Angles
Most of us shoot pictures of people at eye level, but a good idea is to try different angles in relationship to the people you're photographing.
To photograph people, even babies and animals, from above is usually not as effective as taking pictures at eye level. Sometimes the best shots come when the photography is just a tiny bit lower than the subject of the photograph.
Fashion photographers usually take pictures looking upward at their models--except in head shots when the photography does exactly the reverse and takes the picture from sightly above (which takes care of the double-chin and other issues that the model may prefer to disguise a bit.)
So if you're taking pictures of a person, try this:
Take one shot from slightly higher than the person, one shot at eye level, and one standing or kneeling a bit, looking up at a slight angle at the person.
Then try the same with objects--a glass of wine, a piece of sculpture, a bowl, anything--just to see the difference in camera angles.
Monday, April 30, 2018
True Conviction
Tonight on PBS: a documentary on Independent Lens about people who have been wrongly convicted of a serious crime and spent years in prison, only to have their innocence proven years later.
It airs at 10:00 Texas time, so I'll most likely watch it online tomorrow since Elena will be here.
I heard an interview this morning on NPR between the man who actually committed the crime and the one who'd spent years of the life sentence. Only after being imprisoned for another crime and getting religion did the man who actually committed the crime decide to come clean and admit he'd done the crime for which another man was doing the time.
To convict the wrong man, there was no DNA evidence, only one eye witness.
It airs at 10:00 Texas time, so I'll most likely watch it online tomorrow since Elena will be here.
I heard an interview this morning on NPR between the man who actually committed the crime and the one who'd spent years of the life sentence. Only after being imprisoned for another crime and getting religion did the man who actually committed the crime decide to come clean and admit he'd done the crime for which another man was doing the time.
To convict the wrong man, there was no DNA evidence, only one eye witness.
Sunday, April 29, 2018
iPhone Photo Tip #2
The photo below may need a bit of composition tweaking, but you will see that with the Snapseed app, I'm able to bring out more color in the train and the flowers.
In this original snapshot, the foreground is too dark and you can't really see the colors on the train.
Now the flowers are yellow and there is a bright band on red on the silver train--Voila! Even the sky looks more natural after the adjustment with some pink tones in it.
Our Latvian teacher, Emil, reminds us over and over to "get the landscape line straight" before you do anything else in editing. That's easy in Snapseed if you happen to get the landscape line crooked when you're photographing the sea or a wide expansive landscape.
You could also crop the picture to decrease the proportion of the sky, but I chose to leave it as it is.
According to Emil, a landscape photo needs a subject. The train in this photo above is the subject. But in the next landscape, there is no subject--and a professional photographer would probably get out of the car, use a tripod, and ask someone to move into the frame, or wait until someone happened to pass by in a boat. Since I had no one with me, and no boat, I have a landscape without a strong subject.
With masking, I could now go in and lighten up the band of trees a bit so that you could see more details.
In this original snapshot, the foreground is too dark and you can't really see the colors on the train.
Now the flowers are yellow and there is a bright band on red on the silver train--Voila! Even the sky looks more natural after the adjustment with some pink tones in it.
Our Latvian teacher, Emil, reminds us over and over to "get the landscape line straight" before you do anything else in editing. That's easy in Snapseed if you happen to get the landscape line crooked when you're photographing the sea or a wide expansive landscape.
You could also crop the picture to decrease the proportion of the sky, but I chose to leave it as it is.
According to Emil, a landscape photo needs a subject. The train in this photo above is the subject. But in the next landscape, there is no subject--and a professional photographer would probably get out of the car, use a tripod, and ask someone to move into the frame, or wait until someone happened to pass by in a boat. Since I had no one with me, and no boat, I have a landscape without a strong subject.
With masking, I could now go in and lighten up the band of trees a bit so that you could see more details.
iPhone Photo Tip #1
They say the best camera is the one you have with you--and smart phones are never far from most of our hands. I love both--the iPhone camera and my Nikon. I'm taking a class in each and have learned more than I ever learned in a photography class or from a book. Not only are the lectures easy to follow, but there's a Facebook group where members submit photographs and make suggestions.
All these years I've mostly used auto focus and the extent of my editing was cropping. Now that I know many more options for both, I wish I had a second chance to do the portrait photos for Wonderful Old Women.
I decided to share tips I've learned here on my blog in part to simplify my own notes to self, in part to give you some pointers if you want them.
Today's Tip is--if you like editing your photos--is to download the free or nearly free app, Snapseed. You can use this app for photos taken with any camera.
In the editing component of the class, the teacher demonstrates ways to dramatically improve photos with this simple app. He first shows us a picture I think is already just fine, then in five minutes, he's turned it into a way better one.
With Snapseed, you can actually remove elements that are distracting (though I've not mastered this very well yet). What I have gotten the hang of is the too (Tune Image) that allows you to add or decrease saturation and highlights--and many other countless changes to punch up your pictures.
There's an old truck on Austin Highway that always catches my eye, so I decided this morning to take a picture of it as my test run. I added a few tiny strokes and now, even though it's no art gallery piece, it was a good practice run with cropping and highlighting and a few other minor tweaks.
All these years I've mostly used auto focus and the extent of my editing was cropping. Now that I know many more options for both, I wish I had a second chance to do the portrait photos for Wonderful Old Women.
I decided to share tips I've learned here on my blog in part to simplify my own notes to self, in part to give you some pointers if you want them.
Today's Tip is--if you like editing your photos--is to download the free or nearly free app, Snapseed. You can use this app for photos taken with any camera.
In the editing component of the class, the teacher demonstrates ways to dramatically improve photos with this simple app. He first shows us a picture I think is already just fine, then in five minutes, he's turned it into a way better one.
With Snapseed, you can actually remove elements that are distracting (though I've not mastered this very well yet). What I have gotten the hang of is the too (Tune Image) that allows you to add or decrease saturation and highlights--and many other countless changes to punch up your pictures.
There's an old truck on Austin Highway that always catches my eye, so I decided this morning to take a picture of it as my test run. I added a few tiny strokes and now, even though it's no art gallery piece, it was a good practice run with cropping and highlighting and a few other minor tweaks.
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| Before Snapseed |
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| After Snapseed |
An untaken photograph
This beautiful morning, I was driving around the grounds of the McNay for photography inspiration. If I had been a real photographer, I'd have a posted myself there with a tripod early--but no, I was just on a coke run looking for a place for a pedicure.
I saw a photo I'd have loved to take, but wouldn't have taken without permission: a very pregnant young woman with her bare belly showing, her man standing beside her. She was wearing an evening gown over the shorts, and it opened in the front--to reveal the shorts and the baby-bump.
Back in my days of pregnancy, the point was to hide the obvious with "maternity clothes," and no one ever considered showing it to strangers or framing it in any way.
But why not? A pregnant body is spectacular.
As Freda said when I reported it, "We've come a long way, Baby!"
I hope the world is good to that baby about to make his or her entrance into it. What I know is that this baby is one of the lucky ones--born to two parents, two big brothers, and a grandmother (I suspected) who was behind the camera. They are already proud of her and she's done, so far, absolutely nothing but kick and sleep.
I saw a photo I'd have loved to take, but wouldn't have taken without permission: a very pregnant young woman with her bare belly showing, her man standing beside her. She was wearing an evening gown over the shorts, and it opened in the front--to reveal the shorts and the baby-bump.
Back in my days of pregnancy, the point was to hide the obvious with "maternity clothes," and no one ever considered showing it to strangers or framing it in any way.
But why not? A pregnant body is spectacular.
As Freda said when I reported it, "We've come a long way, Baby!"
