My grandson was one week old and went Trick or Treating, LOL!
My son looks so young there with his own babyface, lol. He was 21.
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Sue Sparrow
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I was thinking of you.
Better late than never, I guess. with NaNoWriMo upon me, I thought I’d best upload this stuff now, lol.
Here are some pictures from my Canada/Upstate NY trip this summer. Mr. U took me on another cruise of the St. Lawrence River. He knows I love it so, and this was a portion I didn’t get to see on the last cruise in 2006. (Stay tuned…I have a video at the end where you get a glimpse of Mr. U holding my hat because I was playing Kate Winslet playing Rose on the Titanic…except this was just a little tour boat, lol. I’m talking to you, my fellow Voxers…in the short little video.
Here are some pics. The boat:
Some lighthouses on tiny little islands. The Transit Authority erects these tall posts with platforms on them for the eagles and ospreys to build their aeries. This keeps them from building them right in the lighthouses. I apologize if some of these are blurry. I’m taking them on zoom from a moving boat.
…and in motion:
Fun boats:
and working boats:
The Smallest International Bridge. Seriously, one half of this little footbridge is in the U.S. and the other half is in Canada!
A not uncommon property of an Island owner…just enough room for the house, and only accessible by boat:
My beloved Hill Island Bridge — the last of several spans that connect his country to mine, and affords a spectacular view of the river we share as you travel across it.
…and this time I go under the bridge instead of over it.
This video I made just for y’all. I’ll give you the transcript first in case you can’t make it out, because it was a bit windy and crowded on the boat:
“Okay my fellow Voxers, here I am.
Like Kate, on The Titanic, I’m on the bow, but you can’t see me.
I have my arms out-stretched.
Mr. U’s got my hat.
Not a lot to look at yet — just a lot of shoreline and a lot of river.”
He has his shaven, summer face in the video. Normally he wears this awesome, snow-white close-cropped full beard. Like this:
*sighs*
(yes, I’m 12, lol)
Posted in Through the Lens, Travels & Sights
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Knock me over with a feather.
Here I am, minding my own business, (I wonder how many stories begin with those words) and the phone rings. I used to have to look at the handset to see who was calling, but now the phones have this lovely programmed voice to tell you who's calling. This is great because when she says, "Toll-free call" I know not to bother getting out of my chair. This time the lady says, "Ontario call." I sprang up and grabbed the phone.
It was Mr. U (for my newer neighbors, "U" stands for Unrequited. My daisy petal-pullings always end on "he loves me not.") I could tell he was on his cell phone and breaking up badly — couldn't make out anything, then the connection went dead. I know him, he will shut the phone off until he gets to higher ground, then he'll turn the phone back on and try again. No sense in me calling him. Sure enough, 10 minutes later, "Ontario call."
"Hello?" (me acting as if I don't already know who it is).
"Hello there, Lady!"
"Well, hello there yourself."
"What's new in your world?"
"Not much. You're in the fox pen, aren't you? I can hear the dogs."
"Yesss. It's snowin' and rainin', and blowin'…and colder than a coon's cootch. I'm standing on the tailgate of my truck because it's the only place I can get reception."
I giggle, " Are you inSANE!?
"Yesss, I'm insane; ye needn't ask. You know that wee stump over in the cockleburr patch by the fire pit?"
"Yes, I remember it." I knew what was coming and started to snicker.
"Aye, I was standin' on that the first time I called, tryin' to get reception. I slipped off the friggin' thing, fell on my arse, and have cockleburrs up my wazoo."
I'm cackling at this point.
"Alright then you, go ahead and laugh."
I could here the mirth in his voice as he was telling all of this. Whenever I hear his Irish dialect, I'm like Morticia whenever Gomez would speak in French, lol. My heart gets all ticklish.
