Whoa There, Little Corolla!

Toyota Corolla parked until further notice

The picture is of my 2009 Toyota Corolla.

I like, and need, to go places in my car. Often I drive my grandchildren. It has been parked in that spot in the carport since the announcement of the Unintentional Pedal Sticking Problem, except for last Tuesday when I had to keep a dental appointment. How many people like going to the dentist? A few? OK. How many like going to the dentist while driving a car whose accelerator might stick, turning the vehicle into a speeding bullet? What, no hands?

Toyota announced a fix for this Problem yesterday, some little steel thing they’re going to insert into or onto the accelerator. It will take thirty minutes, and then I can go places again, and drive my grandchildren. That makes me breathe a lot easier. Of course, it could be weeks before I get my Recall Letter. If one mechanic has sixteen thirty minute time periods in the workday, how many mechanics will it take to fix two million accelerators? That sounds like one of those wretched story problems, and I have other things on my mind at the moment, so I’ll leave the math to someone who drives a Chevrolet or a Chrysler, if there are any of those people still around.

If you drive one of the eight models of recalled cars, you have been paying close attention to the latest ubiquitous news story about, “How to Regain Control of an Accelerating Vehicle.” The problem is that there are many small, but crucial, discrepancies between them as to what exactly the steps are! I would feel more confidant in my ability to control my rogue vehicle if Toyota would issue us all some stirrups, reins and a bit.

If you were trying to bring a horse under control, the steps are intuitive. You don’t have to make any decision about whether to brace yourself with one foot or two, or to pump the reins versus a steady pull. You don’t have to take your eyes off the horse to find neutral on the gear box, try to remember whether  you turn the key forward or back to get to the accessory position, or whether you apply the brake before you shift to neutral or vice versa. I’ve watched those old Westerns. I’ve seen a spooked horse run over the edge of a cliff, but most of the time they just get tired of running and stop in the desert beside a rock or a stream. Gus and Woodrow had time to swear non-stop at all their runaway  horses. There was no sitting in helpless terror while the  horse got going to 120 MPH, or until the inevitable crash or rollover. I cannot imagine a horse careening out of control in the Kroger parking lot, or during rush hour when traffic is pouring out of Nashville onto I-24.

It’s not that I’m advocating a return to the horse and buggy. My point is that we operate complicated cars without being equipped, trained or qualified to get them back on track if something like this pedal problem occurs while we are driving them. It would be nice to be able to do something a little more proactive than just hoping for the best. Some of the talk in the past few days has been that the increasingly computerized functions of all of our cars, not just Toyotas, might be affected by cell towers and other magnetic fields. We had all better learn, and practice, what to do in case of an accelerator gone wild.

Questions about what Toyota knew, and when, are still to be answered. I do know that truth, promptly spoken, is the best policy, period. The day of the recall announcement, I called my dealer. I was told that recall letters would be going out to Camry owners in three weeks, and to Corolla owners two to three weeks after that, and not to bring my car in until I had the letter in hand. Now I know that that was before Toyota even knew what the fix would be and what cars would be first, or even whether cars on the lots or owned vehicles would be first. Was I told an outright lie? A half truth? Was it wishful thinking? A ploy to get rid of the problem of too many people calling in upset? It was a mistake, for sure. I wouldn’t turn on Toyota because of the accelerator problem. They didn’t create it to make me mad, or scared, or to inconvenience me, but I will go out of my way to keep from dealing with people or companies do not tell me the truth.

There are going to be some times when I have no choice but to drive my Corolla before it is fixed. I think I can remember the steps suggested by Consumer Reports to regain control of my vehicle should it begin to accelerate without my permission.

BRAKE FIRMLY. DO NOT PUMP THE BRAKES.

PUT THE CAR INTO NEUTRAL. On most automatic transmissions, this means moving the selection lever one notch toward park.

ONCE THE CAR IS STOPPED, TURN OFF THE IGNITION.

The article also wisely suggests that because many drivers are not accustomed to putting their cars in neutral, that they should try out the maneuver in a safe place, like an empty parking lot. I think I’ll wait on that until the six inches of ice and snow have melted from the roadway. I might get my Defensive Snow Driving Techniques confused with my Defensive Stuck Accelerator Driving Techniques. If I pump the brakes when I should be mashing, I could become airborne, and I just don’t have the confidence of a Captain Sullenberger that I could land a Corolla safely on Dillard’s parking deck.

Basicly, I’m a big Chicken, with no desire to play it.

Clips from the Pokey Cam

Pokey

Janet asked me last week when I was going to write the Pokey blog, as I had done with Josie and Sammy. Since she is ready, the time has come to remember another special little dog that we lost in 2009.  We will do that by reviewing the Pokey Cam.

Beagle found in median of I-65

In July of 2000, a Nashville woman risked her life to rescue a small Beagle from the median of I-65, taking him to Dr. Janet for examination. Uncontrollable trembling and lack of the energy to even open his eyes led Dr. Janet to a diagnosis of extreme fright and hypothyroidism.

