The Way of Things

I'll write tonight before dinner as I will have to leave early in the morning for the factory and will have no time then.  It matters little, really, as the blog has died a quiet death.  But that matters little, really, either.  I am not writing for anyone here (though there are people who read this blog that I must be aware/beware of) anyway.  It is just a record, of sorts, incomplete but somewhat suggestive.

I have a chance to photograph at a Moslem market tomorrow.  I didn't even know it existed, but it comes together in a lot nearby where people bring sheep and goats to sell.  My friend invited me.  He said I can get in with him and that I could photograph him slaughtering the sheep he will buy.  "Wear shorts," he said, "and old shoes.  There will be blood."  I don't relish the thought of the slaughter, though I realize that is how the meat I eat gets handled, but I am mad to go and photograph.  My friend is important in that community and says I will be O.K. as long as I am with him.  Trouble is, though, he will be going while I have some meetings at the factory.  I am not certain yet what I will do.  I think this only happens a couple time per year.  What is important, anyway?  My fear--truly my only fear--is that I either won't a) be able to make good photos, or b) that I will dishonor my friend.  I think both of these are highly likely.

I will go or I won't.  That is the way of things.  That is, truly, what people do.  Much time has passed since I began this entry.  I have eaten dinner and Ili and I have talked much about nothing.  And now there is the whiskey and preparing what I must have prepared for tomorrow.

It is the way of things.  It is what people do.