According to him, the point of his call was to tell me some news about a fellow beagler I am writing an article on (something that could have waited, really) but I played along. We had a nice little chat, but he was getting cold and decided to risk the connection by going into the little primitive camper that has a woodstove and a couple of bunks. I told him it was a good idea — to go get warm. As expected, he started breaking up and eventually the phone went dead. I smiled. We've been through this before. He would crawl into a warm bunk and sleep while the dogs chased the foxes to their heart's content. We would catch up tomorrow via email.
I'd just poured myself another glass of merlot when the phone rang. "Ontario call."
"No way," I thought.
"Hello there agin."
"Hello! You must be getting reception from the stove pipe acting as an antenna."
"No, I'm back oowt here standing on the tailgate."
"You're crazy. You should be in where it's warm and dry."
"A'yes, (pronounced 'Aye, yes' as one word) " so there's nothing new going on with you?"
Sheez…do I tell him? It will probably make him clam up and ruin his jovial mood, but I have a hard time keeping things from him.
"Well, okay. I'm doing this thing starting in November; I just signed up for it."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, it called NaNoWriMo. It stands for National Novel Writing Month. You have to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. Quality's not important — word count is everything, and hopefully you have enough material to tell a story."
(Here's comes the feather.)
"That shouldn't be too tough for you. All you have to do is write about the last eight years or so of your life."
*THUD*
I published my magazine for 5 years, then the following three until now has been my struggles to cope with the loss of my marriage and magazine, the death of my mother, constant feelings of rejection…but mostly it's been this back and forth emotional rollercoaster ride with him. And, we are not allowed to talk about "us" because there is no "us." To talk about "us" would bring on a cold shoulder that would last a month. He had to know I couldn't write about the last eight years and not write our story.
I collected myself and replied, " As a matter of fact, that's what I was going to do. Of course the names will be changed to protect the innocent, yet deeply involved…" (I cringed, waiting for the fallout).
"Yes, yes…"
"…and there will be a lot of fiction smattered throughout. A LOT."
"Yes, okay, so that's why you e-mailed me asking about the first time I saw one of your magazines."
"Yes, I needed the backstory from your point of view, but you probably won't like the ending."
"Holy snarlin', you already have the ending written?"
"I already have the title of the book. You wanna know what it is?"
I still hear mirth in his voice when he says, "I'm sure it's titled, 'Me'. Not ME-me…but you…'Me'."
"No," I replied, "it's titled 'Ontario Call'."
"Eh?"
"Yeahhh. I mean that's how this whole craziness of you and me started, you know? My phone rang one day and when I looked at the caller I.D. it said, 'Ontario call'."
"Oh, oh, okay. Yes, I get it. I'm with ya now."
"But like I said, the names will be changed; we won't be recognized or anything, and neither one of us are going to become famous…"
"Don't you worry 'bout that," he interrupted, "you just do your thing."
"Really?"
"Really. Now…I brought gloves, but they are in the camper, so I'm heading back in."
"Okay good, you stay warm, and do me a favor…please don't go do some foolish thing that will get you hurt out there all by yourself in that fox pen."
"Not much chance of that. I'm going to say goodnight my Dear Lady, and crawl into the sheets. I just called to say hello and see what you were up to."
"I'm glad you did. It was nice talking to you."
"Goodnight now."
"Goodnight."
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Not one word of that was fiction, but it did give me a chance before November 1 to practice writing dialogue…eh? And, I just wrote a little over 1000 words in right at an hour. I'd best up my pace.
(Edited because this morning I'm not so full of merlot.)
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NaNoWriMo…I must be out of my mind,
…but there are some things about this that compel me, even though it's in it's tenth year and I've only known about it for like, 5 minutes, lol. Ah so… it's good because it will pressure me to do something I've always wanted to do — write a book. This is a horrible (I mean horrible) time to take something like this on. Not only am I gone from 7 AM to 5:45 PM at my regular job, I'm about 1/3 done with my yearly stud book that's already 2 months late. All I can say is I will be going to bed early, getting up earlier, and most likely writing on my lunch hour. I guess that's not so bad. I have a structured lunch hour; if I make plans to bring my lunch and my laptop each day, I can sequester myself into one of the training rooms for the hour. I know darn well I can write a couple of thousand words in an hour if no hard editing rules apply.
