Infrared – Voila′

First infrared photograph

I am now equipped, if not licensed, to record  invisible light. The 20D Canon camera I sent to LifePixel to be converted for infrared has been returned.  The first photo I took with it (opening photo) certainly doesn’t look very mysterious. The candlestick and bowl were not invisible when I took the picture of them, and there was nothing I wasn’t expecting to see in the file when I opened it up on the computer.  So what’s the big mystery?

I intend to find out! My first shots with the new camera, after my Misadventures in Infrared in January, relieved my fears that I had just wasted a ton of money on something I was not going to like very much. Someone  among the ranks of scientists, climatologists, astronomers, designers of infrared homing, heating and night vision equipment and digital computer geeks, stumbled upon the fact that some people (me) want to use the tools of infrared to create pretty pictures, but are not capable of talking about microns of lightwaves at the atomic level.  There is plenty of information on Google for the micron-minded. I found a NASA publication for kids that has a good description of the science of infrared, but my chosen way to go is to take a picture, and see what I get. Without digital photography, LifePixel and teacher Deb Sandidge, this wouldn’t be possible for me.

My second infrared photo was of Pothos leaves cascading over a column plant stand. It didn’t take a scientific explanation to tell me that what I normally see as green is going to have a whitish glow in infrared. I can’t wait to carry the experimentation outdoors. I wonder what my shots will look like, since there isn’t much green to be seen outside yet. I’ll soon find out. In this way, I will back into the science of it all, by seeing what happens first. Or, maybe I’ll skip the science completely. I don’t have to learn things I’m not interested in anymore, now that I’m retired (at a very young age, of course).

IR Pothos - Out of the camera image

Almost on the same day that my IR camera arrived, I got a notice that there was a new version of the Topaz Adjust filter ready to download. This is a fantastic filter that I use all the time, and I was happy to try out the new version on my infrared photograph.

The four versions of my Pothos shot that follow have had different presets of Topaz Adjust 4 applied to them. There are also sliders that allow adjustments to the presets, or that may be used alone to achieve different effects. I cannot choose a favorite among them, although today I’m leaning to the Dark Ghostly version. I don’t think there is any invisible implication to that, but, so far, there is no camera converted for the purpose of seeing into the mind, so I can’t be sure!

Intrared Pothos with Topaz Adjust 4 Painting Venice preset

Infrared Pothos with Topaz Adjust 4 Dark Ghostly preset.

Infrared Pothos with Topaz Adjust 4 Psychedelic preset.

Infrared Pothos with Topaz Adjust 4 Dramatic preset.

If anyone has a favorite among these four versions, I would be very interested to know what it is.

Journeys

Union Station Clock Tower with Mercury on the very top.

On Art Day a few weeks ago, my friend and I found ourselves inside Nashville’s Union Station, comtemplating the journeys that had begun and ended there. Nashville’s landmark Romanesque building has been on a journey of its own, from its heyday when rails were king, to present day historic hotel.

On the very top of the Union Station clock tower is Mercury, Roman god of the wind, who has, ironically, been toppled from his perch twice in wind storms. I never saw the first bronze statue of Mercury, which was blown down in the early fifties. A flat, painted trompe l’oeil substitute was put back up in the nineties, but was no match for the tornado of 1998. I don’t know when Mercury returned for the third time, but I’m glad he’s back. A journey will lead in unknown directions, and  travelers will always be in need of a patron messenger from the gods.

Frist Center for the Visual Arts, brochure cover art by architect, Seab Tuck

The Frist Center for the Visual Arts is next door to Union Station, and was the destination of our Art Day this week. The gods were smiling on Nashville when a committee of its citizens first envisioned a major visual arts facility for the city, and further, saw that the beautiful Art Deco Post Office building, abandoned for a larger campus in 1986, would be the perfect place for such a project.

Design motifs in the 1933 Art Deco Post Office.

Art Deco design in the stairway from the parking lot to the Frist, with the Union Station clock tower in the background.

I go to the Frist often. I have my own piece of marble, removed from the actual building during renovation, and given to charter members on the grand opening day, April 8, 2001. There is no permanent art collection at the Frist, but the wide variety of visiting exhibits is remarkable. Education is an important focus, with classes, lectures and a hands-on Art Quest Gallery where children and adults alike can make a print, a collage, build a clay pot, paint to music, and even put their artwork into their own on-line portfolios.

