New Camera Catches Evening Snow

A Long Sad Story with a Happy Ending (Illustrated and Annotated)

Fantastic Picture

I confess - I didn't appreciate my old expensive camera.

It was heavy, awkward, complicated... and took fantastic pictures. It had more attachments than my vacuum cleaner and when I took it on vacation with me, it needed its own suitcase.

I'll admit it. I resented that. (But that was not a motive for what happened.) After all, going to Italy with one personal suitcase and a backpack (thanks to Rick Steves) taught me that less is more, especially if you have to carry it.  But then I had Cal to carry the prized camera on his lap the whole way.  My own camera butler.

In Italy (taken by Bishop Gruss)

Lovely Picture

Fun Picture

When I met Cal in college, photography drew us together.  He was photographer for the year book and had his own expensive SLR camera. (We still have that one - in a glass case.)  I would go on photo shoots with him which was a cheap and uncomplicated date for a hippie (I think they call them "hipsters" now) from Kansas and a homesick-for-trees transfer student from Michigan.  After the shoot, we would develop the b/w film in the college darkroom.  (I can hear the jokes now.  That's not all that developed, tee-hee.)

I got interested in photography when SLR cameras became digital. The Canon Rebel was a present from Cal in 2004. I wasn't a great photographer, but with a little help from Photoshop, I spent many happy hours turning my mistakes into something not quite a mistake. And occasionally, something quite lovely.  Or fun.

Savannah

This spring I flew to Savannah with my sister-in-law, Pam, (Phil's wife) for a week in the warmth and didn't take my camera butler along. As I am known for breaking things, (see post 9/27/14) I have often been warned and scolded by Cal to take better care of my camera. (literary foreshadowing)

Getting ready to fly back to Atlanta, with the the taxi honking outside to take us to the airport, I quickly wrapped the Canon in some of my clothes and thrust it into the suitcase. (Pam, don't change my story.)  In the rush I also lost my electric toothbrush but that loss paled in comparison with the state of my camera when I opened my suitcase the next day.

I'd seen the baggage guys handle luggage at the airport and I should have known better. So, once more with the coffee cup fresh in my mind, (see post 9/27/14) I had to face Cal AGAIN with something I had broken that was dear to his heart. Smashed. Shattered. Kaput.

I didn't think I would miss my good camera.  After all, doesn't everybody and everything take pictures these days?  Something smaller maybe?  Lighter? Easier?  Less demanding?  Something I could fit in my pocket? After all, it was just a hobby.  And I still had Photoshop...

I didn't realize that you have to start out in a good quality picture to make it better. You need all the pixels and depth and clarity of a good camera to really play with a picture. It would take a better person than I to be able to add pixels to a photo or smooth the graininess without losing sharpness.

 It is just plain difficult to take a really good, sharp, clear pictures without a good camera.

I missed my camera for the closeups of my TinyCastleBooks for my Etsy Shop.

I missed it at family gatherings.

I missed it for photographing my new grandson.

I missed playing god and improving on nature.

Finally, I just stopped taking pictures.

I would look at an object begging to have it's picture taken and just sigh and turn my head away. I lapsed into a kind of Photobiotic depression.

Creepy Photobiotic Depression

And now for the Happy Ending.

Cal came home with a new Rebel yesterday,  It is no smaller, but maybe a touch lighter and less cumbersome.  And it takes FANTASTIC pictures.

My Hero.

The End

Early Christmas Thoughts

Early Christmas

There are years when Christmas seems to come to me in a rush.

And suddenly, I am shivering with Elizabeth or transfixed with Mary.

Carols start to play and wrapping paper litters the floor.

I didn't plan this, I say shamefaced.

And its cry is incessant until I wrap it in my arms and sing softly.

And some years, Christmas is left on my doorstep.

Neglected, cold, and silent,

a note pinned to it's blanket. I am here.  That's all.

No more than a stray and I let it in reluctanly, if at all.

Sometimes it grows on me like a crabby child

whose heart I suddenly understand.

The most beautiful of all because it is unexpected

And it is love.

It comes when it comes. Early, late, on time.

Welcome all the same.

Don't Waste The Miracle

“Don’t waste the miracle.”

These are the words that decorated my favorite coffee cup for years.  I didn't really know what it meant - but I felt blessed by those words; they would help me see each day in a new way. (Since then, I have seen these words as the title of a rather typical Christmas poem, but for some reason I have been unwilling to give a concrete meaning to them and in doing so limit their possibilities.)   To be blessed  by something I don’t ascertain logically (although maybe I might understand it intuitively) demonstrates to me of the amazing power of words to bring experience to the surface. And be changed by it.

In college, I learned to look for layers of meaning, to analyze words, to recognize patterns, to catalog human experience, but the power of words really explodes in their transcendent meaning: the meaning that triggers a response that is beyond than the concrete and deeper than the conscious. It is this meaning that we recognize, we receive, and our eyes grow big.

 In an article entitled the other side of reason, Madelaine L’engle  talks about a child who read A Wrinkle in Time when she was eight or nine. The then now woman says about the book, “I didn’t understand it, but I knew what it was about”.  L'engle says as long as we know what it’s about, then we can have the courage to go wherever we are asked to go even if we fear that the road may take us through danger and pain."  That is transcendent power. 

The first chapter of John explodes with the potential of transcendent power. It gives us the experience of creation and incarnation without a single detail of the event, and yet we know that the Word has come to earth “full of grace and truth.”  We know that Love has come. We know what it’s about.  Transcendent meaning increases our ability to believe.