I hope the world is good to that baby about to make his or her entrance into it. What I know is that this baby is one of the lucky ones--born to two parents, two big brothers, and a grandmother (I suspected) who was behind the camera. They are already proud of her and she's done, so far, absolutely nothing but kick and sleep.
Saturday, April 28, 2018
Fiesta Pooch Parade
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| Jan dancing her way to the parade |
As a student photographer, I was over my head. All the things I've learned take time and practice implement, so this was my practice day with street photography and portraits. The dogs rarely stay still long enough to capture, for one thing. And with an iPhone and a large camera, I spent all my time trying to figure out controls and switching back and forth from one to the other.
But here's a taste of the day anyway. Mark your calendars for the Pooch Parade next year.
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| This six-month-old puppy was my favorite; his name is Cash and he's half Chow, half Husky |
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| Kate and the boys walking home |
Friday, April 27, 2018
Poor Man's Provence as Travel Guide
If you ever plan a trip to Southwest Louisiana, you gotta read Poor Man's Provence before you go--one of Rheta Grimsley Johnson's books about the area. Having recently been there, I love revisiting it through the eyes of Rheta, a Georgia-Alabama native who loved it so much she and her husband Don bought a houseboat and a house in Henderson.
As a tourist, I can only drop names of places and a few colorful characters I've met there; Rheta can tell you about the people who live there, the people buried there, and even some of the hardest of criminals at Angola Prison. It's a distinctively interesting area, and I wish I had read this book before my last slow roll through there, but I'll be going back as soon as I can.
Every year in April, Angola Prison hosts a rodeo along with an arts and crafts fair.
"The drive from Henderson to Angola takes about two hours, including a short ferry ride across the Mississippi River between the picturesque Louisiana towns of New Roads and St. Francisville."
Nearly half the prisoners are there for homicide. "More than three thousand are here for life, most of the rest are serving twenty years or more. So you come in with eyes wide open, knowing these are tough customers, violent and flinty hard."
She describes some of the crafts of the inmates, which--if guests don't buy them on the day of the rodeo--will often show up in New Orleans galleries with impressive price tags.
This is the most poignant paragraph about the day at Angola:
"It is sad to think that all this talent is being sponsored and honed just a little too late. If only Joe Blow from Bogalusa had learned to build a beautiful pirogue before he took up stealing cars. If only John Smith of Opelousas had taken up a paint brush before he took up a gun. If only Sam Boudreaux had taken up wood-carving before he took up wife-carving. If only, on and on."
She tells about the practice "in Cajun country" of burying the dead in vaults above ground, just as in New Orleans, due to the low land and frequent flooding. Catahoula is home to her favorite cemetery:
"Names are in granite of course, along with nicknames. Then, often with engraved illustrations, the family tells you something about the dead person--a hand of cards...the trucks or cars they died racing....What might be considered macabre or tasteless elsewhere is here loving tribute to lost loved ones."
She contrasts the whiskey bottles and poker cards and fast cars on their graves with the religious and hopeful words inscribed on graves elsewhere in the South. "The level of guilelessness is such that I'm not sure if it ever occurs to the Cajuns that they should hide anything. When you're given cultural license to pass a good time and let the good times roll, what's to hide?"
She writes about the wariness of the people to accept strangers, but once they do, you're Sugar Pie and Baby and Boo to them and they treat you to feasts in their homes and will literally "give you the shirt off their backs." Once they get started talking, you're in for hours--with stories told over and over so colorfully they are funny even on the umpteenth hearing.
She tells about opening a reading club in her storage house for straggler children in the neighborhood, children whose parents were working or elsewhere, When her friends heard about how the kids loved reading there, they sent her boxes of children's books to create a library in a town that had none.
She describes the geography and out-of-the-way places so thoroughly that this book is not only a great door into Cajun country and people; it's the best travel guide you'll find. Rheta tells you where you can find the best crawfish, the cemeteries with grave-stories inscribed in pictures and words, and the most authentic Cajun music and dancing.
Even if you don't go there, you'll "pass a good time" in these pages.
As a tourist, I can only drop names of places and a few colorful characters I've met there; Rheta can tell you about the people who live there, the people buried there, and even some of the hardest of criminals at Angola Prison. It's a distinctively interesting area, and I wish I had read this book before my last slow roll through there, but I'll be going back as soon as I can.
Every year in April, Angola Prison hosts a rodeo along with an arts and crafts fair.
"The drive from Henderson to Angola takes about two hours, including a short ferry ride across the Mississippi River between the picturesque Louisiana towns of New Roads and St. Francisville."
Nearly half the prisoners are there for homicide. "More than three thousand are here for life, most of the rest are serving twenty years or more. So you come in with eyes wide open, knowing these are tough customers, violent and flinty hard."
She describes some of the crafts of the inmates, which--if guests don't buy them on the day of the rodeo--will often show up in New Orleans galleries with impressive price tags.
This is the most poignant paragraph about the day at Angola:
"It is sad to think that all this talent is being sponsored and honed just a little too late. If only Joe Blow from Bogalusa had learned to build a beautiful pirogue before he took up stealing cars. If only John Smith of Opelousas had taken up a paint brush before he took up a gun. If only Sam Boudreaux had taken up wood-carving before he took up wife-carving. If only, on and on."
She tells about the practice "in Cajun country" of burying the dead in vaults above ground, just as in New Orleans, due to the low land and frequent flooding. Catahoula is home to her favorite cemetery:
"Names are in granite of course, along with nicknames. Then, often with engraved illustrations, the family tells you something about the dead person--a hand of cards...the trucks or cars they died racing....What might be considered macabre or tasteless elsewhere is here loving tribute to lost loved ones."
She contrasts the whiskey bottles and poker cards and fast cars on their graves with the religious and hopeful words inscribed on graves elsewhere in the South. "The level of guilelessness is such that I'm not sure if it ever occurs to the Cajuns that they should hide anything. When you're given cultural license to pass a good time and let the good times roll, what's to hide?"
She writes about the wariness of the people to accept strangers, but once they do, you're Sugar Pie and Baby and Boo to them and they treat you to feasts in their homes and will literally "give you the shirt off their backs." Once they get started talking, you're in for hours--with stories told over and over so colorfully they are funny even on the umpteenth hearing.
She tells about opening a reading club in her storage house for straggler children in the neighborhood, children whose parents were working or elsewhere, When her friends heard about how the kids loved reading there, they sent her boxes of children's books to create a library in a town that had none.
She describes the geography and out-of-the-way places so thoroughly that this book is not only a great door into Cajun country and people; it's the best travel guide you'll find. Rheta tells you where you can find the best crawfish, the cemeteries with grave-stories inscribed in pictures and words, and the most authentic Cajun music and dancing.
Even if you don't go there, you'll "pass a good time" in these pages.
Thursday, April 26, 2018
Wednesday and Thursday
Joy and I celebrated Freda's birthday belatedly yesterday in beautiful Comfort.
This morning I attended the kindergarten parade at Helotes Elementary. The teachers danced down the hallway, each kid carrying a float he or she had made, and all the older kids (and parents and grandparents) sat or stood in the hallway to watch the festive parade.
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| There's a beautiful yarn shop in Comfort, Gerlinde! |
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| Fiesta Parade of Kindergartners at Helotes Elementary |
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| Each child has made his or her own float. Elena's is a float with a horse-theme, of course! |
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| Elena and her Mommy |
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| My Angel Girl |
After the parade, I had a dermatology appointment--two suspicious spots were biopsied.
Then, my annual exam--in which my favorite doctor said she expected me to live into my 90s if I start drinking more. Dehydrated, but no longer pre-diabetic and with normal cholesterol, I plan to try a margarita cure.