The main exhibit that we went to see on our Art Day was Masterpieces of European Painting from el Museo de Arte de Ponce. On view at the same time was an exhibit that couldn’t have been more different. Korean artist U-Ram Choe’s mechanical sculptures are made of metal sections, which are joined into intricate models of the internal structures of prehistoric plants, insects, and fish. Motors, heat and light sensors make the sculptures flicker and open and close like flowers and wings. The masterpieces and the Surrealist sculptures, so different, yet each an artistic journey of discovery for the creators.

Lady in Blue Satin, Rogelio de Egusquiza Barrena, 1873

In the second floor gallery the exhibit was Heroes: Mortals and Myths in Ancient Greece. That would include Mercury’s Greek counterpart, Hermes, another interpreter whose job it was to bridge the boundaries between the known and unknown, between mortal and god. Tales of the Heroes were told through picture stories painted on the famous ancient Greek red and black figure ware. More vessels survived their journeys through the centuries than you would believe possible!

Part of a Grecian Urn

At the end of the Heroes exhibit, we took a quiz designed to show which god or goddess we were most like. The quiz results matched me with Odysseus. The face on his statue does show a slightly worried expression. I feel an affinity in that respect, but, I would rather have been a match to Athena, whose qualities of creativity, helpfulness and loyalty are more desirable than cunning, deceitfulness and cruelty. Athena was known for her willingness to help friends and family resolve their arguments. That means she was a peacemaker, which is admirable. That spear she always carried must have been to assist her when her mediation skills were called upon!

Odysseus looks a little worried.

Upon further thought, of course, our private journeys, and the way we meet the Cyclopses and Sirens along the way, make us all a match to Odysseus. We may not think of ourselves as the celebrated traveler that he was, but we all have our odysseys. Sometimes our ship is wrecked on rocky shores, sometimes we scale the walls of Troy.

There have been several weeks since the first of the year that I feel I have been shipwrecked, complaining about the dreary weather, and lamenting my lack of plans for any photo trips. Suddenly, coming out of the Frist after enjoying the exhibits, and looking over at Union Station, I felt energized. The clues and evidence of great adventures of time and place were all around us in history, architecture, paintings and sculpture. I was ready to put on my pilos (traveler’s cap) and leave the glum mood behind. Luis Ferre, who had collected the works seen in the Frist’s Masterpiece exhibit believed that seeing original works of art could inspire a person to do great things every day. I believe he was right!

There is so much to see, to enjoy, to photograph, to learn. A hundred and twenty-five years ago, a Grecian urn, just like the ones in the Frist gallery, inspired Keats to journey to the interior of his mind to  reveal his thoughts on nature, beauty and art. We all need to make our own journeys to figure out what in the world he meant when he said, all we really need to know is that truth is beauty, beauty truth. Maybe Mercury, as the interpreter for the gods, could reveal the hidden mystery of those words on his next journey down from the top of that clock tower?

I took a few pictures as we headed to the car, to celebrate the return of my enthusiasm. I would say it was just spring fever, but the temperature was still in the thirties. I think the winter doldrums are over!

Tables and chairs, and their shadows, on the back patio of the Frist.

Frist Center restaurant window patterns

Homecoming

Welcome home, Mom. What did you do with Walker's birthdays?

She came home last night after a six day trip, and William, 6, and Walker, 3, are happy little boys. They missed her so much!

The rest of us missed her, too. It turns out that it takes three of us to accomplish what one of her can do. We had a fairly detailed (read mind boggling) list of who had to be where, when, wearing what. School hours were already erratic due to teacher conferences, then the whole schedule had to be thrown out the window when we got an ice storm overnight on Sunday. The scheduled babysitter had to stay home with her own kids when school was cancelled. We adjusted. We can be flexible. Not that we want to be so good at the job that she feels she can go away for six days again soon!

I was just as happy to have the boys stay at my house on the snow day, as I still don’t love driving my Corolla, even though I took it in for the recall to fix the sticking accelerator last Saturday. They told me then to watch for my next recall letter which will fix the gas pedal enwrapping floor mats, and also will set the computer to make braking action take precedence over accelerator action. That seems like a great idea. Now I hear on the news that my car has a potential steering problem that will also be addressed by yet another recall. My confidence in Toyota is not being won back.