One of the biggest reasons – personal reasons to do this is I think I have the material to write at least a novella, if the outline is based (more than loosely) on the chronology and events of (don't cringe) my own life (names changed to protect the innocent yet involved, of course). That, and I believe I'm at a crossroads right now where I may need to dream up my next real life moves, so some fantasy will be forthcoming, and I may have to disappoint myself to make it a good story. If it works on paper, I may take the plunge. It goes without saying the outcome will be entirely fiction as I haven't walked there yet. Much of the center will be fiction, aka "wishful thinking." Jeez, I hate being so cryptic because I basically have this thing laid out. I've been considering doing this on my own for over 2 years. I just don't want to say one thing and it morph into something totally different once the writing begins. And I don't want to tell the ending. I will tell you this much; when love disobeys the mind and mouth, it is capable of great acts of unintentional heroism. It's more about the heroism than the love.
Because I must weave fantasy into fact, and co-mingle desire with reality, I'm not exaggerating when I say the toughest part of this will be walking away with my own story straight — keeping my 2 baskets segregated, where one holds my book of dreams, and the other one holds nothing but the truth. I will need this – I will need to look into my truth basket as I go along to keep me grounded, and to keep me from believing my own fiction. I acknowledge now that for the past 3 years I have operated on unrealistic expectations, foolish optimism, and downright delusion and denial. It doesn't sting any less these days for having recognized it, but I don't want to slip back into that place. I know that writing this is playing chicken with my emotional well-being, flirting with disaster and testing my mettle…things I've always felt strangely compelled to do.
Thank you in advance to any of the few of you I added as family who choose follow along and offer tips and encouragement – even constructive criticism. I will try not to make it too boring and predictable. Just bring a strong stomach and maybe some thick skin, lol. Here's my Author #: 426761
And this, which says in 28 words what took me 3 paragraphs just now:
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When I grow up I wanna be…
…well, that's just it. I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I have some ideas, but I just can't decide. I will be 53 in less than a month, so perhaps I should make a plan and stick with it.
This is what I've been struggling with for the last 3 years. When I was in a marriage that I thought would see me through the rest of my life, there seemed to be some direction…or goal, if you will. I was publishing a magazine with the intent of selling it in 5 – 10 years, tater-holing the money into a retirement account, then working until it was time to actually retire. Then "boating and beagling" here we'd come! I had a plan.
Didn't quite work out that way, as I've mentioned before. He drove me into great debt and then left me for a gum-popping factory worker who had a big 401K. (How redneck is that? LOL. Sounds like the basis for a good country song. I'm better off.) Well, actually he asked me to leave (which I did because I didn't want that place). I sold the magazine, but it went to pay off debt. With some extremely creative financing, I managed to mortgage myself a little house in the neighborhood where I grew up because it seemed the comfortable thing to do at the time. My son owns a house paces away. My other grown son moved in with me 2 years ago. I no longer like the neighborhood, this city, or anyone in it, with the exception of my sons and grandson, and they don't like it here anymore, either. I have no other family here. My parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles have passed on. I have a sister in Phoenix and another sister in a different city. I do have a decent job here that pays my bills. The thought of walking away from that spooks me a little.
I want to move to a different part of the country and start over at something. In spite of the fact that we (the boys and I) are close, and have a potluck dinner/party-down every Sunday evening like clockwork, they would like to get out of here, too. If it happens, we won't be going in the same direction. They like Colorado, and have other family out there, and I like Upstate New York. They are all in Colorado on holidays right now. I dropped them off at the airport on Wednesday and will pick them up tomorrow night. I'm sure their lust for the Rocky Mountains will be burning stronger than ever.
