Cameras

I bought two cameras today in a totally unplanned splurge of camera excess.  I'm not entirely sure why.  No doubt that it was in part because of a crappy week and a dark and dismal weekend--cameras are like crack--they do make you forget all that stuff.  But also because they were incredibly good deals.  Every now and then I stop and peruse the higher end retailers like Goodwill and the Salvation Army.  Despite what people say, it isn't for my clothes, but I do look for cameras.  Sometimes I find the odd bargain, but today I hit two home runs.

At Goodwill I found a Poloroid 110a, one of the three or four Polaroid cameras that are actually worth something.  Most are worthless, despite what antique dealers or desperate people trying to sell the family heirlooms might say.  This one has an exceptional lens and can be converted to use 4x5 film.  The camera was basically free, but the conversion is about $150 if you supply the camera or $450 if you don't, so you can guess the value of the camera.  I might actually do this and have a very packable large format camera.

But the best deal was at the Salvation Army. At one time, I had more than 30 Leica cameras, so I think I know a bit about them.  I certainly can recognize them from across the counter, and boy, did my eyes brighten a bit when I saw this case with its $8.99 price tag.  I casually asked to see it, and sure enough, it contained a real live Leica IIf with a 50mm f3.5 Elmar,  its original lens.  It isn't Leica's most valuable model of camera, but it still, every Leica  ever ever made is worth more than $8.99!  The case alone is worth about $100, the lens is easily $275 and the body is worth at least $175. Let's just say  I did not hesitate to buy it.  I have made better deals for a camera, but not many, and really, can anyone ever have too many Leicas?  I have four now, and I kind of feel that I am just getting started. Now if only I could take some pictures!  Maybe tomorrow.

Honestly, though these cameras were exceptionally good deals, I did not buy them for that reason alone.  Of course this is silly to have so many cameras as I can't exactly take pictures with all of them or even some of them every day.  Some times, I sit with an old camera and think about and imagine the stories that they have covered and the pictures that they have taken.   This Leica was made in 1952, 60 years ago.  Did it take pictures of a little girl drawing a picture or on the playground or of the waterfall at the state park?  Did it take pictures of sad events and beautiful landscapes and what part of peoples' lives did it record? I guess I collect cameras for the same reasons why I collect fountain pens--I wonder and imagine what stories that they have told.  And maybe, I might even be able to record a few more stories with these cameras...

Thanksgiving

Sometimes I think about the title of my blog which is of course Travels, Adventures, and Life.  Those who have stayed with the blog for all these years have probably read about each of those three things, though not in equal measure.  I think that there probably has been more posts that are just about life rather than travels.

These past few days are indicative of why there has been more about life than there has been about travels.  I had perfect intentions for this holiday weekend and I was supposed to be somewhere in the Olympic National Park in Washington State.  But life intruded and I am instead walking around St Cloud.

It is hard to say all of the whys that would explain the changes, and I can't and won't try. Suffice it to say that I have more important things to deal with and manage here than to head west for a little walkabout so I changed my plans.  I am sad about that, but I have to recognize that this is progress of sorts--most of my life I would have just said "whatever" and gone anyway, but I'd best deal with this and pay attention here.  We will see how this all might turn out.

The change made me scramble a bit for dinner today.  While eating a turkey loaf sandwich from a gas station is OK when you are on an adventure, that wouldn't have cut it for a thanksgiving dinner at home. I do like leftovers, but I hardly needed a whole turkey, even a small one.  Besides they were all frozen.  So I found a chicken and roasted it with tarragon and garlic butter.  I made stuffing with chestnuts, raisons, apples and pine nuts and garlic.  I relished the relish of gourmet jellied cranberries.  The mashed potatoes were new red ones and were made with garlic,  butter, and half and half which completely negated any nutritional value of the noble potato.  It wasn't all that bad.  If the smells lingering in my house are any indication, I might have perhaps probably used a tad bit too much garlic in my endeavors but it was pretty good overall.  Plus the meal yielded the correct amount of leftovers which is of course the main purpose of such a meal.

When I sat down to my meal, with my half full glass of wine it started to snow with great big Snoopy-like flakes.  Once I was done, I wandered a bit trying to find a picture for the day.  Ironically, I found a picture of about 30 wild turkeys scratching for their dinner after escaping being a dinner.

