So, last Sunday I went to church. And, it was difficult. Not because I went by myself, I’ve done that several times. But this was the first time I went alone. And that was one of the most difficult services I’ve attended. Third most difficult.

I didn’t go because of the date. I just felt like it was time to go. The last time I went to church was for a happy day. The baptism of my daughter. I was at the peak of pain and difficulty moving around because of my blood clot at that time, but I was happy to go; it was my daughter’s baptism so it was an important day.

There have been many happy days and many so-so days at church over the years. There are three that have been the worst and most difficult for me.

The first was my dad’s funeral. I was a complete mess after my dad died. I’m still kind of messed up more than usual because of it. I don’t really remember a lot of the actual day; I wasn’t altogether there mentally; emotionally. I remember what seemed like a sea of people there to remember him. I remember two of my best friends showing up to pay their respects. And I remember carrying his casket. That was a difficult day.

The second day was after the stillbirth of my second son. For his service that we called “A celebration of being” I prepared something to say, but I had to ask a friend to read on my behalf because I was so choked up. Whenever I tried to open my mouth, I just couldn’t speak. That was such a painful and difficult day, I really don’t remember much at all.

And then there was this garden variety Sunday. No big deal for most people. Nods to the memory of 9/11. But essentially just another summer Sunday service. And yet, this was one of those three difficult days for me.

I still don’t know exactly why it was so difficult for me. Maybe it was that I wasn’t able to share communion with those people that are most important in my life. There was definitely something missing. It felt good to feel the sting of the carpet as I knelt and recited the prayer of humble access. It felt good to participate in the typical Sunday mass. It felt good. But I still started to weep after the third step out of the door.

It was a difficult day.

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Been having a lot of realizations lately.

On the way to dropping the kids off, I usually like to put some music on for them. It helps my son take the nap he tries to not take.

Today, on that drive, I realized that I used to listen to NPR because I liked to listen to NPR; now, I listen to it because I can’t take the “emotional assault” of songs. So, in effect, I listen to NPR because I “dislike” everything else.

A related realization; a few weeks or so ago I realized what “Have you ever seen the rain?” was about. Different circumstances, of course, but still essentially the same thing. It just came on the radio one day and, instantly, I was listening to a different song than I’d heard my whole life.

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I am 36 years old. I am separated from my wife; and by extension my children for the majority of the time.

Only one life form on the planet actually depends on me to live; my dog. And I could easily be replaced by an automatic waterer and feeder or any other person in the world.

My wife apparently could care less what happens to me. She left for an entire month without any form of communication. Allowed me no contact with my children during that time, and had her parents lie to me. So, it seems it would be okay with her and her family if I just was no more. Probably even preferred.

My daughter is only one. Still at the height of “out of sight out of mind.”

My son is four. He hits me a lot and throws tantrums and the like. I know he loves me, he says it often. He also makes the distinction of saying he likes me as well. It’s sad that a four year old could understand the phrase “I love you but I don’t like you.” I think he’d miss me for a while. But really, it’s probably not likely that it would last for very long.

My mom, sister, brother-in-law, and other family members would feel sad if I died tomorrow. But really, their lives wouldn’t change much at all. They’d just have one less guest at family get-togethers and the like. And one less person to worry about in the long run.

I don’t really have any friends of my own anymore. They either drifted away over the last 13 years or they decided to leave with my wife. I have one actual friend. We see each other once or twice a year. Yeah, that’d be a big change for him.

My church has basically dis-owned me. I guess they left with my wife as well.

This is rock bottom. This is what it feels like to be living a pointless life.

A few people to be sad if you died. More people who may have cared at one time but who might take slight notice but are more likely to just not care at all.

And a dog. Who really only cares about food, water, and being let out a few times a day.

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it occurs to me
but there’s nothing to say
it occurs to me
but there’s no one to tell

the absence of those i love
missing persons from my life

it occurs to me
but i’m unable to share
it occurs to me
but only tears have fell

no mid-night cries to change
no foot-falls of joyous play
there’s no one to tell
only tears have fell

love is work, this i knew
love is pain, now i know this too

it occurs to me
no one here to hold
it occurs to me
left alone in the cold

missing persons please return
let once again passions burn

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So, my wife, Rebekah, wanted to take our son, Connor, to the thrift stores to see what she could find in the way of clothes. I decided to tag along to make it a family trip and see if I could find anything good. I needed a pair of headphones because my pair recently broke.

So, we loaded up in the car and drove to Goodwill. We got there, got a cart and started looking around. I quickly became bored and decided to split off and look at the stuff along the walls. I walked around the store not seeing much of anything that we needed or wanted. I got the the counter where they have the “good stuff” behind glass. I saw a plastic bag that looked like it held a camera or something like it.

I asked if it was a camera and was told it was and decided to look at it. And I found inside a wonderful little gem. A Pentax Super Program, sold as the “Super-A” outside of North America.

I remembered my dad’s Pentax K1000 growing up and how this, albeit a very different camera, was similar and of the same time period. When Rebekah and Connor were done shopping for clothes, we were getting ready to pay and head back home. I asked her if she wanted to look at it and she decided we should. She was just as excited about it as I. We talked it over and decided that for $15, it was a steal. It had a wrongly loaded roll of film in it, and dead batteries. Along with the well used, but also well cared for, body and original prime lens it also came with a cover and a generic zoom lens. We figured at the worst it’s a $15, nearly unbreakable, “toy” camera for our son; at best it needed a set of batteries and some film. Luckily it was the latter.

So, now we have a fun little 35mm film camera to shoot B&W with; if we can find some B&W film. We may have to order on-line which isn’t a problem, but it would be nice to get some decent non-color film in the mean time.

It requires batteries to function, but it has a fully manual mode and a Program AE mode. It has a decent range of selectable shutter speeds, self timer, through-the-lens metering, and exposure compensation.

As a bonus, my mom said we are welcome to use the lenses and other accessories in my dad’s camera bag. I’m sure she would let us use the K1000 any time we wanted, but it’s nice to have a nice film camera to call our own.

No headphones though…

Oh, here’s a couple of quick shots of our happy find.

A quick snap of our new-to-us Pentax Super Program

Another quick snap

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