Then, my annual exam--in which my favorite doctor said she expected me to live into my 90s if I start drinking more. Dehydrated, but no longer pre-diabetic and with normal cholesterol, I plan to try a margarita cure.
Sunday, April 22, 2018
Saturday, April 21, 2018
Viva Fiesta!
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| Me with the crooked hat, Cindy, somebody's twin brother, Becky, and Victoria |
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| Victoria and Kent |
Thursday, April 19, 2018
good news from the medicine man
Well, I finally made it to the right doctor's office to get the results of my echocardiogram, then celebrated good news with a solo fish lunch at Bucanero's. I feel very lucky--heart and lungs are fine, really fine, and they've both been viewed with fine tooth combs and all.
The only symptoms I have are associated with the CREST--all-over pain and sausage fingers when it flares, which it is doing right now. So a nap is in order, a nap and a book.
The only symptoms I have are associated with the CREST--all-over pain and sausage fingers when it flares, which it is doing right now. So a nap is in order, a nap and a book.
Wednesday, April 18, 2018
Wounds and healing
The class tonight was a series of epiphanies for me! It will take me a long time to take it all in and make it translatable to those who weren't there, but here's one big takeaway.
Stories are not inherently healing. Ancient stories, like modern ones, are healing if they (like music or any other art form) penetrate into the deepest parts of the reader, or the teller, or the listener. If you hear someone read a poem that speaks to you, you respond to the poem and the way it's read and where it lands in you.
Here's another:
We all have wounds, some we can name and tell stories about, some we aren't even wholly aware of. Shahrazad was a storyteller who knew how to reach (with her stories) the inner self of the king--which formerly no one had been able to do and which he--quite obviously--wasn't capable of doing for himself.
She met him--our teacher said--at the point of his curiosity. Shahrazad was, as Marga--a lifelong therapist-- said, "the patron saint of therapists and teachers." She transcended her fear and didn't focus on his fear; she told stories that held up a mirror to the king.
Some of our wounds are personal: someone has betrayed us or hurt us.
Some of our wounds are generational or cultural or national. Even if what wounded us happened before we born to somebody else, we feel the impact. Stories may reach to the level of unacknowledged wounds in ways direct teaching cannot do.
Stories are not inherently healing. Ancient stories, like modern ones, are healing if they (like music or any other art form) penetrate into the deepest parts of the reader, or the teller, or the listener. If you hear someone read a poem that speaks to you, you respond to the poem and the way it's read and where it lands in you.
Here's another:
We all have wounds, some we can name and tell stories about, some we aren't even wholly aware of. Shahrazad was a storyteller who knew how to reach (with her stories) the inner self of the king--which formerly no one had been able to do and which he--quite obviously--wasn't capable of doing for himself.
She met him--our teacher said--at the point of his curiosity. Shahrazad was, as Marga--a lifelong therapist-- said, "the patron saint of therapists and teachers." She transcended her fear and didn't focus on his fear; she told stories that held up a mirror to the king.
Some of our wounds are personal: someone has betrayed us or hurt us.
Some of our wounds are generational or cultural or national. Even if what wounded us happened before we born to somebody else, we feel the impact. Stories may reach to the level of unacknowledged wounds in ways direct teaching cannot do.
Two Things
Today Kate called to say she had met Kwasi in the boutique. (The boutique is code for one of our favorite thrift stores, by the way.)
She had seen his picture here on my blog and recognized him shopping one row over. Of course, Kate started up a conversation and asked him if he knew me--and he said four times, "This is such a small world!"
I thought that was funny coming from a man from Ghana to Texas--small world indeed!
The number I would have posted for Kwasi, the number I called today, is actually the number of the Subway on McCollough!
He probably doesn't have a phone, but if you want him for work, please let me know and I'll find him. He'll probably come and knock on the door and say, "Madame Linda this is Kwasi come to visit." (He also goes by Leslie).
The other thing is my last ad for iPhone Photo Academy. I have spent days learning from the first course alone and now have signed up for the another of Emil's courses. I'm discovering that I learn this subject best going at my own pace rather than in a class, and this program is packed with information. One of the things he does at the end is to go through photos students have sent him and analyze them in detail for over- or under-exposure, framing of the subject, etc.
If you want to try it, you get a 30-day money back guarantee, but if you keep it you can take it over and over again by clicking on any modules you want to review.
It's the most thorough and easy-to-follow photography class I've ever taken and I highly recommend it. Not only do I hope it will make my photos better, but it makes me notice details and aspects I'd never noticed before. It makes me a better appreciator of professional photography, still or moving.
She had seen his picture here on my blog and recognized him shopping one row over. Of course, Kate started up a conversation and asked him if he knew me--and he said four times, "This is such a small world!"
I thought that was funny coming from a man from Ghana to Texas--small world indeed!
The number I would have posted for Kwasi, the number I called today, is actually the number of the Subway on McCollough!
He probably doesn't have a phone, but if you want him for work, please let me know and I'll find him. He'll probably come and knock on the door and say, "Madame Linda this is Kwasi come to visit." (He also goes by Leslie).
The other thing is my last ad for iPhone Photo Academy. I have spent days learning from the first course alone and now have signed up for the another of Emil's courses. I'm discovering that I learn this subject best going at my own pace rather than in a class, and this program is packed with information. One of the things he does at the end is to go through photos students have sent him and analyze them in detail for over- or under-exposure, framing of the subject, etc.
If you want to try it, you get a 30-day money back guarantee, but if you keep it you can take it over and over again by clicking on any modules you want to review.
It's the most thorough and easy-to-follow photography class I've ever taken and I highly recommend it. Not only do I hope it will make my photos better, but it makes me notice details and aspects I'd never noticed before. It makes me a better appreciator of professional photography, still or moving.
FIESTA WEEK IN SAN ANTONIO!
Our city is celebrating its 300th birthday this year and we're rocking and rolling all over town. Even school buses are dressed in paper flowers and sombreros!
The crafts fair is Saturday and Sunday--the only official Fiesta event I usually do. I'm also going to a friend's Fiesta party on Saturday night and a block party Thursday night.
The crafts fair is Saturday and Sunday--the only official Fiesta event I usually do. I'm also going to a friend's Fiesta party on Saturday night and a block party Thursday night.
Shahrazad and Stories
Writing group Monday night was a full house of writing and conversation! Trina shared with us highlights of her class at Gemini by Andre Dubus, Pulitzer Prize author of House of Sand and Fog (novel and movie), Townie, his memoir, and other fiction.
In writing groups, we tell and listen to stories. We start with seven-minute timed stories and reflections, then read pieces worked on for critique and feedback. The connection among storytellers is always powerful--especially among women who write together for years.
Tonight is the second night of a class I'm taking at the Sol Center: Ancient Wisdom taught by Marga Speicher. Her first lecture underscored the power of storytelling through interpretation of the ancient story of Shahrazad of The Thousand and One Nights.
The story is about a king who--spurned by love--decided never to love again. So he decides to have a different consort every night, not to get attached, and then to kill her the next morning! While the kingdom's population of young women is fast shrinking, Shahrazad volunteers to be his consort--but she has a plan.
Every night, for 1001 nights, she tells a different story. He is so engrossed in her stories that he decides not to kill her--and doesn't even notice that she gives birth to three children during these 1001 days and nights.
One takeaway from this ancient story is that stories have power to heal. Shahrazad taps into the king's curiosity and tells stories that access something deep inside him. He begins to change--too late for all the murdered consorts--and he falls in love with Shahrazad.
The stories we tell each other and ourselves are pathways into the inner world and have a real impact on human life, as does all art.