Half full

It is Thanksgiving, more or less, , and today I made my thanksgiving dinner.  I have to admit that today's dinner was a bit different than what I had hoped for and wanted for a Thanksgiving dinner.  Dinner was green chicken curry with vegetables and tender Basmati rice--good,  but a far cry from turkey, cranberries, and mashed potatoes that were filled with butter and cream.   That is ok.  Curry is probably a  better meal for one, I guess.

I think about past Thanksgiving meals and my heart nearly breaks.  Today's was both more and less than I had hoped for.  Certainly I am safe and warm and good--there is plenty to be thankful for.  Still, I think of past thanksgivings, recent and even those further back.  I think of those I cooked, and those which I shared and they were equally meaningful.  I think missing either type of dinner makes this one hard, even though I do like green curry. None the less--how can they compare?

I don't know.  I got a magnet for my birthday for  my fridge that said "Some say the glass is half empty, some say the glass is half full.  I say, are you going to drink that?"  So what do I do?  Complain about my glass being half full or celebrate what parts of my life are still more than half full?  Or just drink?

To be honest, my last few thanksgiving dinners were more than I expected or planned for--clearly my glass was more than half full these past few years.  Several years ago, I received a paper plate full of turkey and dressing, a simple meal that meant more than most--clearly my day was more than half full that day.  So despite a perceived or possible deficit this year, I think that over the past years, generally my glass is more than half full or my plate was very full.  I have to remember that it during during these days of green curry.

This year I am heading west, to Washington, for Thanksgiving.  I leave for Seattle on Thanksgiving day, and will be somewhere on the Washington coast or rainforest on Thursday.  Perhaps dinner that day will be a turkey loaf sandwich from a gas station.  But  who cares?  Generally, my glass will still be way  more than half full, no matter where I will be.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Sunday morning

I guess this is a pretty good way to spend a Sunday morning.  Of course I have already gone to church (twice) and had oatmeal that was hand cut by local monks, with no sugar of course, and walked for miles in the warm November sunshine and sweated out any impurities that might have possibly come near me.

Or perhaps I sat at a coffee shop, read two paper papers and one online one, and drank just enough coffee and ate a scone.

The Round House

Let me be the one to point out that discriminating minds besides mine liked Louise Erdrich's book, The Round House.  It won the National Book Award for fiction yesterday, making her one of the few Minnesota writers to win such an award.

I must be on a roll, for I have also read Katherine Boo's  Behind the Beautiful Forevers: Life, Death, and Hope in a Mumbai Slum, which won the non-fiction award.  It was a uncomfortable book to read, and it moved Mumbai way down on my list of cities to visit.  It did nothing to displace my faith that some people will bloom and grow where ever they are planted.

Lumix Lx-7

Of course that title won't mean anything to anyone, but I see it as an opening prompt.  It was/is a crappy week.  I could go on about that, but I am pretty sure that no one really cares about that.  So I did what I have been known to do when all is crappy--I bought a camera.  I saw this one in England, but the exchange rate was hardly favorable.  The ghost of Black Friday coming made it semi-affordable.

I am not sure if the day was any less crappy, or if friends were more present, or this *#&$^&@#$ cold was less present, but tell me, who doesn't brighten up a bit when an Amazon box comes, especially when it has a camera inside?  Tell me, who?  Everyone does or no one doesn't, that is who.  That this is almost the exact camera except this one is an LX-7 instead of an LX-5 should make even more people excited.  Wow.  Just wow.  OK, part of this might just be me...

It seems to work.  I tried it out on an orchid I had laying around, and then even bought kale and cabbage for a picture.  It is great in low-light, which is the high light of the camera.  The ink bottles were in the dim light of my lodge-like lounge and it is a picture that the LX-5 wouldn't have been able to take.  I mean, what would have I done if I would have needed to take a picture of ink bottles and I only had an LX-5?  I would have been out of luck.  Not any more!  Bring on those ink bottles!  I am ready.

Pea soup

It might have been a way to describe last night's fog, but really, it was my dinner.  I made yellow pea soup, apparently a Swedish staple, for dinner/lunch.  It seemed a good day for soup of one sort or another and I thought I would try something different.

