adjusting, changes

It’s so interesting how life changes, and how things you weren’t sure you’d be capable of doing become your reality because, well, sometimes things just go that way.

My sweet Moonie Pie is adjusting. I give her medicine morning and night. She eats, sleeps, and is mostly normal except for the struggle of getting up and down steps, and standing or walking for long. She’s putting more weight on her damaged leg and she’s not unhappy; she doesn’t stew about it or mourn her disability. I started taking her on short walks, just up and down the block and she wants to go further but I know she’d end up in too much pain, so I keep it short and let her stop and sniff for as long as she wants.

A bigger change in my life is that we’ve moved my dad in with us. I don’t know if this is going to be a permanent situation, but for now it is an adjustment for us, learning to live with each other’s rhythms and idiosyncrasies. I am realizing I’m more rigid, more impatient, and more set in my own ways than I would like to be. I’m learning.

Right now, and very suddenly, my world feels rather small. I know it’s a transient feeling, and things will shake out as they will. I’m trying to consider the opportunities in this and let go of my own selfishness. This is life and I’m here to live it. I won’t let the changes upend me.

I do have images back from the rolls of film I ran through my two new cameras, but it’s been a long day and words will have to suffice tonight.

my old girl’s ACL

LDC_20170811_27410013.jpg

This is my favorite photo I’ve ever taken of my dog, Moonie Pie. This is pretty much how she looks today, although this is from last summer, late August. Well, she’s a bit leaner, maybe. Even a bit older looking. She’s 13 and a half. This was a rare moment that she tolerated me so close to her face with my camera. We’d just walked on the beach and she had been in and out of the water; I dried her off with this old towel on the deck, and it was a beautiful, quiet, serene, warm evening.

As I write this now she is on the floor a few feet from me, whining. Not because she is in pain (although she is), but because she wants a second dinner. This is pretty normal. What isn’t normal is that she spent the morning at the vet, and she did that because yesterday afternoon, after a perfectly normal amble down the beach stairs (which I watch carefully, in case an old leg were to buckle), she felt peppy and started to run and then immediately collapsed and couldn’t get herself back up. When I got her standing, I knew instantly something was very wrong. She wouldn’t put any weight on her right back leg.

I managed to get her back up to the house by hoisting her back end up the steps as she mostly managed with her front legs. The limp was profound. I got her back to the house and gave her a pain med, tucked her onto the couch, and went into the bathroom to sob.

I’ve cried much more today, really having a hard time keeping it together as my mind goes to all that this means. But really, all this means is that it’s what you sign up for when a dog enters your life. Puppies are fun. Mid-life dogs can be sweet, with a few challenges. An old dog needs you to be there when they’re hurting. So that’s what I’m trying to do.

Today the vet did a workup and she ruptured her ACL. They don’t recommend surgery because of her age and her already very deteriorated hips. The options are pain meds, anti-inflammatories, letting her body heal the injury to the extent it can and keeping her comfortable and supported. Mostly, when she is feeling a little bit better, I’ll try to let her be the dog that she is, although I think her beach running days are over.

I don’t know how much longer I have left with my Moonie Pie, but I’m going to appreciate her, spoil her, and kiss her way more than she wants kissing. I’ll try not to be annoyed by her snoring, or her bad breath, or her separation anxiety, or her constant shedding, or her begging, or any other behaviors that are less than lovely.

I mean, I’m no picnic, either, and she’s stayed by my side without complaining.

two new cameras

I have been gifted not one but two medium format cameras. If you’re wondering what I did to deserve such a gracious gift, well, I am, too. A friend’s father, a former professional photographer, offered them to me and I couldn’t say no. I did try to impress upon him that he could sell them, and that I’d be willing to pay, but he insisted that he only wanted them to go to someone who will use them.

I feel beyond lucky, extremely grateful, and quite honored. I don’t know that we open ourselves up to such generosity very often. Giving something of ourselves means being okay with an unexpected outcome. When you give something freely, you’re accepting that your recipient might not behave in the spirit in which you intended your gift. And accepting such a gift means remembering to carry that spirit forward, which is what I will try to do.