The routine at my house when the boys are here has transitioned as they have grown. William’s Mom told him once that he had to be prepared to play something else because I couldn’t always give up my computer to him. He told her, “Don’t worry, Mom, we have it worked out.” The compromise consisted of me giving up the computer when he wanted to play Poptropica, and moving to CNN on TV. When he got tired of Poptropica, I would switch the TV to his channel, or to the Wii, and return to the computer. It was all very amicable, and, indeed, we did have it worked out. Now Walker has become proficient on the computer, so the two of them are working it out, leaving Nana-K without either a computer or a TV! Oh well, I probably wouldn’t voluntarily go through all those messy drawers and stacks of papers, so I’m getting a lot of cleaning done while they are occupied with MY toys.

Maybe I can get him to write my blog for me, since he spends so much time on my computer.

William engrossed in playing the Wii. I tell myself it's much healthier to have my CNN watching time curtailed.

I went with William to school Tuesday morning because they were having their Mardi Gras celebration, and I wanted to take pictures for Mom to see when she got home.

My kindergarten teacher never looked like this! She's leading the children in singing Eiko! Eiko!

The children eat their King Cake, and crown the king and queen. Each child made his own mask.

William sorts his beads in preparation for the parade through school. Boys and girls, show me how you throw the beads TO someone, rather than AT someone.

The children line up to begin the parade. Boys and girls, if you can't see with your masks over your faces, push them up on top of your heads. They had THAT figured out already.

I spent a lot of time with Walker, who, even if William says he isn’t as hilarious as we think he is, is still very funny. He loves to play hide and seek, and laughs like a crazy man when he is found. He’s not very good at finding hiding places, so he takes suggestions, and still thinks it is uproariously funny when you find him. Through his laughter he tells you he, “really found a hard one this time!”

Walker's laugh is infectious.

I marvel, as I have with all of the children, when Walker talks. Somehow all the listening he has done in his short three years has enabled him to put words and sentences together into very big ideas, even if the pronunciation is not mainstream English yet. He’s very literal in his interpretation of what he hears, so if we aren’t careful about what we say, we often find ourselves explaining that we didn’t mean what we said, which must be confusing to a child. I chuckled, sort of, when he announced as we were driving, that pretty soon there weren’t going to be any more cars. When I asked why, he said, “Because nobody knows how to build them.” I haven’t tried to keep my laments about my Corolla’s present shortcomings out of his hearing, but he was taking it in and jumped to the conclusion about our not too distant lack of transportation all by himself.

Cars aren’t the only things he thinks we will be doing without. We also had a discussion about birthdays, and how old everyone in the family would be on his next birthday. With great excitement in my voice I told Walker he was going to be four whole years old next August! He matter-of-factly announced that he wasn’t going to have any more birthdays. When I contradicted that statement, he emphatically  told me that he was not, because his Mom said he wasn’t. Reason was not about to dislodge his certainty about that fact.

I think his Mom looks like she is about Walker’s age in this faded picture. I never took her birthdays away from her. I did tell her I didn’t want to hear her call me Mom one more time once when she was driving me nuts with incessant chatter. I didn’t know until years later that it didn’t occur to her that she was talking too much. She just couldn’t figure out what in the world I wanted her to call me if it wasn’t Mom!

"What am I supposed to call her, if she doesn't want me to call her Mom?"

We are all glad William and Walker’s Mom is home, for a lot of reasons, but especially to clear up the issue of why she  proclaimed Walker to be henceforth birthday-less. Or why he thinks she did!

I have plenty of time and unimpeded use of the computer today. I can write a blog post AND watch TV if I want to. It’s just so quiet! I think I’ll locate a few more “really hard” hiding places to suggest to Walker the next time he is here and wants to play hide-and-seek.

You Ought to be in Pictures

My new Facebook picture

Yesterday I changed my Facebook Profile Picture.

My old Facebook picture

I loved the old one. Jayne took it on one of our art days last spring, and it shows me in my favorite place, behind a camera. I wasn’t hiding, but the very activity of taking pictures does put a significant amount of glass and metal in front of your face. Hiding from pictures is the whole point of this post, and to show that I personally get the message, I have posted my new FB profile picture in large resolution right at the top of this post.

I’m not going to make the usual apologies, like, “I look horrible in this picture”, or, “I HATE to have my picture taken.” The fact is, I look much better in it than I think I really do. I cooperated fully with the photographer, and we both had fun during shooting. If anyone wants to take my picture from this moment forward, I will ignore any feelings of self-consciousness, interact cheerfully, pose patiently, turn to the best light and smile. If I make a face at the camera it will only be that I’m having fun. I’m grateful for the opportunity!