Transcendent meaning implies both a bigger meaning and a smaller meaning.  It is bigger in that it recognizes a universal truth might be experienced by all, and a smaller meaning in that it is a personal truth that is instrumental in personal formation and transformation. “Don’t waste the miracle.”  I know these simple four words can hold a universal truth, but also will speak this truth differently to each person that reads them.

It also reminds me not to underestimate the power of symbol, metaphor, and ritual, or ability of humankind (including children) to experience transcendent meaning, even if it isn't something they can put into words.

Hmmm. Words may trigger meaning that you may not have words for...Ironic, isn't it.

A Christmas Rosary

A Christmas Rosary

  

Hail thou, Bearer of the Light;

God and man in thee unite!

Thy anguish and thy delight

beat in thy womb.

Hark! the cry that splits the night-

Startled angels rush to flight,

wings aflame, a star ignite

to lead the way.

Hush now, Bearer of the Light;

Rest now in thy holy plight.

Slumber blessed in Heaven's might;

Thy God with thee.

Sometimes I play a word game that limits how many syllables I can use in a line and the rhyme pattern.  It it dictates every word I choose and even the meaning of the verse. (Although I usually start with a first line about something that strikes my fancy.)  It is a poem that writes itself - it feels more like working a crossword puzzle than writing a poem. Sometimes I fall asleep trying out different combination of words and counting syllables.  It's a pleasant way to go to sleep at night. And I know when it's done because it has obeyed the rules and makes sense.  At least to me.  Just like when you know you have finished a crossword puzzle there is a sense of satisfaction.  I picture a King James kind of Gabriel giving color commentary to Mary as Christmas unfolds.

Lighting the Hebrew Shabbat candles is historically associated with women.  The lighting of the candles not only bring light to the Sabboth darkness, but reflects, in radiance, the woman's face as she ushers peace and light to her home and to the world.

The Rules were:

•  Pattern AAAB AAAC AAAD.
•  Rhyming lines must have 7 syllables
•  Non rhyming lines must have 4 syllables 

Interesting Friday Night (TLDR)

Cal and I decided to do something for our brains and traveled to Iowa City to hear Cecilia Gonzalez-Andieu, an author and theologian speak on the question,"Will Beauty Save us." (Based on the quote by Dostoevsky's character, Prince Myskin).

It was pretty heady going for a Friday night after work but it seems to be a popular subject among theologians and philosophers. (Try googling it.) She is an engaging woman and a brilliant scholar. Every once in a while a piece of clarity would hit me on the head like Chicken Little and I would pocket it like a walnut to examine later.

To Cecelia Gonzalez-Andieu, the opposite of Beauty is Glamour. The one thing that confused me is the way that she used the word 'Beauty.'  I could have inserted the word 'Love' for the way she used the word Beauty and it seemed to make as much or more sense. But beauty is assessable, can be seen and experienced, is incarnate to all - maybe that is the difference. She also had a strong dislike for Plato.  Beauty, as a physical reality posed a problem for Plato.  It was fun to be back in the classroom for one night.

Cal and I had to take a detour on the way home and we got lost in the dense night fog.  It seemed to be a fitting end for an evening listening to philosophy. 

Madam Gardener

I decide to rake leaves in the back yard on a beautiful warm fall day.  (This year Cal and the neighbor decided to take down most of an old redbud  tree in the backyard.  One neighbor said he thought the tree would survive and the other neighbor said he thought it would die.)  The back yard is a mess of fallen redbud leaves and seed pods and twigs.

After filling four bags of leaves, humming happily to myself, I notice the yard again almost full  of leaves.  Squinting up at the trees, I realize that the other trees have not thrown down their leaves yet. We still need a hard frost.

I wander into my herb garden which has become tangled and is growing out of its brick pavers. It's a lovely thing.  The fennel smells like licorice and is as tall as I am. Rosemary, basil, sage, oregano, peppermint, dill, thyme and horseradish; it is a heady place.  Rub a leaf and go to heaven.

The horseradish is a massive plant and grows elephant leaves that shade out the parsley and chives and hides the peppermint.  We grow it for fun and every year I dig it up so that it won't get out of control the next year, but it always does.

Impulsively, I decide to dig up the horseradish.  I cut the leaves to get to the tubers that grow down deep in the clay soil.  I stain my hands with fresh greens and peppermint leaves.  A pleasant job so far.  The patio is soon piled with horseradish leaves and I fetch the shovel.  The tubers are long and take a little work.  Brushing off clumps of clay and dirt, I adjust my glasses on my nose. Streaks of dirt are now on my face and I push the leaves into the overfull bags of leaves.

I probably should call it good for today but I move on to my three tomato plants. The tomato vines are are dead and full of decaying tomatoes. I can't put those in the paper compost bags the city give us, and so I run into the house for garage bags.    I tug at the vines and rotten tomatoes spill and burst around me. Carefully, I pick up what looks likes like a solid tomato only to have my finger go through it. Yuck.  I try another.  This isn't working, so I  pull the vines into the plastic bag, decaying tomatoes and all, and just about reach the garage can when the bag springs a leak and rotten tomato juice runs down my leg.  Disgusted, I heave the heavy bag into the garbage can.  Splat.  I'd better remember to warn Cal that his garage can is full of drippy rotten tomato mess. I still have to pick the vine supports I left lying on the goopy ground.  I tip around the tomatoes the best I can and slide in the slippy slime and fall on my...rear.  That's it. I'm done.  I grab the sticks and throw the bags of leaves into the garage, the shovels and rakes and hedge trimmer into the potting shed.

The rest can wait until after frost.