Beagle finds a home, gets a name

The rescued Beagle joined a long list of broken pups brought to Dr. Janet in need of her veterinary skill – Clover for a hip replacement, Bagel to have an eye replaced in the socket, Slim to be saved  from starvation by an abusive owner. Clover, Bagel and Slim were adopted out to good homes. Dr. Janet, in need of a friend herself during a time of personal trouble, ministered to the little Beagle and took him into her heart and home, and once again demonstrated her ability to assign the perfect name by calling him Pokey.

Pokey accompanies owner to work, and becomes a star on the Pokey Cam

Dr. Janet began taking Pokey to work with her every day. This was not a problem in a veterinary clinic, and probably not most other  places, as Pokey’s nine to five involved one hundred percent sleep, in spite of successful treatment of his barely functioning thyroid. The clinic was where Pokey was first observed and recorded on the ‘Pokey Cam’. The Cam was not real, but the updates were. “No movement from Pokey in six hours and twenty-eight minutes.” “Pokey thrashed in his sleep at 1o:03 AM.” “One eye half open at 12:16 PM.” “1:00 PM Pokey sleeping on right side.” “3:30 PM Pokey sleeping on left side.”

Pokey’s waking moments

There is not so much to report of Pokey’s waking moments. Storms could cause wakefulness since he was terrified of them, but the clinic techs hung surgical drapes around his bed so he could hide in the Pokey Storm Shelter.

A consistent pattern of hours of sleep, interspersed with minutes of wakefulness emerged. Sleep involved, well, sleep. Wakefulness, in addition to  storm alerts, might include breaking out of the fence to wander the neighborhood, joining forces with his step-brother on chipmunk search and destroy missions, digging holes in the yard, collecting disgusting things from the yard to drag into the holes, and other gross and/or inappropriate behavior, none of which was of lengthy duration.

Pokey in a rare wakeful moment

Pokey accompanies owner to Pet Emergency Clinic, and becomes a legend

Dr. Janet served as the Pet Emergency Clinic veterinarian on many weekends. Pokey went with her, as usual, and was always very comfortable in his Emergency Clinic bed.

One night a woman arrived with her children in tow carrying a box of four baby rabbits. They didn’t know that they shouldn’t have removed the babies or even touched them, because the mother would most likely return, and would not like the scent of humans on them. Clinic policy was to keep the animals until they could be given to Walden’s Puddle to foster and return to the wild. The woman felt terrible, but said she was glad they would be in good hands, and she would call back to check on them.

The emergency techs, always amused by Pokey’s endless sleep, thought it would be funny to pass the box of rabbits in front of his nose, just to see if he would open at least one eye. Now, I’m only a layman, but alarm bells would have been ringing loudly. Rabbit? Beagle? Are you kidding?

Pokey didn’t bother to open an eye, or, if he did it was too fast to be seen, before his face was in the box of four bunnies, he made sounds that are difficult to portray with a twenty-six letter alphabet, and then, faster than a Beagle can eat a rabbit, there was a box of three bunnies.

Now, sure, this is tragic for the rabbit, but don’t tell me this doesn’t make you laugh. I won’t believe you. It is a sad story, although my sympathy for rabbits in general has worn thin since they eat everything I plant in my yard right down to the dirt line, but all the elements together, to me, make for a big laugh. Pokey, the sleeping giant, the animal professionals who should have known better, and then add in the lady who called back to check on the four baby bunnies she had “rescued”, only to be told she was mistaken, there were only three bunnies, but they were doing fine, all have starring roles in this saga.

The Pokey Cam goes dark

Pokey’s passing in October made Janet very sad. Since he had come to her as a rescue, his age was unknown, but clues led her to believe he was around sixteen. It was hard to let him go because he had been there with her through some rough times, and he was the kind of dog who liked being quietly held and snuggled. Sleep is especially nice under those conditions.

For Christmas, I gave Janet two photos I had painted of Pokey. I thought she would be amazed that I had taken pictures of him when he was actually awake, but I should have warned her what was inside before she opened the package. She started to cry, and had to excuse herself from the scene of present opening bedlam, leaving me in the room with shouts of, “Scrooge!,”, and, “Way to go, Mom, you made her cry!”

Sleepy little Pokey made a big impact with his life.

It’s all right there on the Pokey Cam.

Art Day

Night motion blur, Union Station, Nashville, TN

Art Day – Morning

Jayne and I were finally able to fit in an Art Day. We used to have them regularly, but last year some extraordinary family needs came first and Art Days were postponed. Not cancelled! Thursday of last week become free for both of us, and we began planning our day. You would have thought we were undertaking an expedition to the Antarctic from all the messages back and forth.