Apparently I am not hardcore Swedish enough, which doesn't surprise me at all.  I mean, there isn't a single piece of herring in my house.  None-the-less, I was not too impressed with the results.  It was somewhat bland and I am still not convinced that the spice marjoram  is the spice of life.  It wasn't bad, but it wasn't great.  With research, I found out some tricks.  The first was to add hot brown mustard to it as you eat it.  Now why that didn't come to mind immediately still escapes me.  Or, one recipe has you using salted pork, though a bit different than the salt pork I am used to from my Arkie youth.  I guess you cut up the pork shoulder roast and put it in a bowl and then pack it tight and layer it with salt.  Let it sit like that for at least overnight, and then use it.  Hmmm

Actually, I liked the meat part of it, but the pea part of the soup was so-so bland, even with more marjoram.  Whatever that is.  I salvaged the meal for sure with good slightly sweet cornbread, and while the wine was pretty indifferent ( it was white, after all) the meal itself was filling and left a warm glow.  Now if I can only find hot brown mustard and a herring breath mint...

Nyquil and thunderstorms

Last night as I lay in bed in a Nyquil induced fog, I thought about the fog outside that was being wiped away by  quickly moving thunderstorm.  I have succumbed to the cold that has been swirling around our executive team, and the over the counter drugs help ease me to sleep and sometimes slow the seal croak of a cough.  But that  chance to sleep and perchance to dream was shattered by nature's thunder and lightening show, one that was worthy of a steamy July evening but rather surprising on a  cold and foggy November one.  Of course it was snowing this morning as I headed out for my morning coffee.  I predict  hail and and sandstorm later today.  After all, it is Minnesota.

Unpredictable as yesterday was, it was also a certain promise that weather now will play a larger role in out lives in these coming months.  No November 11 Armistice Day snowstorm, but I am glad that I have my down coat, my car has a new battery and fresh oil and jumper cables in the back.  After all, it is Minnesota.

Another...

I posted this comment, but it should have better play.  Again, at least let me know who you are...

 Anonymous said...

Lights twinkle as daylight fades. Shadows intermingle, flicker and flame, weaken to nothing.
A leaf, a smooth sigh, flits from breeze to breeze, only to land and never be retrieved. The price paid for twinkle is daylight's fade and yet the toll at moments seems worth its weight.

First contribution

An interesting contribution to the poetry prompt.  I respect the anonymous part, but please tell me who you are!  Other submissions are welcome!


Where angels confuse the term literal with its appropriate counterpart

Entrails of angels, spewing their insides to God.

As in, I literally fell off my chair when I heard the news, or I literally can't take this anymore. The winged things had "lost it" when God called on them to give it to Him straight:

"What have they been doing down there?"
He boomed. (Cue thunder).

"You have no idea what so-and-so did today."
They would answer. And on and on, spewing
the news, good bad or otherwise. God's ears are large and angels' guts? Diaphanous tendrils.

Contrails and other things

I walked out of work into a beautiful evening with a wonderful sky.  I wonder how such things are formed, though it scarcely matters.  Odd as it was, it was equally wonderful.  "X" marks the spot of something.  I wonder if everyone saw and noticed the sky as they wandered home after a long day.

Lights twinkle on as daylight fades
Clouds with mysterious light
glow as they catch daylight's last look

Let the first line be the prompt--what is your poem?

Or, do you have a better prompt?

Other books

So one anonymous person asked what other books I have read so the below is the answer to that question.

I am and have been a fan of Louise Erdrich for more than 20 years, and I just enjoyed reading her latest book, The Round House.  I am trying to think--I suppose that some her books have been mysteries or at least have had questions or riddles (or lives) to solve and puzzle through, but this is a real mystery and I was surprized to see Amazon classify it as such.  I think that it is bit richer than that.  Well, it is a bit richer than most of the other mysteries that I sometimes fill my Kindle with.  As with all her books, there is history and family that provides the undercurrent and foundation to the book.  I guess I like that--doesn't history and family provide all our foundations?  This book is edgier than than some of hers, but it also moves a bit more quickly.  I am not sure if I wanted to begin reading her books I would start with this one, but then again, it may be the most stand alone novel that she has written.  Only rarely does she rely on the web of family that she so carefully has created in her other books.

