January 29, 2013

• Ramblings

  The Internet is an amazing thing. Three months ago I went online to price light boxes for my photography (well, not even ‘my’ photography; photography for friends.) Now everywhere I go on the Internet–Amazon.com, Xanga blogs, Wikipedia, facebook pages, ‘research’ look-ups–I find advertisements for light boxes. I understand why Amazon would memorize something I looked for, particularly since I never bought one (I made my own.) But Xanga? I looked up the definition of a word for Nancy, who was doing a crossword puzzle, and at the end of the blurb about what the word meant was an advert for a light box.

  Often the same light box, which is, whimsically enough, the tracing box and not the lighting aid.

  And yes, I would like one. It would go ever so nicely with my colored pencils, my paints and brushes and all of the other unused art supplies I have collected over the years. Crayons. I recently needed to through my stuff to rearrange and re-order: I have 3 collectors boxes of crayons. I love crayons. Sometimes I crack the tins just to snort crayonscent.

  Another thing I have a lot of:

  

  Isn’t he cute? Next month he will be 30. I’m sorry: 31. (He’s still cute.) Because he is the first grandchild of our sibling group I have easily a thousand photographs of this child. For some strange reason he now HATES having is picture taken.

  or this:

   

  This is a photograph of my cousin Diane. It was on the same roll of film as the photograph of my nephew. The whole family was gathered at the Mason’s building in Ashley, where she then lived. I have no idea what we/she/someone was celebrating. I also have two (not very good) photographs of a baby I do not recognize and cannot situate on my timeline (it was not be all that unusual for me to take photographs of random babies. My labeling system, on the other hand, has fallen woefully behind.)

  Or this:

   

  Yes. It’s a photograph of a baby goat. (Goats, dogs, cats and cows appear frequently in my photography. Lizards would if they were better about posing.)  My friend Carolyn Kaatz had a raft of kids (human and goat, actually,) and the kids were in 4-H and raised goats, and I went to her house and shot an entire roll of goat pictures. I wanted this goat desperately. In my mind I named him ‘Caliban’. Like puppies, kittens and calves, baby goats have an annoying habit of growing up and becoming troublesome house pets. I shot this photograph before I met Nancy, and I met Nancy in 1997.

  But,  because I have it and I have no idea what to do with it and I am deeply suspicious that no one else wants it, enjoy:

  

  Here’s looking at you.

  The thing that fascinates me about goats (but, they hop!!) is their eyes. Coin slots. My only nanny as a child was a goat. Down the road from my Dad’s house in Alabama is a field of goats, and I go visit them every time I visit him.  I am due for a goat visit.

  So to fully appreciate this post: I am sitting here at my computer, writing whimsical notes about my life as a would-be goatherd. Beside me, my partner is suggesting various behaviors that might be performed on her person while she wanders the electronic maze of the VA in order to change her mother’s address. She has spoken to 3 pre-recorded messages, she has called 5 phone numbers, she has waited politely…actually for three days now…it is a simple task, changing an address, unless, of course, you need to change your address with the VA. So every now and then I chuckle quietly at my own cleverness (such as it is) and Nancy mutters, “Oh, ____ me.” We are under flash flood warnings in January. It is 55 degrees outside this morning: it is supposed to reach about 20 degrees this evening (these transitions are never graceful, here in Michigan) and Annie begins her intermediate obedience class this evening.

  Her first command to learn may be “mush.”

  Oh, dear: Nancy just told me, “this is the reason people get guns and shoot school rooms of people–that poor boy was probably just trying to get some information off a government site…” 

  Notes on living with the elderly: in my mind, where life is always cozy and warm, life with the elderly would be about hugs and imparted wisdom. In my experience it tends to be about bodily functions. So we installed a handicapped toilet when Nancy’s Mom was about to arrive. (Well, there is nothing handicapped about the toilet: it is a toilet for the handicapped.) She arrived, and she got stuck and we had to haul her up. She makes these trips 3 times a night, and that wore on our dispositions, so Nancy and I did online research for solutions. And we solved the problem. Our bathroom is not an engineer’s wet dream. Unfortunately: Pecks, as a gene pool, tend to be fairly long of torso and short of leg. We may be quite tall people, but our knees remain fairly close to the floor, and of my family, I inherited the least height. I can no longer sit quietly in privacy with my feet flat on the floor: I am poised in the air like a tripod on ass and toes. I was never one for lingering, but this removes the very last temptation. 

  But as long as we can keep Nancy out of her sister’s gun collection, we’ll be fine.

   

  • 9:49 am
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