In the past we have gone to various locations around town to sketch, set up still lifes at each other’s houses, taken classes, visited art galleries, experimented with new techniques, and contributed to the delinquency of an artist by encouraging purchases at the art supply store, as though either one of us was lacking any item available there! This week we suggested and rejected so many ideas, and spent so much time studying the weather report, that finally we just gave up and decided we would, appropriately for Art Day,  get our toes painted, and then plan what to do from there. Giving yourself a pedicure isn’t so hard, but nothing can beat a foot massage, and I have no color at home that comes close to the new OPI Alice in Wonderland nail color, “Off With her Red.”

Getting toes painted for 'Art Day'.

As soon as our polish was dry, we put on our shoes and headed out to find lunch. Jayne mentioned that she had never been to the Green Hills Whole Foods, so that became the next stop on our Art Day agenda. The special at the little lunch bar looked appetizing, and there was a nice view of the cheese, oil and vinegar displays. There is an artfulness to Whole Foods that fit with our theme of the day.

And there were olives....

....and, pickles.

One could almost imagine liking to cook while browsing Whole Foods. But, then, to save you from yourself, there are dozens of prepared  foods to take home, requiring only the, you know, Whole Paycheck! And the flowers! Gorgeous! Tulips and daffodils to put Spring right in your life on a rainy, January day.

Buckets of Daffodils

.....and yellow Tulips.....

.....and red Tulips.....

.....and red Dahlias.

We passed a Chow waiting patiently for its person as we strolled out of Whole Foods and headed for the other end of the shopping mall.

Patient Pup

Looking for pictures as I shop is more fun even than looking for bargains, although I did find a bargain at Anthropologie. I also found this interesting door, so put a win in the bargain, AND in the photo columns!

Wooden Door to Anthropologie

And here’s my bargain bracelet! $68 marked down to $9.98!  If it had been $10, I could have left it in the store. Now, I have to buy something to wear it with. And then I have to find some place to go to wear it. Well, maybe it will just be a photo prop.  Or, I can hang onto it until Celeste is old enough to play dress-ups. Let’s see, she’s fourteen months old now, so….

Jeweled Bracelet

Serious bling

Art Day – Afternoon

Art Day was a success already and we hadn’t even settled on our formal Art Destination. We had painted toes, photographs and priceless jewels, and we still had a few hours before the duties of home and family called. After a brief meeting of our committee of two, we made the decision to head for Union Station, where Jayne would draw, and I would take more pictures. My drawing skills are so rusty, that I need a complete WD-40 treatment on my hand and finger joints before attempting to draw again! The only treatment I know for rusty hand/eye coordination is to start drawing, and I’m too busy taking pictures to do that. Use it, or lose it, applies here, too!

In addition to the distinct pleasure of seeing Union Station every time I pass it by car, I have been inside over the years for weddings, political campaigns, fund raisers, luncheons, and once to take extra keys to my husband after the valet lost his. In 1969, I was there to meet an actual train! It was one of the last trains before train traffic ceased, the building became vacant, and Nashville almost lost an icon of its history, and a beautiful building that had funneled the life of the city since 1900. It makes me shudder to think of Nashville without the presence of Union Station.

Remembering the Past – The Arrival of Dorothy

On that day in 1969, my husband, my in-laws and I stood on the back balcony of Union Station under the canopy of the now demolished Shed, said to have been an engineering marvel, in temperatures over 100 degrees, and humidity so heavy it was hard to breathe, waiting for my mother-in-law’s sister to arrive from Baton Rouge. Dorothy had never been farther from home than Mississippi, and she was coming to Nashville to meet my in-laws, and to continue on with them to their home in Michigan. We were hot, soaked with sweat, and waiting, waiting for a train that, it seemed, was never going to reach Nashville. Finally it pulled in, chugging and coughing, and shortly after Aunt Dorothy descended the stairs from the coach car on the arm of her dutiful son, who had accompanied her on this leg of her journey. She was wearing a hat and gloves, and had a coat folded over her arm! My father-in-law stopped in the tracks of the impatient pacing that had kept him occupied, while the rest of us had waited and tried hard not to move at all, to ask the completely exasperated, rhetorical question, “When is Dorothy going to join the Twentieth Century?” The answer, we now know, in 2010, was, never.

All attention was riveted on her. She waved slowly, like arriving royalty did in the old movie news clips. As she walked toward the terminal, she passed a wagon parked between the tracks, holding a block of ice as big as a refrigerator. Was it waiting to be loaded on the dining car? Whatever its purpose, the sight of it was a throwback to another age even in 1969, and the perfect backdrop to the time warp that Dorothy’s Arrival had animated. She herself gave no indication that she noticed the ice block, or the oppressive heat.

How I wish there were photos. I didn’t appreciate it then, but that scene couldn’t happen very many times again.  It was the tail end of several ways of life that do not exist any more. Sometimes in Nashville, there is a hot, humid day just like that one. That part hasn’t changed, and I haven’t learned to ignore it like Dorothy did!

Nashville Union Station, now a Wyndham Historic Hotel

Diptych of the lobby wall and the center medallion of one of five floor rugs.