Think of all the possible reasons why we do not like to be in pictures. We hate our hair. We feel self-conscious posing. We want to stay inside the walls of our own little world and don’t like some inconsiderate photographer coming along making demands on us. We are on our way to the buffet and would rather have a buffalo wing than have a picture taken. We’re afraid we won’t like what we see. We don’t like our fat/pimples/double chin recorded for eternity. We don’t want to look silly. There is no end to the list.

These are all negative thoughts that make us shy, grumpy and unhappy, and put the kind of look on our faces that makes us HATE the pictures we are in while we look like that. A smile trumps a bad hair day every time. Someone with a positive attitude is happier than someone without, and furthermore, is more fun for everyone else to be around. If this is just too obvious, then why do so many people hate to have their pictures taken, and make faces and hide from the camera? Maybe it’s part of our genetic makeup. I asked William, when he was four years old, if I could take his picture. He could choose any place or pose he wanted. This is what I got! If I use reverse psychology and refuse to take his picture, would he start to beg me to do it?  I will not be holding my breath.

This is a four year old 'allowing' me to take his picture. He IS under that blanket.

William isn’t my only tough character. I’ve experienced an epidemic of people who have said no to the moment, when it would be more fun to say yes. Why allow negativity to be your defining response to the world? Moments of saying no to a simple thing like having a picture made add up to days, and maybe a lifetime, of closing up to the possibility of joy and fun.

Each one of us who participated in the The Mindful Eye Next Step Workshop in Savannah last October took so many people pictures, and had our own pictures taken so many times, that by the end of the week we had the positive attitude drill down pat. What a gift! Maybe it couldn’t be called a gift, since we all worked pretty hard to earn it. I’ll call it a reward.

Before the Workshop I didn’t take very many pictures of people. I had a list of negative reasons for my reluctance. It’s hard to approach strangers. I wouldn’t know what to say. Someone might say no. It’s hard enough taking pictures of family, it would be worse getting a stranger to pose. I had to work through a lot of negativity to find out that meeting strangers through my photography and being a cooperative subject myself opens doors to very nice places. It was liberating to break free. I would even say that it made me feel like I was a better person and photographer than I was before.

My new Facebook photo?  It was taken in Savannah. I didn’t have one negative or limiting thought in my head when Sasha took that picture. Is that why so many people think it is a good picture of me? If so, being in the moment for it, and saying yes, was a good thing, and proves my point that you ought to be in pictures!

Savannah is full of people who are willing to say yes, and to smile for the camera.

Cindy was perfectly willing to help me out with an assignment.

Sasha took my new FB profile picture.

A person with a dog is an instant ice breaker. I made sure the pup was thinking positive thoughts before I took his picture!

An art student sketching in Forsyth Park was engrossed in his work, but he smiled and nodded his OK to having his picture taken.

Thumbs up from Yves. That's a yes!

A man on River St. even asked me if I wanted him to stand in a different spot for the picture. The backdrop hardly matters with a smile like his.

Guitar Bob is a fixture in Savannah squares, and as cooperative and friendly as he can be. Then he'll play and sing a song for you, and you will gladly put a bill in his bucket.

This young man stood still for his picture, and then asked if we wanted him to dance for us.

He was so fast! I got a few shots as he made some incredible moves.

Ladies resting between errands around Savannah said yes. Ok, at first they said no, which turned to maybe, and then into a great picture.

Gullah Man took a lot of time allowing everyone to get a good picture of him and his rush roses.

Craig saw me with my camera and posed with Marilyn. You had to be alert to take advantage of all the people actually posing for pictures. What a difference for the photographer to be the one saying, "Wait, I'm not ready yet!"

Yes, Jan has a water bottle on her head, and I'm wearing headphones as we took pictures of ourselves in the reflection of a restaurant window. We were being silly and having fun doing it.

Another yes to a picture, and to the moment.

Unself-consciously being nice enough to let a stranger with a camera take a picture. Of course, I don't have a menacing, predator look about me. I don't think I do, anyway.

Mike, our Santa Claus being a good sport.

This is Judi, a grown woman wrapped in toilet paper in Wright Square. She was one of us. No one really paid any attention to our antics. Savannah is used to photographers!

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.