A couple weeks back in comments, long time reader and cyber-friend L asked me if I had an opinion on the new Olympus Pen camera.
I had little to say on the subject as I haven’t shot an Olympus for over 20 years.
But in my mailbox this morning, an email from Digital Photography School held some better information.
Here ya go, L:
I had a really great time being in southern New Mexico over the weekend. I got to spend time with many of my old Ag College friends who still rely on the weather and the earth to make a good part of their living.
I got back to my rural roots. It was a fresh reminder.
While I whine and complain about all the rain we got this year in Northern California, I was reminded, plenty reminded, that water is still the heart of life in a town like Las Cruces.
Simple water. Yet not so simple.
As we drove out to my best friend’s house, which is well and gone north of Las Cruces, my old senses kicked in. I smelled the water before I saw it. We rounded a corner and could see that the main irrigation ditch was running high.
“Someone must have ordered water,” I said aloud to no one in particular.
“That looks like almond trees going in,” I pointed out to my husband.
“Whoa, that used to be a cotton field…looks like they put in chile,” I commented.
I greeted each pasture and expanse of farmland like an old friend.
“Chickens!” I exclaimed when we came to a traffic jam on the road (us and another car). The Good Man had asked, “um, why are we stopped?” and I had the better view around the car ahead.
There was a bantam rooster doing his strut on the warm asphalt of that rural New Mexico state road. We all waited for him to go by. He took his time.
Once at the party, The Good Man and I at one point talked with my best friend’s dad. He said that they were having trouble with a neighbor up the road diverting their water. They’d order and not enough would show up.
I’ve been reading a lot of Louis L’Amour stories lately. In those books, diverting someone’s water is a killing sort of offense.
I said to my dad-by-proxy, “you oughta weld that guy’s gate shut” and he laughed. Don’t think he hadn’t already considered it. (and by gate, I meant irrigation gate, not the entry to his driveway)
As the night wore on, it got to be about two o’clock in the morning. The evening dew, such that it was, was starting to settle. I said to my husband, “this is good hay cutting weather.” He asked why, and I said, “the dew makes the stalks wet and they bend instead of break.”
I used to date a guy in college who had to end our dates fairly early because he had to get home and cut hay. I learned to recognize that smell. It meant it was time for him to scoot on home. Time to work when the water is in the air….
The next day, out at my friend’s place, I learned the water in the irrigation ditch was running so high because it was a “free day” for the community. They got to water as needed.
I was wearing flip-flops and I tromped around the soggy yard helping my god-dog look for his favorite ball. The water made the air smell sweet. It also made the frogs come out and sing their sexy mating songs rather loudly.
We ate dinner outside with a chorus of humping frogs to accompany our meal.
All because of water.
Living in the city like I do, I take water for granted. I turn on the tap, and there it is. It falls from the sky and I curse the nuisance.
Yesterday, I was shopping at Nordstrom for a nice outfit to wear for a very important meeting today.
While I shopped in luxury, I looked down at my flip-flops. They still bore the dried mud from my friend’s home. I tossed back my head and laughed at the beautiful, grounding irony of it all.
May I never forget the land and the people who rely daily on the value of pure, simple water.
Rather out of focus photo of my cranky god-cat and the gate at my friend’s place.
So, this past weekend, The Good Man and I made a whirlwind trip to Southern New Mexico to celebrate my best friend’s 40th birthday.
There was bbq brisket and tender ribs and homemade ice cream with homemade german chocolate cake on the menu.
Of *course* I was going to be there.
It’s not a bad trip from San Francisco to Las Cruces, but it does take a skosh of effort sometimes.
So while riding planes, trains and automobiles, I learned a few things about myself.
Here’s some of the top thoughts while on the journey:
The speed of the girl, while in motion, is variable depending on geography.
New Mexico, the land of mañana, moves very, very slowly. San Francisco, on the other hand, moves very, very quickly.
I do ok going from the super fast pace to the nice slow moving pace.
I have one hell of a time coming back from slow motion into 90 miles per hour.