In any case, I now have a Mamiya M645 (a model near to my son’s, which I have borrowed and which I pined about here) and a Mamiya C220, my first TLR (twin lens reflex). While the M645 won’t be difficult for me to get used to using, the C220 is a new experience that I am really looking forward to.

I’m busy this week with work and a bit of freelance that I took on to help pay for the trip to Iceland so I don’t think I’ll get out with these until the weekend, but I hope to have some test rolls run though them both and developed and up here soon.

In the meantime, I’m thinking of ways I can be just as generous as the wonderful human who offered two cameras to a stranger with no expectations.

in need of inspiration

LDC_20180502_000468990001
Joe Louis fist statue, Detroit, Bronica SQ-A with Fuji Acros 100

I love this statue that sits in the boulevard at Woodward and Jefferson in Detroit’s financial district, across from Hart Plaza. It’s the boxer Joe Louis’s fist. Pow, you’re in Detroit. To me it denotes strength, grit, power.

I’m a little unmoored this month. My daughter’s graduation and move to Texas for work. A lack of focus and direction on my part. Work is busy; that’s good. But I feel unsettled and a bit lost, and rather suddenly not young anymore. Sort of waiting for Joe Louis and his giant, bronze fist to punch me in the gut. Pow, ideas and focus, a project, artistic inspiration.

I took some pictures in Austin last week, but haven’t dropped the film off yet. Maybe the greenery and blooms and Lake Michigan’s freshly-scrubbed shoreline will set me straight this weekend, or some other light bulb will go off in my floaty head.

farewell, silver cannonball

I spent the week getting distracted from work by the process of finding myself a new car. Decision-making is a stress-inducing thing for me. Me in a toothpaste or detergent aisle? Panic. I do better with fewer choices, mainly. Fewer colors. Fewer models. Fewer formulas. When I do decide on something, I second guess until the cows come home. And then I ask their opinion (the cows’ opinions, figuratively) and second guess some more. And change my mind. And change it back again.

I think I drive everyone around me nuts with this. Which one is best? Am I going to regret my decision? What if something better comes along? Seriously, it’s never-ending.

The van, aptly named the silver cannonball, came to me as a hand-me-down from my brother who bought it in 2005 because he had to drive around with pounds and pounds of fabric samples, and for salespeople and families you kinda can’t beat a van. She was in great shape, four years old and well cared for when I drove her halfway across the country to bring her home. She carted me and the kids and bikes and extra people all over town and all over the state; made trips to Myrtle Beach and to Chicago and, when my son graduated from high school I let him and his friends drive her to Yellowstone. She was reliable and roomy and didn’t need much. Until she sort of hit her twilight years.

Maybe I could have taken better care of her, kept her a little cleaner, been better about the routine maintenance. She wasn’t neglected, but, you know, there was life and all that. She moved kids out. And then it was pretty much just me, alone, in this big old van. Electrical failures, broken locks, a broken mirror, little things going, big things starting to slip, nearly 200,000 miles. She’s done, tired. I’m done with her. Ready to move on.

I decided that a few months ago. I was clear about it. But then, the panic. What to choose in her stead. And, oh god, a car payment?!? Car payments are commitment. And, money. The panic froze me and I decided I’d wait for a while. And then I drove across the state and something went wrong; she had trouble accelerating and there was a shimmy that went on for miles. It might have been the roadway that caused the shimmy, but it was definitely happening. And I realized I didn’t want to be stranded on the side of the road, in the freezing cold, with no snow boots or gloves because I never listen to Jim when he tells me to keep those things in my car, and no cell service because I’m on a backroad in the wilderness looking for something interesting to photograph.

I didn’t want to freeze to death on a remote backroad in the silver cannonball.

(Okay, that’s unlikely and I’m exaggerating. I digress.)

But last week all the little broken things just really got to me, so I started looking and working on the process of deciding. I drove three cars this week and picked one, but went back and forth (in my head, with the dealer, it’s too much, am I getting ripped off, would they offer me a better price if I was a guy, etc. etc. ad nauseam) and talked the whole situation to death with anyone around me who would listen. All the moving parts, all the balls in the air, all the distractions, came to a halt today and tomorrow I’ll hand over the silver cannonball and drive my new wheels home. A young(ish) 2013, low(ish) miles, a stick shift, compact SUV. Just what I want. A new driving chapter.

