a screen is not the best use of my time. I'm not sure why this mortality thing just sunk in, but it did.

Mortality. Not cute. Not cute at all.

Phones, computers, readers, televisions, and other screens are indispensable to me for communication, work, and entertainment. I'm just worried about what I'm missing while I'm staring at things through a screen, always at the same distance, always from someone else's point of view. The problem with watching those kittens is this: I can't hear one purr in my ear, or feel one knead my face to wake me. I don't have to clean up their barf or clean out a litter box. Screen experience is extremely limited experience, and I sometimes lose sight of that.

Given, you know, that mortality thing, I'm shifting my screen/reality balance in favor of reality. The more time I'm online, the more I find myself comparing things, letting others determine priorities, and using only a fraction of my senses (primarily vision, at "indoor" focal length). I never use my phone while driving, but off the road I'm a frequent message and Facebook checker, online shopper, and TV series watcher. I see lots of screen fat I can cut, but I won't be too radical about it. I'll do it gradually, like a reasonable shift to healthier eating, not a quickie diet.

I hope my number is not up for a very, very long time. I'm blessed with curiosity, and there's a lot I want to do, give, and understand. I happen to like being alive. And when my number is up, I certainly don't want images of celebrity baby bumps (horrible phrase), photos of what people had for lunch, and lines from "The West Wing" flashing through my head. I want memories of true contact: touching someone I love, crunching through hard snow, eating a bowl of pasta, unedited voices...