So here I am, single, which is not so bad afterall. I'm finally in a place where I can shape my destiny without consulting anyone else, and I still have a few good years left, even if I don't have much money. I just don't know what I want to do. I never expected to be in this place; I didn't plan for it. I feel like I should do something "story book", you know…something like all the heroines in the novels do — strike out on my own in a new place, start a little business that flourishes because I have that knack (lol, right), meet someone when I'm not looking, and fall in love. Only problem with that is I'm still carryin' a small torch for Mr. Unrequit (not the low-down ex), and he still has no fire for me. I can't seem to find room in my heart for another man as long as he occupies it, so that sorta removes the possibility for romance, but I could certainly do the rest…if I can decide what that is, and I am able to muster the courage.
I hate the feeling of being in limbo — you know you're not where you should be, but you don't know where "should be" is. It paralyzes me.
It also takes away my enthusiasm to write. I just…don't even now what to say these days. I don't expect my Vox neighbors will enjoy this new brand of whining from me, but writing the thoughts down seems to stop them from swirling and darting around so much in my brain — I'm trying to lasso the thoughts in one place to see if I can make some sense of it. It's also a big, long-winded way of explaining my absence.
Perhaps I will change the color theme of my blog from the gray one. It's been over a year…maybe the change will inspire me.
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The Block Party
Last night was the annual Howe High School All Alumni Block Party held in Irvington — the "epicenter" of Howe Hornets — (those who graduated from Howe). Because I'm single after all these years, and I keep myself fairly isolated from humankind (outside of work), I decided to drop in on the event for the first time ever. I'm trying to keep an open mind here, do what people suggest I do, what my kids and family nag me to do, and get out there — reconnect with old friends, or perhaps meet some new people.
I'm not afraid to walk into these social situations alone and unescorted, in fact I prefer it because when I've had my fill, I can walk right back out of them. But, when I go somewhere like this unescorted, I'm painfully in the minority, and it's painfully obvious that I'm painfully in the minority. Whatever.
They blocked off Johnson street, hired a band to play the oldies from the 70's, had cafe tables and chairs in the street and sidewalks, and a wine/beer vendor on the outside deck of the Lazy Dayz Cafe. The cafe is attached to the old 3-story Irving Theatre, where as kids, for a 35-cent admission, we could watch movies and make out. There were probably 100 – 150 people there when I arrived, none of which I knew (or recognized). They either graduated a class or two ahead of me or behind me. They all looked as old as me, because 2 years difference doesn't mean much when you're 52, but it does when you only know your own graduating class. Sad thing is, I probably wouldn't recognize most of my own class now, anyway. I just never kept up with them. In fact, I didn't really keep up with "the Troop", my core of grade school friends, after we went to high school and were blended among the kids from all the surrounding grade schools. My core of friends clung together, and added some "cool" people from other grade schools to their ranks, but I kinda went off and did my own thing. We remained friendly, but I just didn't hang with them. It was the psychedelic 70's afterall, and most of them were now into "things" with which I was uncomfortable.
Those with the tribal mentality in the early years seem to always need a tribe, club, or a group in which to belong throughout their lives. It seems to always be the same people who rah-rah'ed the highschool reunions together, married people from their class, and if they divorced, would marry someone else from school. This is a big city, and it's a big world, so why? I see it as the tribal mentality. We all know people with it. They graduate high school and buy a house in the old neighborhood so they won't ever have to be far from their friends. They meet up at the Hilltop Bar every Saturday night because that's where all the Hornets hang out, now that they are old enough to drink. And they all wear their I.U. sweatshirts to watch the game on the big screen at the Hilltop…even though none of them went to I.U. It's just another way to say "I belong. I'm in the right crowd." They need the affiliation to feel whole, to be part of a team — even if the only affiliation is wearing the colors. They have never let go of high school. They are 50 years old and still can't take the training wheels off or cut the strings. Or maybe they just didn't get enough of it back then and have to keep it going.