So it’s my last night with the silver cannonball. I took her to the grocery store, an average evening thing to do, and in walking around making choices about bread and veggie burgers and yogurt I suddenly got a little sniffly over her. More than a little sniffly. Not sobbing in the frozen food aisle but inexplicably and surprisingly moody, sad, and for real a little wet in the eyes and snotty in the nose.

Hell. I can’t explain myself. My brother and I sobbed over cars when we were little: a turquoise Corvair, the brown Pontiac station wagon. Maybe some others, but those two particularly. Maybe I’m more sentimental about cars than I want to admit.

I loved the silver cannonball, I hated her, I respected her, I tolerated her, and now I’m replacing her. I’ll miss her a little bit. She took good care of me of me and mine.

a quiet house again

LDC_20170717_IMG_6925

After many weeks with my kids being here, and then various guests in and out, and then a week of extended family renting a cottage just a few doors down, I am now the only one in our cottage.

Aside from the dog, who is snoring on the couch as I write this.

I really loved having so many people around and catching up with extended family that I don’t see often enough. But I am kind of a loner by nature–I couldn’t wait for the peace and quiet, and now, well… it feels way too peaceful and quiet. I especially miss my kids–their banter, rousing conversation, just having them in the house again. I am sure I’m not the only one who gets exhausted by social interaction but misses it when it’s not available. What’s the secret to that, anyway? How do you marry the two? I’d really like to know.

Anyway, it’s a Monday and it’s back to work for me, albeit from my dining room table overlooking Lake Michigan, where this beautiful catamaran motored by in the late morning light under a bold blue sky and wispy clouds, close enough where I could just overhear the sailor’s voices from where I stood on the cottage deck.

Blooming things

Things just caught up to me last night and today. Like, ohmygod I’m about to travel to South America kind of things. Work things. People things. Some kind of stomach bug things. All those things poked me awake at 4 a.m. and refused to let me be. And all those things, compounded by the no sleep thing, really rattled my chain and made today a little messy.

I felt lousy. But a walk around my backyard with my digital camera made things feel at least a little righter. So did reading a guidebook for my destination and looking at a map and picking out a few things I for sure want to do. And talking with people who accept my occasional messiness. Crying helped, too. I realized I hadn’t done that in a while and I’ve gotta say, I’m one of those kinds of people who has to do that every now and then. It’s like opening a valve and releasing the pressure. Like a really good sigh.

But the ferns along my fence are coming up. There are sweet little violets all over my lawn, and a clump of some tiny blue flowers (forget-me-nots, possibly) near the ferns. We have a purpleleaf sand cherry shrub on the side of the house, whose leaves are such a gorgeous deep wine and its tiny whiteish-pinkish flowers smell like heaven. It’s easy to shake off the fog when you see and touch and smell these tiny delights.

LDC_20170503_IMG_5682

LDC_20170503_IMG_5685
possibly forget-me-nots?

 

LDC_20170503_IMG_5715

 

LDC_20170503_IMG_5717
purple leaf sand cherry

hoya on Holga

hoya plant, lomo purple and Holga
hoya plant, lomo purple and Holga

I don’t have a green thumb (or a purple one). I love plants, but it’s not in my nature to take care of them. Maybe some day.

There is a hoya plant in my front window that faces south, a big, lovely picture window. It’s about the same size as the picture window in the house I grew up in, which also faced south (faced? faces? The house, and the window, both still exist…). These are the kind of windows that, in February, beg you to lay on the floor in a winter sunbeam and soak up the light. If you don’t have one of these, find a friend that does and spend a February afternoon doing just that.

Anyway.

The hoya plant in my front window is a clipping from my friend Kelly’s hoya plant, who got the clipping from my dad from the original hoya plant that I grew up watching grow in my lovely south-facing picture window in the house I grew up in. I don’t remember who gave my dad the original clipping from their own hoya plant–probably one of his teacher friends–at least 40 years ago.

My dad planted the hoya–which really was just a little tendril and maybe one or two thick leaves sticking up from the earth–in a little pot. It grew, slowly. It was supposed to bloom but it seemed we had it for years before it surprised us one year, maybe around Christmas, with the most delicious-smelling bloom, a funky waxy-looking thing with little florets. My dad built a trellis for it and it climbed and bloomed and the blooms smelled terrific and everyone lived happily ever after.