In writing groups, we tell and listen to stories. We start with seven-minute timed stories and reflections, then read pieces worked on for critique and feedback. The connection among storytellers is always powerful--especially among women who write together for years.
Tonight is the second night of a class I'm taking at the Sol Center: Ancient Wisdom taught by Marga Speicher. Her first lecture underscored the power of storytelling through interpretation of the ancient story of Shahrazad of The Thousand and One Nights.
The story is about a king who--spurned by love--decided never to love again. So he decides to have a different consort every night, not to get attached, and then to kill her the next morning! While the kingdom's population of young women is fast shrinking, Shahrazad volunteers to be his consort--but she has a plan.
Every night, for 1001 nights, she tells a different story. He is so engrossed in her stories that he decides not to kill her--and doesn't even notice that she gives birth to three children during these 1001 days and nights.
One takeaway from this ancient story is that stories have power to heal. Shahrazad taps into the king's curiosity and tells stories that access something deep inside him. He begins to change--too late for all the murdered consorts--and he falls in love with Shahrazad.
The stories we tell each other and ourselves are pathways into the inner world and have a real impact on human life, as does all art.
Tuesday, April 17, 2018
I had appointments to see two of my three Stone Oak doctors today and left early to be there in time for the pulmonology appointment, made it on time, got excellent results from all the tests, and then used the time between to shop and check things off my list.
I made it to the second one early, sat in the waiting room over an hour talking to a man about moles in Panama, and then discovered that I was in the wrong doctor's office!
So I go back to that one on Thursday and had to schedule the other one for June. This is what happens when I try to multi-task, I guess!
Last night's writing group was terrific and I felt really good. Then today, shortly after telling the pulmonologist how good I felt, my fingers started to swell like sausages and the pain returned full force for the rest of the day.
CREST is also called limited scleroderma--and requires annual heart and lung tests to make sure it's not turning into full-fledged systemic scleroderma. So far so good--as my breathing tests and lung scan showed no damage.
But the pain--when it hits--is pretty bad. I have to gauge everything I do around how I feel on a particular day. Today, as it happens, is a not-doing-much kind of day.
I made it to the second one early, sat in the waiting room over an hour talking to a man about moles in Panama, and then discovered that I was in the wrong doctor's office!
So I go back to that one on Thursday and had to schedule the other one for June. This is what happens when I try to multi-task, I guess!
Last night's writing group was terrific and I felt really good. Then today, shortly after telling the pulmonologist how good I felt, my fingers started to swell like sausages and the pain returned full force for the rest of the day.
CREST is also called limited scleroderma--and requires annual heart and lung tests to make sure it's not turning into full-fledged systemic scleroderma. So far so good--as my breathing tests and lung scan showed no damage.
But the pain--when it hits--is pretty bad. I have to gauge everything I do around how I feel on a particular day. Today, as it happens, is a not-doing-much kind of day.
Monday, April 16, 2018
In my last post, I referred to Elena as "the perfect houseguest."
This phrase, not a phrase I remember writing before, is part of my DNA. Have you ever noticed how words will pop up from somewhere in your deep brain and you think, "That's so-and-so talking!"?
In this case, it was reminiscent of something my own grandmother might have said: "Linda was a perfect guest" or something like that.
I used to spend a week with Mimi and Papa every summer and I remember so much about them and things they said to and about me, all good and kind, as they were.
When I was three, it was reported to me later, I had a hard time not talking in church, and Mimi suggested we leave. "No," I said. "I stay to church with Papa."
Elena is a different kind of perfect, braver and more raucous than I was, way funnier. She loves to wash dishes and gets water all over herself and the floor. I imagine Mimi might have said, "Honey, I'll wash those, you can go and play with Papa."
When I said, "Elena, you are getting water all over my clean floor!" (as if I cared), she said, "I don't care!" really loudly, in a joking way. She knows she's funny. I can't help laughing at her, which makes me more of another kid sometime that a grown up.
She put her foot up to her ear like a telephone and said, "Hello!" and that brought about my best laugh of the weekend.
She fixes up her bed in the guest room, then sleeps with me--in the middle of the bed, legs spread from one side to the other. She wakes up and tells me her dreams--always funny--dreams, which I've not quite slept soundly enough to have.
Though I'd just gotten the house cleaned the day before she came, she managed to move stuff around so that there was barely a spot left the way it was when she arrived. We had two forts in two different rooms and quilts borrowed from both beds to make roofs. On the porch, we had building blocks, a big bottle of glue for our glue party, two hula hoops, and a big basket of markers.
There is horse food in a bowl on the floor still filled with plastic beads. And a bowl of water on the floor--where her imaginary dog drank real water. Half-drunk glasses of milk and cookie crumbs are everywhere.
I'm keeping them there for one more day--reminders of a girl who brings this house to life in a whole new way. I miss her when she leaves!
This phrase, not a phrase I remember writing before, is part of my DNA. Have you ever noticed how words will pop up from somewhere in your deep brain and you think, "That's so-and-so talking!"?
In this case, it was reminiscent of something my own grandmother might have said: "Linda was a perfect guest" or something like that.
I used to spend a week with Mimi and Papa every summer and I remember so much about them and things they said to and about me, all good and kind, as they were.
When I was three, it was reported to me later, I had a hard time not talking in church, and Mimi suggested we leave. "No," I said. "I stay to church with Papa."
Elena is a different kind of perfect, braver and more raucous than I was, way funnier. She loves to wash dishes and gets water all over herself and the floor. I imagine Mimi might have said, "Honey, I'll wash those, you can go and play with Papa."
When I said, "Elena, you are getting water all over my clean floor!" (as if I cared), she said, "I don't care!" really loudly, in a joking way. She knows she's funny. I can't help laughing at her, which makes me more of another kid sometime that a grown up.
She put her foot up to her ear like a telephone and said, "Hello!" and that brought about my best laugh of the weekend.
She fixes up her bed in the guest room, then sleeps with me--in the middle of the bed, legs spread from one side to the other. She wakes up and tells me her dreams--always funny--dreams, which I've not quite slept soundly enough to have.
Though I'd just gotten the house cleaned the day before she came, she managed to move stuff around so that there was barely a spot left the way it was when she arrived. We had two forts in two different rooms and quilts borrowed from both beds to make roofs. On the porch, we had building blocks, a big bottle of glue for our glue party, two hula hoops, and a big basket of markers.
There is horse food in a bowl on the floor still filled with plastic beads. And a bowl of water on the floor--where her imaginary dog drank real water. Half-drunk glasses of milk and cookie crumbs are everywhere.
I'm keeping them there for one more day--reminders of a girl who brings this house to life in a whole new way. I miss her when she leaves!
When I learn all these new things a camera or phone or computer can do (which it's been able to do all along without my knowledge), I think of something I heard once--that we only use about 10% of our brains' capacity. We have come to rely on these expensive brains in our hands so much that we may often wonder what we'd do without them, yet they can do so much more than most of us even realize.
Every time I watch Elena, I'm reminded of the openness and enthusiasm in children's sponge-like brains as they are learning to be in the world. At six, the brain is such a wonderfully agile thing! If you say a word to a six-year-old once, it's absorbed immediately--and used soon afterwards with confidence. If you tell her a story, she might remind you of the story in great detail a year or two later. If she picks up your iPhone, she can figure out how to use it even without knowing how to read. Often, just by sheer instinct, she can take really good photographs, too.
Elena was, as we adults were, totally engaged and fascinated with Kwasi yesterday. When he tells a story, he acts it out--including falling on the ground to demonstrate the lion or tiger who's sedated and caught in a net to become somebody's pet.
"In America I don't see any tigers or lions as pets," he said. "Only dogs and cats."