I was asked one time if I had the opportunity to go back and do high school over again, would I? Hell, no. It's not that it was necessarily a bad experience, it wasn't. Nobody was cruel to me, I enjoyed art and athletics, being on the volleyball team, doing things with my boyfriend, (I always had a boyfriend). But to this day I will occasionally wake abruptly from a nightmare where I've dreamt I was back in high school, it's first day of classes, and I've lost my schedule; I don't know where I'm supposed to be. Then I wake up and I'm relieved that it was all a dream. I'm relieved that I never have to go back there again. I got all I wanted by 1974.
I did eventually speak to a couple of ladies from my class who recognized me – one of them being from my core of grade school friends. We exchanged pleasantries for a moment and they moved on. So I sipped on my plastic glass of wine and looked around at all of these strangers — strangers to me, anyway, but seemingly in their element. Some were dancing in the street to the band; most were huddled in little groups. I went from face to face, trying to find a reason why I should even be there. I didn't really fit in or relate with these people back when, and I have even less in common with them now. Standing alone in a crowd on that sidewalk, in that old, crumbling neighborhood was not my element. Why now would I try to resurrect a past I didn't think enough of to hang on to 35 years ago?
I wouldn't, so after a 20-minute investment in this exercise, I downed the glass of merlot, tossed the cup into a trash can, and left.
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Craig’s List Chronicals, Part II
For this installment of a dozen prospects, I thought I would check out some ads of younger men. Not that I want a boy my sons' ages, (who are 27 and 32) because that would totally squick me out, but I need some kind of baseline that might help me establish what's considered normal for the average guy out there seeking to make a connection.
I need to know if the dudes my age are just losing their ever-loving minds, or what, and I figure a man in his late twenties – early thirties should give a decent perspective, right? They are still fun-loving, but have defined themselves and have matured considerably since high school….right?
Here we go. As usual, my inner monologue is in pink:
#1. IT'S ME AGAIN – 29
Hello,
Well most of the emails I get are junk/spam. I'll just keep trying until I feel like it wont happen or I find someone. Anyways I'm just looking for a fun attractive young lady to be with. Nothing real specail just some one to enjoy life with and they enjoy life with me. Anyways if you want to chat or meet some place send me an email with your picture and we can go from there. Oh by the way I don't click on links or sign up to view a profile. Those are junk and retarted. Anyways Laters….
(Yo. well…probably just an exception. We'll try another.)
#2. MY THING – 28
Hi Ladies,
I'm a young male (27) (Wait, which is it — 27 or 28?) foot fetishist, fit, cute, and strictly speaking, very smart. I want somebody that shares my passion.
I am not explicitly looking for sex, or a relationship. What I'm trying to do is simply offer foot massage and play with your feet. (*begins to snicker*) For those women who appreciate this, please reply. If you have a hard day at work, you never know, you could be welcome to a nice foot rub here 🙂 So then I am looking for a woman (aged 18-40 that likes to be treated like a lady. Or send me a picture or two of your feet. Reply if interested and we can meet up. Totally discrete. (Discreet! Thank Gawd *fans self* …because If it ever got out that someone touched my feet, I could never show my face in this town again.)
Okay, there's no age on this one, but…
#3. MALE SEEKS WOMEN FOR SUCKELING (Ok, I just scared my cat)
I would like to meet a lady that loves to have her nipples suckeled on.. Its doesnt matter if she is lactating or not.. ('cuz he wouldn't turn down a free meal, lol) I am 6-2 200lbs (I ain't changin' THAT diaper…) brown hair blue eyes.. Your pic gets mine. Thanks for reading this and I hope this sparkes your interest.. Have a great day!!
Okay, nix the younger guys. Let's bump it up just a skoshe.
