If it weren't 18° outside my kitchen window, I'd walk to the curb and take an artistic shot of my beat-up mailbox against the scraggly pine that I'm always "this close" to cutting down. I'd ruminate on how appearances can be deceiving, that even the rustiest mailbox always holds out the hope of a surprise, how even the ugliest tree has its own beauty.
But it's cccold out there. Too cold for patiently getting the right angle, the right light, the right everything.
My second thought was to photograph the door to the office, which is covered with Christmas cards. (Yes, Christmas cards. There's not a Kwanzaa card among them, nor Hannukah nor Denali nor New Year's cards.) I'd talk about friendships and holidays and memories and connections. But I'm not in the mood.
So I'm going with this:
The top tray is unpaid bills, some unopened. The middle tray is things I want to keep but don't really have a place for. The bottom tray is paid bills, waiting for me to sort and file them away. The photo doesn't really generate conversation, but it is a good snapshot of real life.
Also, please notice that my pencil holder has no pencils. Grrrrr. Or ball point pens. It just has one thick red marker that I picked up off the floor yesterday. I get so annoyed with my kids when I need to write something down and there are no pens on my desk. Grrrrr.