Elena's eyes widened at the possibility of having a cute and playful tiger cub in her yard. To a six-year-old, anything is possible. Even stuffed tigers and lions are real and need attention and food and love--so why not have a real one too?
When she pretends to be a horse or a dog or a cheetah, she knows it's pretend but that doesn't impair the joy of pretending. She might whisper to me, "This is pretend"--then proceed as if neither of us knows that! I'm still expected to provide a tasty meal for said horse--and plastic beads work very well for this purpose.
At 28, Kwasi speaks three languages fluently and wants to learn Spanish. He taught us several words and expressions in his native language (Ashanti)--and I'm pretty sure Elena will remember them this morning. Then he taught her some conversational French. I hope his linguistic skills will make her value even more that she's bilingual. How I wish I had two or more languages embedded in my brain and could switch back and forth with ease!
"Here we have to use telephones to call and tell people when we are coming. In my country, we walk to their houses [he acts it all out] and knock on the door and call out like this: 'Madame Linda this is Kwasi come to see you!' Nobody ever says no, you can't come in."
When for a brief moment, he thought my lawnmower wasn't working properly, he said, "I will just go across the street and ask to borrow Curran and Harvey's." He had just met them yet was ready to borrow--which he did, successfully, which I never would have considered doing!
"In my home country, we borrow things from our neighbors and they borrow things from us. It's how neighbors are supposed to be," he said.
It is refreshing to meet people of different cultures who do things differently and who open our minds to new possibilities. It's exciting to take a class and learn that that little symbol we've never noticed before can do magical things.
When I can open even a little tiny chamber of my mind, I feel like Elena who learns new things all day long and is open to trying anything: "Look, Yenna, I can do the splits!" or "I love washing dishes!" or (when I want to pull over and take photographs in culverts:) "Okay! Let's do it!"
Every time I watch Elena, I'm reminded of the openness and enthusiasm in children's sponge-like brains as they are learning to be in the world. At six, the brain is such a wonderfully agile thing! If you say a word to a six-year-old once, it's absorbed immediately--and used soon afterwards with confidence. If you tell her a story, she might remind you of the story in great detail a year or two later. If she picks up your iPhone, she can figure out how to use it even without knowing how to read. Often, just by sheer instinct, she can take really good photographs, too.
Elena was, as we adults were, totally engaged and fascinated with Kwasi yesterday. When he tells a story, he acts it out--including falling on the ground to demonstrate the lion or tiger who's sedated and caught in a net to become somebody's pet.
"In America I don't see any tigers or lions as pets," he said. "Only dogs and cats."
Elena's eyes widened at the possibility of having a cute and playful tiger cub in her yard. To a six-year-old, anything is possible. Even stuffed tigers and lions are real and need attention and food and love--so why not have a real one too?
When she pretends to be a horse or a dog or a cheetah, she knows it's pretend but that doesn't impair the joy of pretending. She might whisper to me, "This is pretend"--then proceed as if neither of us knows that! I'm still expected to provide a tasty meal for said horse--and plastic beads work very well for this purpose.
At 28, Kwasi speaks three languages fluently and wants to learn Spanish. He taught us several words and expressions in his native language (Ashanti)--and I'm pretty sure Elena will remember them this morning. Then he taught her some conversational French. I hope his linguistic skills will make her value even more that she's bilingual. How I wish I had two or more languages embedded in my brain and could switch back and forth with ease!
"Here we have to use telephones to call and tell people when we are coming. In my country, we walk to their houses [he acts it all out] and knock on the door and call out like this: 'Madame Linda this is Kwasi come to see you!' Nobody ever says no, you can't come in."
When for a brief moment, he thought my lawnmower wasn't working properly, he said, "I will just go across the street and ask to borrow Curran and Harvey's." He had just met them yet was ready to borrow--which he did, successfully, which I never would have considered doing!
"In my home country, we borrow things from our neighbors and they borrow things from us. It's how neighbors are supposed to be," he said.
It is refreshing to meet people of different cultures who do things differently and who open our minds to new possibilities. It's exciting to take a class and learn that that little symbol we've never noticed before can do magical things.
When I can open even a little tiny chamber of my mind, I feel like Elena who learns new things all day long and is open to trying anything: "Look, Yenna, I can do the splits!" or "I love washing dishes!" or (when I want to pull over and take photographs in culverts:) "Okay! Let's do it!"
Saturday, April 14, 2018
Saturday
Elena knows where just about everything can be found in my house. Last night we were making a fort, aka new home for today's Build A Bear rabbit, and she stood over the whole operation calling out things we needed: "You know those big black and white checked pillows in the closet? You know that blanket....?" etc. By midnight, we had a well-designed and colorful home for Swirly, though we didn't know Swirly until we had her built.
We made a deal: she'd go with me to look at new iPhones and I'd let her get one animal at her favorite store.
Yesterday we sang along to Keb Mo's "Old Me Better" about ten times in the car--we love that song. It gave me a chance to tell her about Cajun people. It also gave me a chance to sing loud--something I only do with people under seven.
On the way out of Castroville I saw a big yard filled with concrete pipes, round and rectangular. Nobody was there, so I did a U-Turn. "I see a good place to do some pictures!" I said.
Whatever harebrained idea either of us has, the other loves it! With Elena, I get to be a kid again!
She woke me up at 2:00 to tell me, "Yenna! I've decided I really love sleepovers!"
We went back to bed for a few hours, then she woke me at 8:00 to show me a bruise on her leg, one she got when a wooden swing hit her.
"Daddy says you must be having a really good time if you get a bruise," she said. "I bet he got that from you."
"Why's that?" I asked.
"Cause you both say things fancy. Like if there are a lot of words for one thing, like blue and sad, you always say it a cool way. You're like Fancy Nancy in the book."
So here we are, Elena with her stuffed rabbit and me with my new iPhone, she watching a movie about mermaids and princesses, me waking up from a nap.
We made a deal: she'd go with me to look at new iPhones and I'd let her get one animal at her favorite store.
Yesterday we sang along to Keb Mo's "Old Me Better" about ten times in the car--we love that song. It gave me a chance to tell her about Cajun people. It also gave me a chance to sing loud--something I only do with people under seven.
On the way out of Castroville I saw a big yard filled with concrete pipes, round and rectangular. Nobody was there, so I did a U-Turn. "I see a good place to do some pictures!" I said.
Whatever harebrained idea either of us has, the other loves it! With Elena, I get to be a kid again!
She woke me up at 2:00 to tell me, "Yenna! I've decided I really love sleepovers!"
We went back to bed for a few hours, then she woke me at 8:00 to show me a bruise on her leg, one she got when a wooden swing hit her.
"Daddy says you must be having a really good time if you get a bruise," she said. "I bet he got that from you."
"Why's that?" I asked.
"Cause you both say things fancy. Like if there are a lot of words for one thing, like blue and sad, you always say it a cool way. You're like Fancy Nancy in the book."
So here we are, Elena with her stuffed rabbit and me with my new iPhone, she watching a movie about mermaids and princesses, me waking up from a nap.
Friday, April 13, 2018
Friday the 13th
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| Portrait of Yenna by Elena |
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| "That's enough pictures, Yenna!" |
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| If you sniff in real hard, the poppy petals will stick to your nose! |
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| My new bird house posing in the few remaining poppies |
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| My favorite photo of the day |
Poppies in Castroville, not so much
FYI: If you missed them today, wait until next year. The Visitors Center had said they were in full bloom, but they were on their last stalks, I'd say.
Nevertheless, we had a great day and ended with dinner at the Castroville Cafe, listening to music next door--and Elena found the few remaining poppies delightful. She wasn't counting.