Barrel vaulted ceiling, Union Station, Nashville, TN

Lobby details, Union Station

Light fixture, Union Station Lobby

Marble floor detail, Union Station

Wall detail, Union Station

I am still lost in thoughts of that hot day so long ago. The train terminal then looked far different from today. I remember it being vast, dark, and echoing, and filled with hard, gray surfaces. It’s still the same size, but the hotel lobby furniture and rugs make it seem intimate. Light streams in through the stained glass in the barrel vault roof, which was probably blocked by seventy years of collected grime in 1969. The stained glass in the semi-circular windows around the outside walls casts dancing colored lights into every  corner. The gray surfaces have been cleaned and painted to reveal colorful marble patterns and gilt, winged sculptures. The huge, gray limestone fireplace that we had passed to reach the balcony overlooking the tracks on Dorothy’s Arrival Day, had a glowing red fire in it when Jayne and I were there last week. We wondered aloud if the people who passed through Union Station in its heyday ever stopped to marvel at what they saw. Or, was such architectural beauty something they took for granted?

It was a perfect Art Day. We hope to have another one soon.

Tybee Island Sunrise

Tybee Island Sunrise

I’ve thought of my trip to Savannah for the Mindful Eye’s Next Step Photography Workshop many times since last October. Yesterday this picture of sunrise over the rocks at Tybee Island reminded me yet again of that great trip.

Before daylight on the last day of the workshop, several of us drove the short distance from Savannah to Tybee Island. It was very chilly and windy, but the wonders that greeted our eyes rewarded our efforts.

Duty Bound, Lensbaby Composer capture

Tybee Sunrise 2

Beach Reflections

On the Rocks

Smoke Signals

Did I mention it was cold? I lost valuable shooting time as I stared in disbelief at my fellow workshop classmate actually wading in the frigid water. I had to admit to myself, standing there in the sand watching Bill turn himself into an ice cube, that the limits I would go to to get a photo were definitely on the sand side of the tide line. It’s worth a visit to Bill’s blog to see the photography of one so dedicated. I think he would not object if I used the phrase one so obsessed!

Bill, out of waist deep water, and now into merely ankle deep!

THAT was refreshing!

We crazy photographers weren’t the only ones on the beach. We shared with gulls and pelicans and fishermen.

Air Traffic Patterns

The sky, the water, the sand. I'm guessing there are fish, too.

The reason the opening picture reminded me of this wonderful visit to Tybee Island is that it is a finalist in the Better Photo December Monthly Photo Contest. There were over 17,000 entries! I feel honored, and relieved that it wasn’t necessary to wade into the Atlantic Ocean in October to get the shot! I haven’t seen Bill’s pictures, but I imagine they would probably blow mine right out of the water!

Sorry. I couldn’t resist.

Misadventures in Infrared

There are no pictures to accompany this post, but, by Heaven, I better have some in about a month!

The Great Idea

In December I took a BetterPhoto class in Image Enhancement, taught by Deb Sandidge. The work done by Deb and my classmates was so inspiring, and the class was so much fun, that when the subject came up about taking Deb’s January class in infrared photography, I blithely jumped on the bandwagon.  I used my half price credit for class, so I thought I was getting a bargain in trying out something new.

My interest in infrared was not, shall I say, developed. Someone in last October’s Next Step workshop was shooting with an infrared camera. I briefly noted the weird looking trees on his LCD screen and then returned my attention to the Lensbaby I was learning to use. Deb’s infrared photography, however, is simply beautiful, and I read that you can achieve infrared by using a filter on a lens you already own. All right, then. No problem. Why not give it a try?

The Filter

Take my advice and hold on to your horses at this point. You must buy an infrared filter to fit the diameter of the lens you will be using. The lens I use most of the time is a 72mm, and the filter to fit it at B&H cost $285! I rummaged around in my camera equipment and came up with a 58mm lens that I never use, because it is isn’t a very good lens, but the filter for it only cost $52. I ordered it in preparation for class.

When the time came to do the first assignment, I whipped out the crappy lens, attached the filter, went out into the freezing cold, looked through the viewfinder and saw nothing but black. If I thought I could run outside, quickly get my shot , and then get back inside before frostbite set in, I hadn’t read the instructions very well. Since the filter is black, you have to use a tripod, compose your scene, follow a weird little checklist of camera settings, and then, finally, screw the filter on the lens and take your shot. One shot was all I was allotting for assignment #1. Great attitude!

I snapped a picture, but the LCD was as black as the filter! Nothing there! I checked the lesson and saw that you have to have lots, repeat, lots, of light. How much more light can you have than a sunlit snow scene?  Ok, I loaded the one allotted shot into Photoshop to see if Curves could coax something recognizable into it. I began to see a faint picture, but it was blood red! After a zapping with the Hue/Sat slider, I had a beautiful example of 100% digital noise. Enough of the filter business. We are not compatible.