In fact, I think I stripped a gear.
The sort of person you are becomes self evident after sitting for an hour on the tarmac.
San Francisco was having bad weather yesterday, so our connecting flight was delayed by a couple hours. Then they said, “hurry up and let’s get loaded” so we complied. The plane backed from the gate, rolled toward the runway, and stopped.
And there we sat.
And sat.
They were having a hard time getting a window for take off. They said we could go at any minute. So we all had to stay seated and buckled in.
As we waited.
You really get a sense of a person under these sorts of circumstances.
The lady behind me started making ever more angry calls to her husband. The people in front of us who started out as strangers quickly became friends, trading stories about delayed flights in their collective past.
A lady across the aisle angrily flipped pages in her magazine and sighed. Loud, frustrated sighs.
Me, I read. I had a really good book, so that helped. But after a while, I was getting grumpy and frustrated too. So then I put down my book and started fidgeting. And then it seemed a good idea to start annoying The Good Man because isn’t that what husbands are for?
I guess I’m the sort of person that can be patient…but only for a little while.
Southwest Airlines open seating policy makes people rather aggressive.
Seriously. It’s a seat. It’s not a gold medal event. Find a seat. Sit in a seat. If you have to sit in a middle seat, it doesn’t mean you lost the contest. It just means you have to sit in a middle seat for a few hours. Get over it.
Airports will go to great lengths to get you to buy their overpriced food.
I’m almost positive Auntie Anne’s pretzel place was piping hot cinnamon sugar odor into the terminal. Gooey tasty cinnamon suguar. It was damn near irresistible.
I saw another guy with three Popeye’s boxed meals walking by. He was by himself…
And then there’s Starbucks. Evil place. They suck you in.
I *might* have to succumbed to some of these delights, but the food in the airport is NEVER as good as it is at a real stand alone shop.
But they manage to sucker in almost every weary traveler, prisoners of TSA policies, too weak and famished to resist paying seven dollars for a soggy hamburger.
It ain’t right.
Millions of years from now, archeologists will describe us as a quaint nomadic tribe so attached to our possessions that we dragged them around with us in small wheeled wagons called “samsonites”.
Honestly. Have you ever seen people so damn attached to their suitcase full of crap?
Ok. Well. I am way guilty on this one.
But at least I’m willing to check my rolley bag and not have to clutch it to my chest, and cram, shove and heave-ho it into the overhead compartment.
Ah well, as the old saying goes, all’s well that ends well. It was a fantastic trip to New Mexico, much green chile was consumed. Many wild college era stories were told and fun was had.
Now back to our regularly scheduled insanity….
Cranky. Oh so very cranky. Crakasaurus kind of cranky.
And so, may as well channel my snark for the good of my daily blog post goal.
Today I’m retreating to an old trick used before on this blog, a conversation with the Imagination Prompt Generator.
It spits out a thought provoking prompt. I reply with the first thing that comes to mind.
Herewith, no cheating, taking the prompts exactly as they show up.
IPG: What keeps me going?
Me: A finely balanced concoction of sugar, fat and salt (not necessarily in that order) combined with various quantities of coffee, beer and margaritas, (not necessarily in that order).
IPG: Generalizations are…
Me: Generally useful in a generic sort of way.
IPG: Define kindness.
Me: Refraining from ramming my automobile into the $#&*head who cut me off, and when I honked to notify him of the pending collision, flipped me off, then called me an unflattering name.
I did not sway into his lane. I did not nearly remove the driver’s side fender of HIS sh**ty work truck. I was minding my own business when he came swerving into me.
I could have retaliated when he pulled over and stopped at the mobile taco truck.
I refrained.
THAT is digging deep for kindness.
IPG: If your best friend was right here, what would you say?
Me: They built a new Sonic Drive-In twenty miles from here. Load up, I’ll drive.
IPG: Five books that changed your life are…
Me: Ooh, this is going to be a tough one.
Gonna go with:
Red Sky at Morning by Richard Bradford
Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry
The Boys of Summer by Roger Kahn
Johathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach
and
Bless Me Ultima by Rudolfo Anaya
This is in no way a comprehensive list because so many books have changed my life.