All the way home, she gave me a quiz she'd probably learned in school: Would you call 911 if....
your friend pulled your hair, the house was burning down, somebody was driving crazy, you lost your dog....?
Nevertheless, we had a great day and ended with dinner at the Castroville Cafe, listening to music next door--and Elena found the few remaining poppies delightful. She wasn't counting.
All the way home, she gave me a quiz she'd probably learned in school: Would you call 911 if....
your friend pulled your hair, the house was burning down, somebody was driving crazy, you lost your dog....?
Poppies in Castroville
Just leaving to meet Jan for yoga, then to Helotes to pick up my playmate for the entire weekend.
Will called to say she was "emotional" and clingy this morning, so I told him she was just trying to make them feel good saying she didn't want to spend the night:) This is her first two-nighter, so she had to protest--it's what six-year-olds do, right?
Anyway, FYI: I called Castroville and found out the poppies are in full bloom all over town and I'm taking Elena for a look-see after school.
If you've never seen them, the full-bloom isn't going to last long and it's really something to see! I'm hoping she gets a nap on the way there and loves seeing them as much as I do.
There's also a walking tour, I think--but I forgot to ask about that. So if you're interested, call Castroville Visitor's Center and they will tell you all about it.
Will called to say she was "emotional" and clingy this morning, so I told him she was just trying to make them feel good saying she didn't want to spend the night:) This is her first two-nighter, so she had to protest--it's what six-year-olds do, right?
Anyway, FYI: I called Castroville and found out the poppies are in full bloom all over town and I'm taking Elena for a look-see after school.
If you've never seen them, the full-bloom isn't going to last long and it's really something to see! I'm hoping she gets a nap on the way there and loves seeing them as much as I do.
There's also a walking tour, I think--but I forgot to ask about that. So if you're interested, call Castroville Visitor's Center and they will tell you all about it.
Enchanted Evening Barbie and The Second Coming
For people who love to travel, and people who love to read, it's always a great delight to encounter places in books that you know, even if only a little bit.
For several years, ever since Bob--my old boyfriend--introduced me to Southern Louisiana, that part of the world has been magical and mysterious for me. In St. Francisville, I bought a book by the former Atlanta Journal Constitution journalist, Rheta Grimsley Johnson, and I'm now reading three by her, simultaneously, overlappingly:
Hank Hung the Moon
Poor Man's Provence
Enchanted Evening Barbie and the Second Coming.
I love this writer! She feels like someone I know personally. She's about my age, calls Georgia her home state, and she brilliantly describes the quirks of people and places.
Henderson, Louisiana, is the town in the Atchafalaya Swamp where she and her second husband Don bought a houseboat and called their playground and their "poor man's Provence." They'd often traveled to France together and both loved the French-speaking Cajun Country of Southwest Louisiana.
Rheta, a lifelong Francophile, felt it was as close as she could get to returning to France. Don loved it because it reminded him of his hometown, Moss Point, near Pascagoula. It felt familiar to him--all the duck hunting and just hanging out with people who were never in a hurry.
"Get down," the Cajun folks call out if you drive up to their house. It means "Get out of the car, come inside, sit for a spell. Don't be in such an all-fired hurry!"
Once Rheta gave her niece some advice that the niece thanked her for as "the best advice ever."
"Always have a trip planned. You'll then have something to look forward to, a big crisp carrot to trot behind on drab or downright bad days, powerful incentive to finish any task at hand."
Rheta Johnson took the place of Lewis Grizzard (who died in the 90s) on the staff of the Atlanta Journal Constitution. For seven years, she got hate mail because of her liberal politics. But she stayed on, writing mostly personal interest stories and traveling around the South to snag them.
She was asked to take Celestine Sibley's place on the AJC staff when she died, but decided it was time to retire before attempting to replace another Georgia journalistic icon.
For several years, ever since Bob--my old boyfriend--introduced me to Southern Louisiana, that part of the world has been magical and mysterious for me. In St. Francisville, I bought a book by the former Atlanta Journal Constitution journalist, Rheta Grimsley Johnson, and I'm now reading three by her, simultaneously, overlappingly:
Hank Hung the Moon
Poor Man's Provence
Enchanted Evening Barbie and the Second Coming.
I love this writer! She feels like someone I know personally. She's about my age, calls Georgia her home state, and she brilliantly describes the quirks of people and places.
Henderson, Louisiana, is the town in the Atchafalaya Swamp where she and her second husband Don bought a houseboat and called their playground and their "poor man's Provence." They'd often traveled to France together and both loved the French-speaking Cajun Country of Southwest Louisiana.
Rheta, a lifelong Francophile, felt it was as close as she could get to returning to France. Don loved it because it reminded him of his hometown, Moss Point, near Pascagoula. It felt familiar to him--all the duck hunting and just hanging out with people who were never in a hurry.
"Get down," the Cajun folks call out if you drive up to their house. It means "Get out of the car, come inside, sit for a spell. Don't be in such an all-fired hurry!"
Once Rheta gave her niece some advice that the niece thanked her for as "the best advice ever."
"Always have a trip planned. You'll then have something to look forward to, a big crisp carrot to trot behind on drab or downright bad days, powerful incentive to finish any task at hand."
Rheta Johnson took the place of Lewis Grizzard (who died in the 90s) on the staff of the Atlanta Journal Constitution. For seven years, she got hate mail because of her liberal politics. But she stayed on, writing mostly personal interest stories and traveling around the South to snag them.
She was asked to take Celestine Sibley's place on the AJC staff when she died, but decided it was time to retire before attempting to replace another Georgia journalistic icon.
Wednesday, April 11, 2018
I didn't take these photos
....but they were posted on the iPhone Photo Academy's website for inspiration. I'm inspired to learn ways to take better photos on my iPhone!
If you're inspired to learn ways to use your phone camera, check out this link: https://iphonephotographyschool.com
If you're inspired to learn ways to use your phone camera, check out this link: https://iphonephotographyschool.com
Organic Weed Killer
I copied these from a sign in the window of Natural Grocers yesterday and bought the ingredients to kill weeds in my back yard.
I had never heard the word, surfactant, until Sunday at writing group when Becky used it in her writing--and then there it was again on Monday!
Tuesday, April 10, 2018
Tuesday
Today is such a beautiful spring day in Texas!
I drove out to Helotes to watch a ballet class, then we five had a delicious dinner at Fujiya Gardens. Those kids like sushi like I like cake. We were celebrating good report cards, Nathan making drumroll and their new car.
Nathan likes to sneak up and hug from behind--always such a happy surprise!
I drove out to Helotes to watch a ballet class, then we five had a delicious dinner at Fujiya Gardens. Those kids like sushi like I like cake. We were celebrating good report cards, Nathan making drumroll and their new car.
Nathan likes to sneak up and hug from behind--always such a happy surprise!
Monday, April 9, 2018
Having stayed up way too late watching photo tutorials and "Call The Midwife," my plan is to take a little morning nap and catch up on sleep. Writing group was wonderful yesterday and I am always jazzed afterwards for a few hours and unable to sleep.
So I turned the phone to vibrate, got out my Hank Hung The Moon to read myself back to sleep, and heard a vibration.
"I bet you're wondering why I'm not in school," Nathan said, sniffling a bit. "Allergies! If there weren't enough people and cars to suck up all the pollen, there'd be mounds of it everywhere!"
"How are you otherwise?" I asked later.
"Pretty good," he said, "If you consider making the Drumroll good!"
So our Nathan is officially in the middle school band and so excited! I told him I'd tell everybody and he said I could be his assistant in communications!
So there you have it--my first official duty as Nathan's publicity assistant, informing those who know him and those who don't that Nathan M. Lininger is now a drummer boy!