The eBay Purchase

The next step, if you are still determined to follow the path to infrared photography, is to convert an old camera body to infrared, and then the process is more like photos that are fun to shoot. My first digital camera was a Canon Digital Rebel. Unfortunately, I sold it for $300 long ago. I found a Canon 20D on Ebay, which I won the next day for $250 plus $15 shipping. Then I began a series of emails with Mike in Florida who kept giving me reasons why I could change my mind on the purchase. He was being a responsible seller, making sure I didn’t think something was true about the camera that wasn’t, and I appreciate that, but finally I wrote, ” I want the camera! Ship!!!!”  Time was a-wasting.

It should be clear by now that learning infrared photography requires a guiding hand. I knew the camera wouldn’t be converted in time to finish class, so I went to Amazon and bought Deb’s book, Digital Infrared Photography.  Add $26 to my infrared tab. Deb has also been available through class and email to help. If I ever feel like faltering in my now burning desire to produce infrared, I have only to go back and look at her beautiful images for inspiration.

The IR Conversion

The camera arrived in three days, and I went to LifePixel’s site to place my order for infrared conversion, intending to do the paperwork quickly and then head to the UPS store to send it on its way to Wukilteo (not a misprint!), WA. To convert a Canon 20D to infrared costs $325, less a discount through Deb, plus shipping.

Before you can complete your order, you must decide which filter out of three possibilities you want them to use in your camera. I wanted all three! But I would have had to buy two more camera bodies, when I hadn’t even wanted to buy one, so I settled on the standard conversion. I can just  picture myself with three infrared cameras, one body with a Lensbaby and one with a normal lens around my neck when I go on a shoot. I wouldn’t be able to walk! Maybe I could get a scooter from the Scooter Store? The ad says it costs not one penny. You have to think of ways to economize when a whim ends up costing this much money. $16 and change to ship the Canon 20D body to Life Pixel.

The Cover-up

Whether I like it or not, infrared photography is in my future. Of course, if it doesn’t work out, Life Pixel will convert  the camera back for half the cost of the original conversion.

Susan, I had no idea about all of this when I asked you if you were interested in taking an infrared class. Honestly!

No way will I be emailing this post to any of my family to read! They do not need to know the details about what I have done for love! I do have that $52 infrared filter that I can sell. Anyone interested?

I thought so.

Writing About Writing a Blog

Whiteout

The cold snap is supposed to break today. I believe it. My outdoor thermometer has come back to life and inched past the 30 degree mark at 9:51 AM. The plumber will come this morning to investigate my leaking pipes, so I will stay home and wait for that, but, this afternoon, I’m outta here. Quite a few errands have been added to my list over the last week and a half that I have been huddled by the space heater. Cooking even seemed like a good idea, but standing in front of an oven with the door open doesn’t cook food very fast.

I’ve decided to use my last morning in the deep freeze to write a blog about why I write a blog.

Writing that first post was very much like waking up in the morning, and without meaning to do it, suddenly finding yourself flinging the covers back, and there you are – upright, feeling around the floor with your toes trying to find your slippers! I do that on a lot of mornings, and always wonder where the motivation comes from. It certainly isn’t a conscious choice to end the warm nothingness of that waking moment, and to hit the floor like there was something that had to be done right that second!

My pre-blog life was like the sleep part of that analogy, where I would vaguely wonder what all the blog fuss was about, but, like most dreams, the thought would dissipate like fog. Then I read two blogs that came in my email, saw that they were both created in WordPress, and some impulse made me throw that blanket right off of me, and sign up for a WordPress account. Before I even knew it, I was looking at a finished post and wondering how in the world that had just happened. So, one of the reasons I write a blog is that the computer made me do it.

My family reads my blog. Some of them tell me they like it. Sometimes they love it, especially when they are featured. At first I didn’t make any noise when I posted anything, afraid they would think I was being silly, or too public, or not writing well enough. After a little encouragement, however, I became a blogging menace, sending notification directly to each family member’s email address, and also reminding them of a new post when I saw them in person. For Christmas, in spite of what they might have liked to receive from me, I gave them a Blurb published copy of my blog to date. I write a blog because my family reads it. I make it difficult for them NOT to read it.

My blog is a chronicle of the things that happen in our family: the celebrations, the travels, the children growing. I add things from the past that I think the children will be interested in someday. My grandmother told me stories about her family. I asked to hear them so many times that I should be able to remember them all word for word. But, I don’t. I have made folders with each grandchild’s name, and in each goes a copy of my blog. I write a blog to record our family history.

Friends read my blog. Some of them have started blogs of their own, and it is a pleasure staying connected through their stories and the pictures they put with them. It is as though we were writing letters back and forth. Remember letters? They’re back! I write a blog for my friends.

People I do not know read my blogs. That makes me feel so literary, like a novelist writing a story  for an audience he will never see or meet. Sometimes a person I don’t know leaves me a comment, which is very exciting. Through the magic of the internet I can write a post, publish it, and in a few minutes someone I’ve never met can find it and leave a message. Although this interaction is in something of a vacuum, I still write a blog for unknown, but possible readers.

