Darkness not always geographically obvious,
although you can determine details.
Full Moon hangs a little closer,
its availability secure for a couple of days.
Appreciated.
A chimney gasps into a prairie chill,
time-honoured tall trees only a shadow, before
slight snow dusts rooftops like icing sugar.
Simple memories of childhood.
A landscape I once knew so well.
I have been here before.
Familiarity is quite apparent.
You cannot call it comfort, for that takes time;
more time than I have. For now.
Only the night knows where you have been.
Ever the night shows what you have known.
I felt I belonged, and I will return.
For longer.

© 2024 j.g. lewis

Having tried before, I’m not one for making New Year’s resolutions. I feel they set you up for disappointment. I decided this years ago, having pledged myself something more than what was possible or even practical. 
   I was finding that not reaching unobtainable goals was far too predictable and with that comes the disappointment, even depression, of not keeping up with a personal challenge. I no longer make resolutions, yet I still plan or pursue a path each year by setting intentions. 
   This year I am, once again, tying up my intentions in the annual practice of sending a letter to myself. Some years I will write this personal letter on the eve of solstice, other times in the final week of the year. It is finding time to take stock of feelings and emotions. 
   It is self-love, self-awareness, and communication with the person who understands me the most. 
   It comes with reflection. 
   The topic, theme, style and length of the letter varies from year to year. It matters not how much I write, only that I do. 
   I might be going easy on myself this year by simply selecting three or four habits I wish to tend to. 
   When first thinking this approach out, I used the term “bad habits”. Then, I realized how inaccurate (and negative) that was. Some of the habits I had considered were, essentially, good habits that only need to be altered. For instance, I enjoy music and always have. I have a sizeable collection of vinyl and compact discs that continues to grow. I can always find a reason to step into a record store and pick up something new and exciting or revisit my past (the recent remastered 30th anniversary of Nirvana’s In Utero on 180-gram vinyl satisfied both cravings). 
   But it also got me wondering. 
   I already had the CD from all those years ago. And I have hundreds of other albums and discs, some of which haven’t been heard in a quite a while. 
   So, do I need more recorded music at this time in my life? Perhaps it’s the right occasion for an embargo of sorts on new purchases while I spend a year concerning myself with the music I already own. It is a simple decision that I could easily wrap up in an intention: Use what you already own. Or even I have enough; the thought pattern that resulted from another “habit” review. 
   What I will do today is write down what comes to mind (or has become apparent over the past week or so). Habits, good and bad, will be on the list. I will write these on the left-hand side of the page. Opposite, I will write out corresponding intentions. 
   Once completed, I will tear the list along the line in the middle, taking the acknowledged habits and tossing them in the recycling bin. 
   The side of the page that remains — my intentions — will be neatly folded and tucked into an envelope addressed to myself, sealed, and with correct postage dropped into a mailbox. My intentions will be sent forward into next year, and not just symbolically. 
   When the correspondence arrives at my home, I will not open it (not immediately) but simply tuck it into my journal. The letter may not be opened for years (or maybe even ever) but I know it will be there. 
   There may be times in the years ahead where I must remind myself again of my true intentions or rethink my habits. 
 
© 2023 j.g. lewis 

I am overwhelmed by the enormity of it all. Humbled, really. 
   I’ve spent miles and days in this landscape. Trees, rocks, lakes and rivers; natural elements, open skies drifting by a windshield to scenes I have not recently witnessed and know I should visit more often. 
   This is my country. Far bigger than the imagination, each region of Canada hosts its own unique beauty. If I stopped to photograph each brilliant scene around every corner, I would never make it to my intended destination. 
   I am reminded I should make more time to slow down and enjoy the distance. 
   I have not seen enough. 
   I’m feeling a new perspective and realize how small some things are in the big picture. 

It is supposed to be funny, but then humour is subjective in the eye of the beholder. 

A commercial for a worldwide optical chain, frequently displayed on television and online, shows a man out fishing in a vast lake with his middle-aged son. Mistakenly the subject of the advertising hooks the boat keys on the end of his fishing line and casts off, the keys becoming unclasped once in the water and are pictured drifting to the bottom of the lake. 

Ha ha. 

When did vision loss become so funny? 

This advertising is more than casual ableism. Given the man’s approximate age — I estimate he may well be as old as I —  this is ageism. This is classified as humour in an age where we hear more and more about both the climbing rates of dementia, macular degeneration, and vision impairments. 

The advertising is offensive, on so many levels. 

I thought we had come a long way from the comic strip humour of Mr. Magoo, a fictional character from the ‘60s who gets into a series of comical situations as a result of his extreme nearsightedness. The strip became an animated television series and was reborn decades later as a film in 1997. 

There is nothing comical about loss of vision. It is a sense we rely on to live, to learn, to work and play. 

I, as a photographer and writer, rely on my vision. I’ve been dealing with low vision for about five years now. It is a disability, one I have struggled to accept, that I have adapted to with a range of visual accommodations. 

I grew up wearing glasses at a time when they weren’t even considered a fashion choice. In primary school, a teacher noticed my problems reading the blackboard. Vision issues have long been recognized as a barrier to learning and I was fortunate to have my need for corrective lenses recognized early.  

Yes, for years I tolerated the “four-eyes” jokes. 

Using a disability, any disability, as the source of humour is wrong and well past the boundaries of political correctness. It is discrimination that exhibits the common unkindness all too prevalent when someone doesn’t measure up to perceived societal standards. 

This Specsavers advertising comes at a time where we are supposedly celebrating our diversity and differences (on any level). This ignorant campaign entirely misses its mark. The second commercial in what is presumably a series of ads, shows a man hooking up his boat trailer to the wrong car, presumably after a day of fishing, and the vehicle drives off. 

I can hear the laughter and atta-boys from the marketing mavens of the ad agency that created these commercials. 

They must be so proud. 

Did they not realize they are offending a wide swath of the population that rely on eyeglasses? Isn’t it the company’s marketing mission to sell eyewear to this sector? 

The advertising doesn’t even show the wide array of fashionable frames that are available these days; not one single pair of eyeglasses is visible in the entire commercial. This is classified as “lifestyle advertising” by a company that obviously doesn’t realize vision loss is a lifestyle for many, particularly older adults living with an assortment of ocular diseases and disorders. 

Instead, they poke fun at its target market. 

The optics are not good. 

It is not humorous. 

I see, regularly, an optometrist and ophthalmologist(s) for testing and treatment. My vision changes, often with varied symptoms, and I switch up my eyeglasses continually. 

I, surely, won’t be visiting Specsavers when it comes time for a new pair of spectacles. I can’t see my way to visiting an optical chain that purposely chooses to offend a growing segment of the marketplace. I’m sure I am not alone. 

© 2023 j.g. lewis 

        Moments hardly seem forgotten,  
        hidden beneath grief and deceit,  
unknowingly present and accounted for. Reminders; 
a receipt of relationships bought and paid for  
   with the gentle dishonesty  
      of indirect falsehoods. 
          We lie to one another, yet
           rely on each other to uphold the truths  
           which once seemed so consequential. 
               We don’t talk like we used to, or even at all. 
    When did we tire of each other’s voices? 
                 How would we know? 
© 2023 j.g. lewis