#4. HOW I TREAT A WOMAN – 43
Kiss Her
Wine Her
Dine Her
Hold Her
Surprise Her
Compliment Her
Smile at Her
Listen to Her
Encourage Her
Believe in Her
Laugh with Her
Cry with Her
Cuddle Her
Romance Her
Hold Her Hand
Open the Door for Her
Buy Her Flowers
Give Her Jewelry
Shop with Her (Okay, now he's lying)
Write Love Letters to Her
Show Her How Much She Means to Me
Go to the Ends of the Earth and Back Again for Her ! (This is a lying liar who lies, lol.)
#5. DUMB MUSCLE HUNK SEEKS GORGEOUS WOMAN FOR SEX – 45
I am a dumb as a stump High School dropout with a room temperature IQ, a menial dead-end job mopping the floors and cleaning the toilet bowls of a welfare clinic, and I'm a totally shallow, superficial, boring, and vacuous person. I have no intellectual, artistic, creative, or cultural interests, no manners, and no sense of basic etiquette. All I'm interested in is pumping iron, looking in the mirror, and sex. (Oh, oh *waves hand*…sign me up! I married 2 just like that; maybe third time’s a charm!)
#6. WILL YOU BE THE CHEESE TO MY WINE…THE SALT ON MY MARGARITA…46
the lime in my Corona?
Maybe the filling in my long johns (EWWWW! Oh wait, he means the donut) …my naughty little jelly sweet…the chili powder in my chili…the salsa in my nachos…the cocktail sauce with my shrimp…the butter on my cob of corn…
Or, the wonderfully scented perfect fitting sheets to my bed…the custom fitted socks to my feet (Do they make such a thing?) …the snug comfortable fitting gloves in the winter… the worn molded cushion in my favorite recliner… (wtf, is he gonna sit on me, lol?)
How about the dot over my i…the cross in my t…the question mark to my curiosity…the exclamation point to my excitement…the quotation marks capturing my words of wisdom…the period at the end of my sentences…
Finally, the 1/2 that will make me whole? If you're between 40-53 I encourage you to respond and be the answer to my dream… (And I suppose the pleasure is all mine… I've got a feeling the answer to this 350-lb ass's dream is a large pizza with everything, a dozen chocolate eclairs, and a mini-fridge right next to his molded recliner. Next.)
Back to men of my own age, I guess.
#7. SUNSET-GAZING ZEN TEDDY BEAR – 53
i am a peaceful comtemplative zen kind of teddy bear… who finds himself being a caregiver for his 86 year old mother (Uh oh) …and with a fulltime job friday through monday (huh?) …..I am looking for a peaceful lady-bear to share time with watching sunsets…clouds….trees….water…. (he's stoned, lol) at this time however the two sunset times are on tuesdays and wednesdays with my current schedule (I'll pencil that into my calender)….when i have completed taking care of my mother and helping her through her transition….i will be totally free and ready to start my new life with my new ladybear….. (No sweat, Yogi. How's about I just go hibernate somewhere and you come get me in the spring?)
#8. I PROMISE YOU HAVE NEVER READ ANYTHING LIKE THIS BEFORE – 53
I am curious if there are any women that read these post that were born with either, a port wine stain birthmark on their face or, a bilateral or unilateral cleft lip? Or, maybe you know a friend who has either of these? (As a matter of fact, I have a friend with one who was asked to dance by a guy with a wooden eye. There was a misunderstanding, it didn't work out.)
I'm actually more than curious. I really would like to meet a female that has experienced the affects of being born with one, or both of these situations. Please don't be shy. Drop me a email and let's compare stories. Thank you. (I am telling you, you cannot make this shit up.)
#9. WHO R U ? – 51
Do you like older men ? (I beg your pardon?)
Do you enjoy public displays of affection? (As long as is doesn't involve my feet. My reputation you know…)
What about having the door opened for you?
Some1 that can carry a conversation past "hey", and has the looks as well as charm ?
Do you enjoy your independence but still like to hear a compliment or be noticed ?
If these questions made you think twice, send me a pic & tell me about yourself.