So I turned the phone to vibrate, got out my Hank Hung The Moon to read myself back to sleep, and heard a vibration.
"I bet you're wondering why I'm not in school," Nathan said, sniffling a bit. "Allergies! If there weren't enough people and cars to suck up all the pollen, there'd be mounds of it everywhere!"
"How are you otherwise?" I asked later.
"Pretty good," he said, "If you consider making the Drumroll good!"
So our Nathan is officially in the middle school band and so excited! I told him I'd tell everybody and he said I could be his assistant in communications!
So there you have it--my first official duty as Nathan's publicity assistant, informing those who know him and those who don't that Nathan M. Lininger is now a drummer boy!
iphonephotographyschool.com
Talk about bangs for bucks--this Photography Class is the best deal ever! Not only am I learning techniques to use with the iPhone camera, but also with my larger Nikon.
My favorite photos are reflections, and our young agile teacher shows me something I never knew: to get the best reflections, you need to hold the lens of the camera as close as possible to the surface of the reflecting glass or water. If you can easily squat, take advantage of that posture as often as you can before you wake up one day and discover that you can't get up and down quite as nimbly as you used to.
This young teacher, however, teaches an alternate method for those who are unable to do this: Use a selfie stick to hold the phone right at the surface of the water. Brilliant!
What amazes me is how many options are right there on the screen of the iPhone that I never even knew were there: the ability to lock the focus, to add or subtract lights, etc--all by touching, holding, and swiping certain areas on the screen.
Besides all this (and I'm only on Module 4 of 8) he sends videos and articles about the best apps (most free) whereby you can change your photos much like you would do in PhotoShop. You can do selective lighting, re-color certain parts of the picture, and even remove elements that you wish hadn't been in the frame.
Once you have a good digital photograph, you can straighten the horizon later (if you captured it crookedly) and do all kinds of things to improve the quality of the picture.
While a DSLR camera is excellent for road trips (it's right there beside you in the car), smart phone cameras are now so sophisticated that they may be the best choice when you're traveling light or flying.
My favorite photos are reflections, and our young agile teacher shows me something I never knew: to get the best reflections, you need to hold the lens of the camera as close as possible to the surface of the reflecting glass or water. If you can easily squat, take advantage of that posture as often as you can before you wake up one day and discover that you can't get up and down quite as nimbly as you used to.
This young teacher, however, teaches an alternate method for those who are unable to do this: Use a selfie stick to hold the phone right at the surface of the water. Brilliant!
What amazes me is how many options are right there on the screen of the iPhone that I never even knew were there: the ability to lock the focus, to add or subtract lights, etc--all by touching, holding, and swiping certain areas on the screen.
Besides all this (and I'm only on Module 4 of 8) he sends videos and articles about the best apps (most free) whereby you can change your photos much like you would do in PhotoShop. You can do selective lighting, re-color certain parts of the picture, and even remove elements that you wish hadn't been in the frame.
Once you have a good digital photograph, you can straighten the horizon later (if you captured it crookedly) and do all kinds of things to improve the quality of the picture.
While a DSLR camera is excellent for road trips (it's right there beside you in the car), smart phone cameras are now so sophisticated that they may be the best choice when you're traveling light or flying.
Wednesday, April 4, 2018
iPhone Photography School. PS
This class is excellent--very well organized and clear. Emil, the young teacher, is from Latvia and has a slight accent, but he's completely understandable and gives great examples.
I'm only in Module 2 and I'm amazed at how much the iPhone camera can do. With simple swipes, there are commands and controls I never even knew were in there!
This class lasts several hours--there are 8 modules--so you definitely get way more than your money's worth and can keep the class and view it as many times as you like.
At the beginning of the class, you can download many pages--these pages go along with each lecture, so you don't even have to take notes.
This is by far the best photography class I've ever taken. I like doing it on my own, at my own pace, pausing if necessary, and even watching some lessons in each module again.
You will learn how to edit with a free app, Snapseed, and how to take brilliant panoramas and even how to use your earphones to snap pictures from a distance if you want to put your phone on a tripod for stability.
I'm only in Module 2 and I'm amazed at how much the iPhone camera can do. With simple swipes, there are commands and controls I never even knew were in there!
This class lasts several hours--there are 8 modules--so you definitely get way more than your money's worth and can keep the class and view it as many times as you like.
At the beginning of the class, you can download many pages--these pages go along with each lecture, so you don't even have to take notes.
This is by far the best photography class I've ever taken. I like doing it on my own, at my own pace, pausing if necessary, and even watching some lessons in each module again.
You will learn how to edit with a free app, Snapseed, and how to take brilliant panoramas and even how to use your earphones to snap pictures from a distance if you want to put your phone on a tripod for stability.
Voices in the Night
Last night, I slept with a bunch of people I've never met in person, including a philosopher, a professor, and a poet.
The reason I came to sleep with these three (and a couple of others) is that--sick to death of news--I fell asleep listening to podcasts. They came to me courtesy of one of my favorite podcasts, Krista Tippet's On Being. When one ended, the next one began, so I'm hoping that even sleeping, I absorbed some wisdom.
"The only true religion is learning," one said. I remember those words because they intrigued me, but I fell back to sleep before I found out who said it.
For each episode online, you can hear the actual produced version of Krista's interview (55 minutes) or you can choose the unedited raw version, including the outtakes and chit-chat. I like to listen in on the chit-chat.
Every time I'd turn over in bed, my left arm would protest, having been stuck with a shingles needle yesterday morning. Each time I briefly awoke, I'd hear one of these wide-awake people in my bed sharing personal revelations. Charlotte told me at lunch that there was wicked loud thunder last night, but I didn't hear it at all.
The reason I came to sleep with these three (and a couple of others) is that--sick to death of news--I fell asleep listening to podcasts. They came to me courtesy of one of my favorite podcasts, Krista Tippet's On Being. When one ended, the next one began, so I'm hoping that even sleeping, I absorbed some wisdom.
"The only true religion is learning," one said. I remember those words because they intrigued me, but I fell back to sleep before I found out who said it.
For each episode online, you can hear the actual produced version of Krista's interview (55 minutes) or you can choose the unedited raw version, including the outtakes and chit-chat. I like to listen in on the chit-chat.
Every time I'd turn over in bed, my left arm would protest, having been stuck with a shingles needle yesterday morning. Each time I briefly awoke, I'd hear one of these wide-awake people in my bed sharing personal revelations. Charlotte told me at lunch that there was wicked loud thunder last night, but I didn't hear it at all.
Tuesday, April 3, 2018
IRIS
Pam brought me this book from the library today:
You may have seen the documentary about Iris on Netflix....
This woman is a fashion icon in her nineties!
Here are some words of advice to youngsters like me--women only on the cusp of seventy:
When you get older, as I often paraphrase an old family friend, if you have two of anything, chances are one of them is going to hurt when you get up in the morning. But you have to get up and move beyond the pain. If you want to stay young, you have to think young.
Having a sense of wonder, a sense of humor, and a sense of curiosity--these are my tonic. They keep me young, childlike, open to new people and things, ready for another adventure.
I never want to be an old fuddy-duddy; I hold the self-proclaimed record for being the World's Oldest Living Teenager and I intend to keep it that way.
This woman is a fashion icon in her nineties!
Here are some words of advice to youngsters like me--women only on the cusp of seventy:
When you get older, as I often paraphrase an old family friend, if you have two of anything, chances are one of them is going to hurt when you get up in the morning. But you have to get up and move beyond the pain. If you want to stay young, you have to think young.