If you promise not to get too picky about spelling and grammar, I will admit to having been an English major. Writing this blog has sent me to the dictionary and style manual to refresh my memory many times. I love language, poetry and literature, and I loved every English class I ever took. An exception would be the  transformational grammar class that I sat through for an entire semester without understanding one word that was being said. The idiocy of the whole thing was highlighted when I ended up with a passing grade. I have never lost my love of the real English, the language that can be put together to tell stories capable of making a reader laugh or cry. I feel like I am back in school, in a creative writing class, when I write my blog. My old thesaurus smells a little musty, but I prefer it to  the computer thesaurus, and I have a 1966 desk edition of Funk and Wagnall’s for all those words whose spellings are, along with the answers to the Great Carnac’s questions, “kept in a mayonnaise jar outside Funk and Wagnalls’ porch”. I didn’t know that I would enjoy getting back to writing so much when I started a blog, and that it would shine a bright light on the events I chronicle. I write a blog for my own enjoyment.

I am a passionate photographer. I call my blog an art and photography journal, and it’s jam-packed with photographs. Taking pictures to go along with a story I intend to write has added a new dimension of pleasure to my photography. I write a blog so that my photographs appear somewhere in addition to my computer hard drive.

It’s 3:15 PM and 41 degrees, a tropical heat wave compared to what we have had. The plumbers are just finishing up. I’d like to have an optimistic attitude, but I’m sure we’ll be seeing them again in a few weeks.

If the plumbers had come earlier, and if I enjoyed editing as much as I enjoy writing, I could have just said I write a blog for my family to read, to chronicle events for my grandchildren to enjoy in the future, to communicate with my friends as well as people I’ve never met, and as a an enjoyable activity that exercises my brain and showcases my photography.

PS  The photo is an in-camera motion blur of a snowfall.  Snowflakes were added using downloaded Photoshop brushes by Brusheezy.

Longing for Spring, 2010

Daisy!

I’m in here!  Over here!  In the Tennessee deep freeze.  You might not be able to see me through the frost layers, but I am here.

When the Arctic blast hits, I’m inspired to go to my photo flower files to choose one to paint in Corel Painter. It’s comforting to remember, when you dress for the day starting with long underwear, all the door thresholds and window sills are barricaded with blankets and towels, and the music of the day is the hum of the little electric heater by your desk, that warm weather is not so far away. This little daisy has broken the ice bonds, and it’s shouting, “78 degrees outside! Come on out.” This is a smart little daisy. It could have said it was 85 degrees, but in Tennessee we have other problems when the temperature gets that high. Complaining about the weather, whatever it is, is a national pastime that must be celebrated.

I celebrated last year’s wintry blast by painting a purple Iris from my spring photo file. Its colder this January, so I had to draw from the summer files to get the same effect.

Longing for Spring, 2009

I’m actually starting to feel a little warm. I could remove the scarf from my neck, and maybe the outer sweater layer.

No. There’s still a cold draft around my ankles. The Daisy has served an important purpose, but I just cannot keep up the charade.

Brrrrr!

So Long, 2009, It’s Been Good to Know You

Trees in winter, Michigan, January, 2009

I mean that. Despite everything, it HAS been good to know you.

Acknowledging a year when jobs were lost, retirement funds wiped out, real estate sales almost non-existent, and personal and national debt rose as people tried to deal with the economic mess, I look back with appreciation for many things that happened in good, old 2009. There is some benefit to being brought up short on the path you thought you were following. When you can’t move ahead, there is a tendency to look more closely at where you are, and what you have. I’m looking back at the year on this last day of 2009, through pictures, as usual. My photo pal, Susan, did it in her blog, and I enjoyed the tour of 2009 from her perspective very much. She, too, could count many blessings.

The major theme of 2009, although not necessarily the most important, was, ” I’ve been everywhere, Man”! Four trips to Michigan, and there would have been five except for the blizzard that swept through Ohio on the day we were to drive there. Discretion won out over valor, and we stayed home. I wrote several posts on the Michigan trips, Tripping Along, Barton Pond & Dam, Back to the Winter, Water Wonderland, and Cedar Lake Camp. In Tripping Along, I wrote a modified version of a list of New Year’s Resolutions. The major thing was to do something creative every day. I thought there would be a mix of art and photography, but by the end of the year it was one hundred per cent photography. I wish there could be a mix, but there do not seem to be enough hours in the day. The main thing is that I kept that resolution with drawings, photos, and another year of writing this blog. Tomorrow I’ll think about my goals for 2010. After I take my two mile walk!

January in Michigan, 2009

What would Michigan be without the apple? September, 2009

In between all the trips to Michigan, we flew or drove to New Orleans, Memphis, St. Augustine, Quebec City, Chicago, Virginia and Savannah!