It is unusual, I think, to read the book after you see the movie that was made from that book but I made that exception in this case.  Last Sunday I went to see "Perks of Being a Wallflower" and was very impressed.  While perhaps a tad bit unrealistic (I am pretty certain I don't remember high school that way, and Emma Watson types were never interested in any shy introverted loners at my school--I could only dream...) it was still very good.  It touched on the usual teenage angst coming-of-age themes but also touched on cliques and being gay and coming out and teen suicide and the absolute crushing loneliness of being different and scared and being on the outside looking in.  So I bought the book, and since it's short, read it one late-night sitting.  The movie, with its focus on time and fewer words, used shortcuts to tug on your heart, and I realized that I was not the only one crying in the movie.  The book more fully explained why you would cry or really why you should cry and most people will.  Actually, they were far more alike than is usual between a book and a movie and the movie.  I think the movie  fully captured the spirit of the book--perhaps this was allowed by having the author direct the movie.  It won't be the the next Catcher but it should be read by more people.

Today I read John Grisham's latest, The Racketeer.  Yawn.  It was readable but certainly not memorable.

I wonder why I have read so much lately--I have had no more time, really, and my life is generally pretty good.  There are some dark corners and holes from a loss here and there so perhaps I am trying to  fill these corners and holes with fiction.  Normally I am more nourished by the visual side of my little brain, and maybe because of my well-documented shortcomings in that area I am turning to books to fill that void.  I guess it is saving viewers from even more blogs of flowers and the inane.  I guess we all have to put up with words for a bit.

Books

I am a reader, though it seems that sometimes I am a sporadic reader.  But of late, I have read what seems to be a lot--three books since last Sunday.  Hardly the Evelyn Woods rate of reading but faster than some.  It is kind of funny.  As I read more, the creases in the cushions of my couch grow deeper and the seat of my leather chair, previously un-smooshed, is becoming more formed to the shape of my semi-large butt.  And the treadmill is lonesome.  There are different ways, I guess, to fill your soul and nourish your body.  I will, I promise, run tomorrow.

While these books weren't War and Peace, they were real books, not just the normal mystery?cop/spy books that help decompress the day.  Or is "that help the day decompress?"  No matter, I am sure you get the idea.  They use real words, often of more than one or two syllables, and they do require you to think.

The last book I read and the one I finished within the last hour was Michael Perry's Visiting Tom. Set in rural Wisconsin not far from where I grew up, it is filled with references and people I recognized.   I totally enjoyed it.  Plus, he went to and graduated from my school, UW-EC, so he has to be good, right?  I am trying to think of a brief statement that describes what this book is  about and I am struggling to make it that simple.  He writes about family and the pain and joy of watching children grow, but he also writes at length about the other end of life's journeys as he watches his friends and de facto family age and decline.  Maybe after experience both ends of this spectrum these past few years, this book resonated more deeply with me.

Most remarkable is how he describes a group of people I once heard described as "useful fellows," or really, "useful fellers."  Most of us have met the type, and some of us have been blessed to get to know some of them and benefit from their guidance.  My mentor and friend, a man who I worked with for 14 years, could fix a camera or a clock and that was just touching on his ingenuity.  My father and his friend traded skills and while he wired houses for electricity, his friend plumbed them so the pipes wouldn't rattle when you turned the washer on.  My grad advisor could make a fresser or a table and write books that changed the discipline.  I met a man this past year who thought nothing of being able to (and knowing how to) feed a reluctant calf, reload ammo, weld the  combine back together, or butcher  his own meat.  All saved tools and scraps of wood and metal because they knew it would solve some future problem.  Remarkable people, and in this book Perry describes a neighbor who is even more of a renaissance man. a man who can make a sawmill or a canon and/or make a toy for a young girl.  It makes me feel almost foolish--as Perry notes, what do I tell people like this, that I type real good?

I suppose when you can't find something to write about that is yours alone, it works to write about others' writing.  I am not proud--it is an accomplishment of sorts to just read, and even more of one to reflect and grow a little tiny bit from what you read.  I will, and I hope you will too, settle for that right now.