(Okay, I went away to college and then moved away and forgot about the hoya.)

But at some point in my early adulthood my dad gave my friend Kelly a clipping of that hoya, and some years ago Kelly gave me a clipping from that hoya, and now I have it in my front room, growing profoundly slowly and appreciated by me but cared for by my husband. It hasn’t bloomed yet, but I’m hopeful.

Of course I had to photograph it in purple film on a Holga, which I thought fitting for kind of a funky plant. But aren’t the shadows lovely?

Frantic limbo

I’m right in between things.

barn and field
barn and field, Kodak Tri-X, Mamiya 645 1000s
leaning shed
leaning shed, Fuji Acros, Mamiya 645 1000s

In between a work trip. My film photography class is ending. Then a vacation to an unknown and, to me, exotic place. Then a move from town to the beach for the summer. And in the meantime I feel the unease of my kids as they finish their college terms. Does that part ever end, I wonder–the part where you feel the pain of whatever stress or difficulty your (albeit adult) children are going through? Somehow I don’t think I was totally prepared for that part of parenting.

Oh but who am I kidding? All the parts of parenting have surprised me. Why would I think that now, because they are grown, it should be any different?

White River Light
White River Light, Kodak Tri-X, Mamiya 645 1000s

In any case I feel such a sense of limbo right now. I’m trying to roll with it.

And speaking of rolls… I have been frantically shooting film like I have the budget of someone who has, well, a big budget for film. I’m a copy editor, after all, and last I checked no one ever said they wanted to go into copy editing to make the big bucks. But here I am buying and blowing through rolls of film like they’re free or something.

LDC_20170416_img198
creeping juniper, Ilford FP4, Minolta SRT 102
LDC_20170416_img195
new shoots on the forest floor, Ilford FP4, Minolta SRT 102

I have developed 22 rolls of black and white film for my class and will develop three more this week before the lab will be off limits. I had four rolls of color film developed in February; I’ve got five rolls of color film at a lab right now, and had two rolls of color film developed a few weeks ago. That’s 36 rolls of film shot and developed since January. Of nothing special, even. I could have far worse vices, right?

LDC_20170415_img193
orchard road, Fuji Acros, Holga

For my last class assignment I wanted to photograph a thing I love. The sand dunes at Silver Lake offer a shifting landscape that at times buries and other times unearths the ghostly treasures of its past. I’ll never tire of hiking these dunes and coming across these alien, sculptural roots and trunks of the trees that once forested this landscape. The light cooperated, but I found the resulting photos an interesting juxtaposition–these images look serene, but the wind was so fierce it nearly knocked me off the tops of some dune ridges and sand came out of my scalp for two days after I got home.

I still have so many more to scan, and a few might show how windy it really was.

LDC_20170416_img200
resting under a live tree, Ilford FP4, Minolta SRT 102
LDC_20170412_img180
alien on the dune, Fuji Acros, Mamiya 645 1000s

Spring, sort of

Last Friday’s burst of warmth and color quickly turned to chill, gray, lackluster. I crave that color, but I’m beginning to see things differently. Black and white film opens you up to that, I think.

Since January I’ve shot and processed (myself!) 16 rolls of black and white film, 35mm and 120mm. I have one more assignment in the class I’m taking and then I may need to go a little nuts with color film for a while after that, especially as I’ll be in California for one day of sightseeing before a few days of work and then after that in Lima, Peru for a week. I don’t know much about Lima yet, but I am imagining it’s a place requiring color film. I can’t wait to find out.

But despite the gray, there are green shoots, buds, the smell of wet earth, wildly chirping birds… all these signs of impending color and warm and sun. We are poised and ready and the wait makes the reward that much more delicious.

This week is exciting, different, changing. I have a new outlook. My youngest turned 21 this week, which feels like a new era… both my babies are adults. I shared an interview and photos with a community of film enthusiasts and the experience makes me feel lucky, like pinch-myself lucky, to be considered as someone with a passionate voice. I will have family around me this weekend and I will revel in that.

Good things are coming.