Jackson Square, April, 2009

Royal Street, New Orleans, April, 2009

Bourbon St., New Orleans, April, 2009

Happy Alligator, St. Augustine, April, 2009

Alligator Farm, St. Augustine, April, 2009

Quebec City, Canada, June, 2009

Chicago from Shedd Aquarium, July, 2009

Shedd Aquarium Entrance, July 2009

Shedd Aquarium lobby chandelier, July 2009

Dogwood in Roanoke, August, 2009

Blue Ridge Parkway, August, 2009

Forsyth Park, Savannah, GA, October, 2009

Guitar Bob, Ssavannah, GA, October, 2009

Flower Cart, Savannah, GA, October, 2009

Tybee Island, GA, October, 2009

You don’t have to go far away to see new things. I took my camera to many old and new places in Nashville – Downtown, Long Hunter State Park, Centennial Park, Cheekwood. Next year, thanks to the Nashville Scene and my son-in-law, I have a list of historic buildings that are in danger of destruction or neglect that I intend to photograph. I am also going to resurrect my East Nashville photography project for a very exciting reason that I will be able to write about in a few months.

Grand Ole Opry, the Ryman

Long Hunter State Park, Hermitage, TN

Centennial Park, Nashville

Cheekwood Botanical Gardens, Nashville, TN

Cheekwood Botanical Garden, Nashville, TN

I was fortunate to go on many of these photo excursions with some of my wonderful friends. That I appreciate them is an understatement. Photography is a sharing hobby. Share the results in print or on the screen. Share the process. Shoot together. Meet new friends. Learn from each other. I was lucky to do all of those things in 2009. 2010 will be a good year if that can be repeated!

My 2009 photography was influenced by several new things.  In January I took a close-up class through Better Photo.  Macro shooting is now a huge part of my photography.  Two workshops, one with Better Photo in St. Augustine, FL and one with Craig Tanner and Marti Jeffers of The Mindful Eye in Savannah, GA, inspired and gave me new directions to explore.  I used only the Lensbaby Composer lens in Savannah in order to become accustomed to it, and to take advantage of  Craig’s expertise with the Lensbaby.  I love it, and shoot with it as often as I do with my normal lenses.

Macro of Helleborus

Macro shot of Iris

Lensbaby shot of St. John the Baptist Church, Savannah, GA.

Lensbaby shot of the Tybee Island Lighthouse

The most precious moments in 2009 were being with family, and seeing my grandchildren grow up. Madelyn graduated from high school and completed a successful first semester in college. William became six, and completed his first year of school. Walker and Karsten at three, see the world through fresh and very individual eyes. They are hilarious. Celeste is one year old now, and, oh my, what a cutie! Is it bad to grow up being totally adored by everyone whose path you cross?

We were unpleasantly surprised to learn we would not be entering full time retirement in 2009. Funds saved for forty plus years were the only things that quit working. In May my husband found out he would need emergency heart by-pass surgery. Come to think of it, he hadn’t been looking so healthy last spring! The silver lining to that unpleasant ordeal is that he now feels better than he has in a long time.

So, good-bye, 2009. We’ll never meet again, but I will not forget you.

Zip Line

It was cold in middle Tennessee the Saturday after Christmas, with low forties that felt more like low twenties. No matter. There was a zip line crying out to be strung between two trees at the farm. It turned into a party, and two little boys were definitely the honorees with unlimited space to run in, “big” boys ready to swing them around and let them drive the Gator, and, ultimately, to fly through the air on the newly installed zip line.

Installing the zip line

There was quite a crowd of assistants on hand for this activity. From the picture, it looks there might be a lynching in process! But, no. Zip lines are complicated. It takes a village.

The little boys occupied their time while waiting for the zip line by chasing a plastic mat that the wind blew all over the field, and running and running. Parents call it expending energy, which is an added meaning and benefit to having tons of fun while playing hard.

Retrieving the inflatable plastic mat from the field once again.

"You're going to swing me in a minute, right?"

"You want to swing, do you?"

Finally the zip line is in operation!

Walker has a hard time holding on to the handles. He needs the chair that fits on the handle, then he can fly through the air, too!

I tried out my new Christmas gloves on this cold afternoon. What a great gift for a photographer, or a fly fisherman, which is who they are really made for. The mitten part folds back to reveal gloves without finger tips, so you can work the controls on your camera and still stay toasty warm. Perfect!  Thanks, Tensing!

Gloves for photographers, or fly fishermen.

Winter is a special time for photography if you can keep your fingers warm. I wandered away from the  zip line activity and enjoyed the December scenery at the Farm.

The barn roof has been painted red since the last time I was here.

Color is gone from the trees, but the blue and green of the water in Sulphur Creek made up for it.

The sun lit up the grassy bank between the Cumberland R. and Sulphur Cr. I emphasized the bright green by turning the image into B/W and bringing only the green back into it.

If you're willing to wade through some mud and burrs, you are rewarded with the sight of some fungi on tree trunks that look like little butterflies.