If you were to ask me again tomorrow, the list might change. Also, I only picked fiction…there is a whole other list for non-fiction.
IPG: Describe a favorite childhood friend and something you did with her or him.
The visible ones? Juuuust kidding…sort of.
I’d have to say going to the rollerskating rink with my childhood best friend Kathy, wearing bell-bottom jeans and shaking it to the Bee Gees.
Kathy rocked. Wonder what she’s up to these days….
IPG: ____ was my favorite cartoon because…
Looney Tunes. Because they are all oh so very sarcastic.
That’s always appealed to me, ya big maroon!
If I had 15 minutes to evacuate my home before it was to be destroyed by a hurricane, what 10 things would I grab (not including people or pets)?
Oh geez. That presupposes that I have a presence of mind about these things. I imagine if someone said “15 minutes! Go!” I’d spend about fourteen and a half running around in circles howling and freaking out.
Assuming my husband and pets are safe and I have the luxury of grabbing stuff….
Hmm. Hard to say, really, as I don’t get bound up in material things.
The few things that matter most are my wedding ring and some of my folk’s old photo albums.
I’d say my camera gear, but honestly, that can be replaced. My clothes and shoes can also be replaced.
Maybe some vintage family items my mom gave me. And my backup drives with years of my writing stored safely.
Other than that….
Honestly, it is hard for me to come up with a solid 10 items off the top of my head. My family and my pets are everything and most of the rest is replaceable.
But this one has me thinking. A lot.
Maybe this is the question to end on. It’s at least distracted me from my oh so very grumpy state of mind.
Better get back to it.
As the poem goes, Thursdays child has far to go…..
With that, onward to the rest of the day!
So, out of nowhere about a month ago, I decided I wanted to get a new pet.
I’ve no idea where this impulse came from. It just did. Considering that we can’t have any more fuzzy pets in the rental place where we live, it became clear that I had to go small.
Like fish sized.
Hmm. Trouble is, the only fish I’ve ever owned in my life was a goldfish from the New Mexico State Fair.
That one lived quite a while, by the by.
So this quest required some research. I looked for a fish that was easy to get set up and easy to care for. The answer was simple, a betta.
I spent hours going through the pages on bettatalk.com and I learned a lot. I made lists. I fretted. I thought about it a lot. And then yesterday, the waiting was over.
The Good Man and I went to the pet store.
And we came home with not one but two new fish friends!
Without further ado, may I introduce you to:
Margaret The Fish
She is actually The Good Man’s fish. When we set out on our journey, we were just going to get one fish. But once we got to the store, The Good Man was so charmed by this inquisitive little girl, she had to come home with us.
I’m charmed by her too, actually.
So heck, easy solution. We decided to get two fishes and let them live in their own tanks side-by-side.
It’s a good solution.
Margaret is a pretty little fish and she’s happy to have interaction and already recognizes us. She’s not eating a whole lot yet so we’re hoping she’s still just a little shocky from the move and will be feeling right soon.
So now that you’ve met Margaret…please meet:
Frank The Fish
So named because of his vibrant blue eyes. He has all of the looks and none of the charm of Sinatra.
As you can see in his photo, Frank is a bit of a stalker. He stares at Margaret.
A lot.
In a creepy mouth breathing way.
He’d totally send her inappropriate messages on Facebook if he was a human. Instead he just stares. A lot.
Margaret mostly ignores him.
So we’ve got them set up in their respective tanks and they are doing (*coff-coff*) swimmingly.
As for the existing member of our pet family….
Well, the word indignant comes to mind.
The feline is sort of not amused by these new items taking our attention.
Thankfully, she doesn’t try to attack them. She just watches, shrugs, and walks away.
I suppose all will settle down in the house soon.
And The Good Man and I are learning a lot about how to care for these new friends.
I never thought I’d be a fish person, but here I am, all enamored of my fish.
Tis a crazy, wonderful, mixed up life.