Having a sense of wonder, a sense of humor, and a sense of curiosity--these are my tonic. They keep me young, childlike, open to new people and things, ready for another adventure.
I never want to be an old fuddy-duddy; I hold the self-proclaimed record for being the World's Oldest Living Teenager and I intend to keep it that way.
iPhone Photography School.
Several years ago, before iPhones, Lea and I took a class in digital photography at the Southwest Crafts Center. (I had taken one many years before there, taught by Trish Simonite, and it was excellent!)
Lea and I walked in with our little tiny digital cameras and everyone else came in with great big cameras and extra lenses and we felt, well, small.
That particular teacher was disorganized and focused mostly on the big camera people and we were, well, ignored. I never did master that little Sony or whatever it was.
Well, here's the good news I just discovered today: An excellent online photography class for iPhone picture taking!
It costs $97 with a 30-day-money-back guarantee: iPhone Photography School. Google it and sign up today if you want to learn all the cool things you can do with your iPhone. I'm just on module #1 (there are 8 modules) and I've already learned so many things I didn't know the iPhone would do. The teacher is excellent and he gives you a whole book you can print out to go along with the lectures.
I'd thought about taking a camera class at the camera store, but the cost is $60 an hour. This is really a bargain if you're looking for ways to take better pictures with the phone you probably have with you all the time. Once you sign up for the class, you can watch it again and again, as many times as you like.
You can also email the teacher: Emil Pakarkles: emil@iphonephotographyschool.com
Lea and I walked in with our little tiny digital cameras and everyone else came in with great big cameras and extra lenses and we felt, well, small.
That particular teacher was disorganized and focused mostly on the big camera people and we were, well, ignored. I never did master that little Sony or whatever it was.
Well, here's the good news I just discovered today: An excellent online photography class for iPhone picture taking!
It costs $97 with a 30-day-money-back guarantee: iPhone Photography School. Google it and sign up today if you want to learn all the cool things you can do with your iPhone. I'm just on module #1 (there are 8 modules) and I've already learned so many things I didn't know the iPhone would do. The teacher is excellent and he gives you a whole book you can print out to go along with the lectures.
I'd thought about taking a camera class at the camera store, but the cost is $60 an hour. This is really a bargain if you're looking for ways to take better pictures with the phone you probably have with you all the time. Once you sign up for the class, you can watch it again and again, as many times as you like.
You can also email the teacher: Emil Pakarkles: emil@iphonephotographyschool.com
Sunday, April 1, 2018
Hank Hung The Moon
On the road, I'm not particularly concerned about getting anywhere. The Middle of Nowhere is the way and the destination. Cities overwhelm me, but small towns and roadsides put everything in human scale--or at least in a scale I can manage to take in.
Those of us who grew up in small towns and rural areas love the symmetry of furrows and orchards, red dirt roads, ditches, old cemeteries, rusted tractors that remind us of our grandfathers'....
While we don't like to romanticize The South, and we never met a good Southern book by a non-Southerner, we love to encounter the real South put into words by someone who knows it like we do.
At Conundrums Book Store in St. Francisville, I bought a book called Hank Hung The Moon by a writer named Rheta Grimsley Johnson who lived a lot of her life in South Georgia, Florida and Alabama about the time Betty and Bob and I were growing up in Cochran.
It's about Hank Williams, who died at 29 and lives on and on in all of us who loved his music, but it's about a familiar time and place she describes so well it takes my breath away!
Especially to Nellie, Betty, Carlene, Lea, and Bob--this book might just be the next book you want to read!
Some cuttings I can't resist sharing, putting some lines in bold so you won't miss 'em.
As children, my sisters and I would use a stick to draw a hop-scotch board in the white sand just beyond the front gate, using ubiquitous, small red rocks chock full of iron as our markers. Often, we'd climb the mimosa that grew just outside the kitchen window, inventing elaborate games that made good use of its powder-puff pink blooms. There were blackberries to pick all along the dirt road in the summertime, and at Christmas a poinsettia bloomed in the chimney corner. By the time we came along it seemed an idyllic place to grow up, a cacophony of sounds and smells that blended together in some rural recipe and came out as "home."
In Chapter Two, the author tells us about the visiting music teacher at her elementary school:
A special, visiting music teacher made the rounds, weaving her way down the hallway on stilettos, beaming a fluorescent smile at all of us expectant children tucked like crabs into the shells of individual blond desks. Maybe she longed to be elsewhere, performing on Broadway, or at least on a stage not defined by a linoleum rug. You wouldn't have known it, though. Southern women of the early Sixties were conditioned to act like they loved whatever they were doing, whether it was ringing a doorbell with your Avon order or dishing out fish sticks in a school cafeteria. A Southern woman put her best foot forward, made lemonade from lemons, bloomed where she was planted.
And so the poor woman smiled.
From second grade through sixth, I attended Dalraida Elementary School in Montgomery, a typical red brick maze of an institution ruled by women and shaded by pines. It took up a suburban block right out of Ozzie and Harriet, if Ozzie and Harriet had had a little less money and lived near an airfield. I loved the school, and felt exceedingly safe there, from morning til 3 o'clock dismissal....It was a forgotten time long ago, before bullies and bullets enrolled in elementary schools, and before the music died.
Those of us who grew up in small towns and rural areas love the symmetry of furrows and orchards, red dirt roads, ditches, old cemeteries, rusted tractors that remind us of our grandfathers'....
While we don't like to romanticize The South, and we never met a good Southern book by a non-Southerner, we love to encounter the real South put into words by someone who knows it like we do.
At Conundrums Book Store in St. Francisville, I bought a book called Hank Hung The Moon by a writer named Rheta Grimsley Johnson who lived a lot of her life in South Georgia, Florida and Alabama about the time Betty and Bob and I were growing up in Cochran.
It's about Hank Williams, who died at 29 and lives on and on in all of us who loved his music, but it's about a familiar time and place she describes so well it takes my breath away!
Especially to Nellie, Betty, Carlene, Lea, and Bob--this book might just be the next book you want to read!
Some cuttings I can't resist sharing, putting some lines in bold so you won't miss 'em.
As children, my sisters and I would use a stick to draw a hop-scotch board in the white sand just beyond the front gate, using ubiquitous, small red rocks chock full of iron as our markers. Often, we'd climb the mimosa that grew just outside the kitchen window, inventing elaborate games that made good use of its powder-puff pink blooms. There were blackberries to pick all along the dirt road in the summertime, and at Christmas a poinsettia bloomed in the chimney corner. By the time we came along it seemed an idyllic place to grow up, a cacophony of sounds and smells that blended together in some rural recipe and came out as "home."
In Chapter Two, the author tells us about the visiting music teacher at her elementary school:
A special, visiting music teacher made the rounds, weaving her way down the hallway on stilettos, beaming a fluorescent smile at all of us expectant children tucked like crabs into the shells of individual blond desks. Maybe she longed to be elsewhere, performing on Broadway, or at least on a stage not defined by a linoleum rug. You wouldn't have known it, though. Southern women of the early Sixties were conditioned to act like they loved whatever they were doing, whether it was ringing a doorbell with your Avon order or dishing out fish sticks in a school cafeteria. A Southern woman put her best foot forward, made lemonade from lemons, bloomed where she was planted.
And so the poor woman smiled.
From second grade through sixth, I attended Dalraida Elementary School in Montgomery, a typical red brick maze of an institution ruled by women and shaded by pines. It took up a suburban block right out of Ozzie and Harriet, if Ozzie and Harriet had had a little less money and lived near an airfield. I loved the school, and felt exceedingly safe there, from morning til 3 o'clock dismissal....It was a forgotten time long ago, before bullies and bullets enrolled in elementary schools, and before the music died.
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