No need to wait for spring to enjoy the Farm. There are new things to see and enjoy every month. Take a picture, camp out in a tent, fly between two Cedars on a zip line, or gaze out over the Cumberland River. Two hundred and thirty Christmas Eves ago, James Robertson and his party of settlers passed this very spot in their rafts. They were only a few miles from where they would establish Fort Nashborough. It’s easy to imagine that it didn’t look very different then. Conditions were difficult for those courageous settlers, for many reasons, one of them being that they didn’t have micro fiber mittens that could turn into gloves without fingertips. I’m positive they would have loved mittens like that.

The Christmas Cook

Cranberry Nut Bread for Christmas

Last year I made some loaves of quick bread to give for Christmas. I remember it as the perfect gift, easy to make and appreciated by the recipient. Intending to repeat success, I assembled my little quick breads this morning. It has reminded me that I just do not belong in the kitchen anymore, if I ever did. I thought I used to be a passable cook, but I might be wrong about that. If the plan was to have a few hours of culinary contentment this morning, whistling a little tune like my grandmother used to while she was baking and cooking, it didn’t happen. My grandmother would not have approved of the tune I was whistling. She didn’t like us using bad language. It jarred me, too, what with it being Christmas Eve morning and all.

It’s not that anything SO bad happened. I just can’t seem to get home from the store with the right or complete ingredients. If I make a list and get everything I’m missing, then when I get ready to cook I will find out that the expiration date on my baking powder is nineteen ninety something! I’m famous, make that infamous, for substituting something I do have, for something I’m missing. It has reached the point where, even if something looks good, I see suspicious looks come over the faces of potential eaters, and then they want to know what I put in it! I can’t think of any examples because to me my substitutions make sense. Of course, sense to me means avoiding a second trip to the grocery store, so maybe the complaints I get are valid.

One thing I do know in the kitchen is that this utensil is the best chopper to be had. It was given to me by a good cook.

I now have six loaves of Cranberry Nut bread ready to go with me tomorrow to distribute Christmas morning. I would have made more, but I ran out of walnuts. I really wanted pecans to begin with, but picked up the wrong bag at Kroger. The bread looks beautiful! You can’t even tell which two I forgot to add the vanilla extract to. I debated whether to pour the two loaf pans back into the mixing bowl, or to just divide the vanilla into two half teaspoons and stir it right into the batter in the pans. I’m sure I made the best choice, because you can’t tell the difference between any of them by looking. It did occur to me, as I poured batter into the pans, that it was strange there was no vanilla extract in the recipe. Sure enough, when I checked, someone had written in 1 teas. vanilla extract since the last time I looked at it.

They look good to me.

I think it’s hopeless. My mind is on other things, and just doesn’t seem big enough to include cooking. It is an art, just like photography, but it’s not my medium. Plus, I think I’m missing some tastebuds. I used to like garlic, and I have a handwritten recipe for an appetizer that contains anchovies, which are definitely not on my current approved food list. My husband loves them, but he opens them outside over the garbage can. That is so thoughful of him. Or, is he just trying to avoid the gagging sound?

I think of people I have known who were comfortable in the kitchen. The memories are nice. They created food that went with good times and laughter. There are only three kinds of Christmas cookies that count for me, Orange Drop, Pineapple Drop and Refrigerator Date Cartwheels. I would like to think that my Christmas presents could be tins of those cookies that my grandmother made every year. I do OK on the Orange and Pineapple Drops, but the Date Cartwheels are elusive. You have to know things to be successful, like chemistry, and mathematics, and operating complicated equipment like rolling pins. Hers were all the same size and shape, and the sticky date mixture never tore holes in her dough, or ran out under the cookies during baking to become fused to the pan for eternity. More than the advanced knowledge, you also need to have your mind in the right place.

What a mess, all for six little loaves of quick bread!

After I finished the quick breads, I made the pine cone cheese ball appetizer that I make every Christmas. It’s a combination of 8 oz. each of garden vegetable cream cheese and roasted garlic cream cheese, 1 cup of shredded sharp Cheddar and some chopped green onions. Then you form it into a pine cone shape and decorate it with pecan halves and some sprigs of rosemary. There was no rosemary to be had at Kroger, so I substituted thyme. It was either that or go to another store, and that didn’t make any sense to me. It doesn’t look nearly as good as if I’d had rosemary, but it does smell more like a pine cone. I’m sure I’ll hear about this tomorrow when I produce the appetizer for the brunch table! I can see from the picture that I need to go back and rearrange the pecans so that none of the cheese shows. That’s sloppy looking, and as long as I can fix it without returning to the grocery store, I’ll do it!

Pine cone cheese ball

If only my grandmother could come back and make those cookies! I could hang around and talk to her, or just listen to her whistle. I could have my camera ready and as she finished each perfect step, I could take a picture. I just don’t think I’ll ever have that sublime combination of body, mind and spirit that it takes to be the cook.