The result of an early foray up to the high school for your son’s baseball game might be a little side trip to see how the morning light looks in that spot you like for late afternoon shots.
As a result of my three-year old not going to the bathroom before we left for the game, I discovered this lovely alley/path to the elementary school.
Thanks to my Instagram addiction, I can see photos in 1:1 (as opposed to my new favorite 4:3).
Earlier in the week, Henry bought a box of sidewalk chalk. The driveway has been covered with drawings and hopscotch boards ever since.
One morning, little Miss Stella woke up, got down off the bed, walked into her father’s office, put her hands on her hips, and said, “The name’s Stella. Please change my diaper.” Today, when I called her Sleepy Kitty, she exclaimed, “I’m not a kitty! I’m a normal girl, and my name is Stella.” All of my kids have gone through phases in which they are very protective of their names. I imagine it’s an important part of developing a strong sense of self, and I’m quite sure that my little girl will have few problems in that department.
Without names, what are we? Blank canvases? Our names tag us in so many ways. But one thing that I’ve always found intriguing is when God gives us new names — like Abraham and Issac and Peter.
“Whoever has ears ought to hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To the victor I shall give some of the hidden manna; I shall also give a white amulet upon which is inscribed a new name, which no one knows except the one who receives it.”
— Revelations 2:17
Today, I finally went on a field trip with my homeschooling daughter. We went to the National Gallery of Art because I really wanted to see the Pre-Raphaelite show before it ended on Saturday. But imagine my surprise when I turned the corner in the main gallery and saw the Van Goghs!
I still have most of Mom’s jewelry. I never wear it, but if I donned anything, it would likely be these pretty, clip-on earrings (if I could hold out against the pain of pinched earlobes).
Inspired by the x-ray work of visionary photographer Albert Koetsier, I plucked a tulip from the garden, encased it in a cellophane bag, carried it, the camera, the tripod and a flashlight into the darkened bathroom and started shooting. No one would ever confuse my work with Koetsier’s, but I wouldn’t want them to. The germ of an idea and the resources to work on it: that’s all I ask for.
Vincent Van Gogh is one of my favorite artists. It’s somewhat cliched to say that he was a visionary. But he was. When I looked up the definition the first three definitions all had negative connotations. That surprised me. I thought visionary was a good thing. I guess the editors at Merriam-Webster had other ideas.
This morning, as I was sitting at my computer checking e-mail and tweeting out the call for the day, I noticed a dove hovering in front of my window. Since there was a twig in her mouth, I assumed that she was busy building a nest in the big bush in our front yard. I quickly set up my camera on a tripod and stuck it out the window it see if I could get a better shot. I connected the remote and then waited. It didn’t take too long (twenty minutes?) before she was back and I managed to fire off a series of shots. This was one of the better ones — although it did need some post-processing help.
After cropping it, adjusting the contrast and decreasing the luminousness of the yellows and greens, I had to take it into photoshop to add a bit of blur to the background. Since I wasn’t sure where exactly the dove would hover, I used a really small aperture so everything was in focus.
She’s still busy flying back and forth, building her precious nest, but I don’t dare get the camera out of the window again. I don’t want to spook her. If she builds her nest, there will be plenty more bird shot opportunities!
I’m not good at building things, because I’m not good at planning. Two years ago, I bought two bleeding heart plants and stuck them in the ground on the shady side of the front door. I love seeing them bloom, but I’d likely love them more if they were part of some cohesive landscape layout.
To be honest, I’m not a big fan of Mother’s Day, but this one was nice. Luke made me breakfast, a cake and the spaghetti sauce for dinner (Dennis made the meatballs); Stella drew me a picture; and everyone got me nice gifts. The most refreshing part of the day was the few hours I had to myself (when Dennis took all of the kids out and about), to paint, journal and glitter.
Today we took the little kids to a real, honest-to-goodness, old-fashioned circus. Everyone had a great time.
Just another average Saturday with several games…
Our local parish church is no cathedral, and that’s just fine. We like it that way.
My hard drive is filled with photos of azaleas from this bush (and many of the photos contain bees). Every year, when the bush erupts in beautiful blossoms and is buzzing with fuzzy, yellow and black insects, I take pictures. My goal is not to amass a huge of collection of these shots. I simply want to document life around here from year to year — oh, and I never stop trying for the shot with that certain je ne sais quoi.
Some days, the only goal is to make it to the end of the day. And some weeks, the only goal is to make it to Friday evening. Thank God it’s Friday! : )
Even though the scoreboard wasn’t working, we all knew that it wasn’t even close to a tie game. Our guys were way out in the lead!
The kids were waiting for me in the car, and we were running late for our homeschool field trip. But what could I do? My hands were tied. There was NO WAY I was going to let that hawk just sit there on a tree in my backyard without even attempting a shot (I clicked off nearly two dozen).
I know the bulbs are down there. I planted them myself. I know that I’ll get a flowerbed full of tulips each spring. It doesn’t matter. I still get astonished and giddy every time one of them opens in the morning sunlight.
It always astonishes me how much a grey and rainy day saturates the greens. The grass is greener, the trees are greener…if I had to live somewhere rainy, as long as it was green, I think I’d be okay.
(And just for fun, I took the clarity slider all the way up to 100 in Lightroom. Which made me think of the amps that go to 11.)
I love to buy organizing aids at Target. Now, whether they actually help me to be organized is up for debate.
I am not a fan of fluorescent lighting, which is why this one is in an outside fixture.
I learned to embroider when I was about five. My mother spent many evenings pulling colorful threads through fabric, and I was fascinated. How could I not be? I, too, wanted to make something as colorful and beautiful. It’s still a goal of mine, but I don’t always use a needle and thread to accomplish it.
I taught myself to tat in high school. My mother had an old booklet from a five and dime with directions and a simple pattern. One day, I came across a tatting shuttle at the craft store and immediately bought it and some thread. I spent many nights during the long, cold winters in Wyoming tatting away. This doily is probably about the most complicated thing I made and one of the last. My senior year I was a little too busy to sit at home anymore.
Where do ideas come from? I wish I had an idea generator machine…but until then, I find a lot of inspiration from books and photographers who came before.
As an aside, today’s 365 entry is a perfect example of the 365 maxim: Don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good. If I had had more time I would have done a few more shots to flesh out the concept a little bit better. Sadly there wasn’t much of that this weekend and so I’m left to post the “rough draft” of my concept.
For these three, a pile of sand is sure to generate fun and the need for baths or showers.