Under 35 or over 50, married, separated, ever been married or separated, ever thought about marriage or separation, ever owned a Yugo, women need not respond. (Okay, I added the part about the Yugo.)
#10. BARE NECESSITIES – 50
Seeking an exhibitionistic gal to roam the city with. Let's look for opportunities to flash, or be totally naked in public places, where there's a risk we could be seen… (Oh how original! It's called "streaking" you fool. We did it all the time in the 70's) We'll be smart; (*snorts* Yes, this is definitely smart.) I don't want to go to jail, or end up on the sex offender registry. Let's take some risks! (Please, I'm 52. If I got caught streaking these days, I'd be arrested for Aiding a Suicide…or at the least, Causing Public to Gouge Eyes Out with a Spork. It's State Law! [/Donny Baker] )
#11. WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR? – 68
Wealthy guy seeking a travel companion. We're going to distant, tropical places., You must look good in a bikini. (And you will delight us all by wearing a Speedo, and have all 13 hairs pulled back into a ponytail, right?)
#12. HI LADIES!
I am a funny, entertaining and decent-looking guy searching the ends of the earth for a for a quick-witted gal to share good times with in a long term relationship… Okay, I haven't really gone beyond this city yet, but it is on my list… I dig all kinds of groovy music, love to cook, read business books while waiting in airports to travel to exotic locations… okay, not too many "exotic" ones lately with the economy the way it is… So, if you enjoy wine, museums, art and flavored lubricants, drop me a line and let's chat!!! (Why is there always that one. little. thing?)
*sighs*
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Faces
What do we really see? Here's something I noticed about my own face in photos that really startled me. I don't know if it falls under the subject of our Monday Musee, but it will be a good exercise if one wants to eplore it.
It takes a cooperative effort of our facial features to create a complete emotion. It's like a casserole with many ingredients — the eyes, the corners of the mouth, the brow, the cheeks. If you remove even one component, it all changes flavor. This was the picture that did it for me. Maybe because our faces are not really symmetrical, I dunno, but if you split up an expression, you'll find that it is often quite truly duplicitous.
Here's the original pic:
I wish the quality of the photo were better, but it was taken a good distance away without using the zoom. Anyway, I was told by the photographer that I had a remarkably mysterious expression, he couldn't really nail the emotion, but that I looked calm, and at peace in the woods.
Here is the same photo broken into pieces:
I guess this would be the calm, happy part — the part of me that was truly glad to be in the woods because I needed the break from the turmoil I was going thru at the time.
…and I guess this is the half that stored the reality:
Crazy.
Emily posted a picture on her blog; I hope she doesn't mind me posting it here after i played with the light/saturation/contrast feature for her. (If you'd like these, Emily, right click and snag them.) This is a different split of the face, but with the same results, IMO:
Looks like a confident, little knowing smile, eh? The eyes say, "Hee! I've got you figured out but I'm not telling."
Look again:
The little upturned corners of her mouth had set the tone for the whole picture. This crop proves to me that all ingredients considered, the eyes really are the mirror of the soul.
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Flower Maker – Monday Musee
I'm a week behind in using the flower maker, but I'm on time for Monday Musee. Woot! So here's what I did with the flower maker:
Hee! This doesn't look like any flower I've ever seen, so I guess we call them fantasy flowers, right? Here's the second attempt:
I started out going for my favorite flower, a gerbera daisy, but then just kinda went nuts. This gadget reminded me of the old Spirographs we had as kids. So after I did a few of those with less than outstanding results, I set the qty of the petal maker to 1, and just started free-handing a little with the different shapes.
…and then finally this…I guess I have them on the brain now:
Okay, Emily, what wonderful, fun little goodie did you find for us to try this week? *winks* This has been fun, and a good exercise of hand/brain/imagination.
Oops, I forgot this one. It was still sitting in the flower maker.:
Okay, one more and then I'm done. I'm closing the flower maker. I should be doing laundry:
Cheeps 