For the 7th day of the 7th month, show us 7 of something - OR - something lucky.
Paper Cranes are notorious good luck charms, but opals are associated with misfortune. That doesn't change the fact that I like opals, however. The charm is black stone with raw opal stuck within it. I even lucked out with some flecks of rare red opal.
I wear this necklace every day, but I can't say that it has changed my luck at all.
Show us something you can't explain.
I don't try to remember all my unborn ideas, photographs, and knitting projects. And what of the unborn bumblebees, brick walls, ceramic jars, and pocketwatches? Why is there a statue to commemorate other conglomerations of atoms that never bounded successfully into molecules that could fend for themselves?
In honor of Independence Day, show us something patriotic.
I do not like wars. Plastering vehicles in propaganda slogans seems hollow. I no longer have faith in anybody in charge. I see the detour my country has taken, and the prospect fills me with sorrow.
But there are things that still make America great, and they will never go away. Text is permanent when scorched into the brains of those who appreciate it.
Show us something cold.
I took this on my birthday, which is toward the end of January and squarely in the Capricorn-Aquarius cusp. I kind of like where the twenty-second of January is situated. It's one of those unforgiving dates that nobody should really be born on. There's something about it that drives its citizens to great heights of madness: Lord Byron, Gregori Rasputin, Francis Bacon, and a bunch of other notably crazy people. I fit right in.
I'm not sure why I used to love this time of night. There was something about pretending that I was the only person awake, that the whole world slumbered under the enchantment of a shadowy sorceress with a face of opal and water which never inhabited the same appearance twice. It is up to me to save humanity, so I would work late into the night. Shortly before dawn I would launch my notebooks, and they would transform the sky into a single blazing piece of Baltic amber. A banshee wail would vibrate itself free from my throat, and they would all wake, unaware that the very unlikely thing that stood between them and certain doom was a timid girl sequestered in the Western Pennsylvanian countryside.
I don't think like that anymore because I lost the ardent belief that magic lurks in every obscured recess of existence. Maybe I just grew out of four-thirty-in-the-morning. Or maybe it left me behind because it got tired of waiting.
I drank a little too much last night.
I'm not feeling the whole Driving Back to New Castle for Brunch thing right now.
It's no secret that I've been feeling altogether restless lately, but I'm not doing a very good job of leaving my apartment unless I have to. What's the point of living in the Big City if I refuse to explore it?
I mused over this to Scruffy, so he decided to evoke a smile from me. It worked!
Then I got invited to a cook-out that was being thrown by friends of mine whom I haven't seen in literally years. I tried to beg myself not to go because there'll be tons of people I don't know and I've been fumbling over my words so much anymore that I'm sure I appear to be socially retarded. But, whatever happened to me being a girl of action? Even if I have to force myself to get back to that point, it's imperative that I return.
Now the trick is finding where the shindig is. At the very least, I am dressed up nice, which is a good boost for anybody. All I need is a Queen of England hat.
{I have no clue what this picture is all about. The automatic timer surprised me.}
Dear Vox,
Quite some time has passed since we last spoke. I want you to know that you did nothing wrong; rather, I retreated to someplace that was more familiar and comfortable. It was nothing more than that, honestly.
For whatever reason, this morning I was struck by how much I miss you. Perhaps it's the overpowering heat that is awakening nostalgia from a full year ago, but I'm thinking of updating you regularly again. You know, just for fun.
A lot has happened to me since last summer. I live in the big city now, I'm engaged, and I'm the proud mother of a Nikon D-40. It's like I'm growing up, or something. Weird, huh?
Anyway, I didn't want all of this to be a surprise. I'm sure you're pretty confused at the moment, so I'll end this correspondence for now. Just know that it was nice catching up with you.
Yours,
Brianne
I've been trying to get used to the Nikon D40, otherwise known as "My Firstborn" or "Ivan". Part of me is growing ever-more frustrated with the fact that I'm not quite as versed with the technicalities of photography as I had previously assumed. I have to keep telling myself that a DSLR is a big step, and it's unlike anything I've ever used in the past. Calm down. Figuring out how to change aperture and shutter-speed settings will become second-nature, just like it did with the PowerShot.
Still, I'd like to point out that there's so many damn buttons. And options. And things that are different from my PowerShot.
I figure that the only way to expedite this process is to practice as much as I can. On Thursday night I went to Bessemer Park. The light was already beginning to wane, but I still managed to pull off some creepy-looking shots of playground equipment. As soon as the sun went down, a police car entered the park and just stopped on the path, in front of where I was. At the time I was perched on top of a sliding board and trying to get a good overhead picture of the merry-go-round in the low light. They wouldn't leave, as if I was doing something wrong. I was the only one there, and I couldn't help but wonder what they thought I was up to; I mean, I'm a young lady with a bigass camera, not an AK-47. They made me nervous, and I left as soon as I succeeded in getting the picture I wanted.
I went back yesterday afternoon around 5:30. The lighting was perfect, and I was able to walk around more instead of sticking exclusively to the playground near the entrance. As on Thursday, I had the whole park to myself. This allowed me to throw myself onto the ground for some macro shots of the last dandelions of the year without much embarrassment.
I nearly jumped three feet in the air when, alone and snapping photo after photo of the lake, its reeds, and surrounding trees, I discovered a teenage boy fishing. I was in my own little world, headphones full of Radiohead that created a buffer between the larger realm outside of my intense concentration. I don't think he heard me yelp, though I didn't wait around to find out. Snapping one more shot of a tree over my shoulder, I returned to the park, only to find it had been taken over by a group of teenaged goth-wannabes and a family that contained small children. I tried not to let them get to me, but the adolescents were tough to ignore. The children, on the other hand, mostly stuck to the swings and every so often asked their parents what I was doing.
Otherwise, I've been working on this afghan; it needs to be done within the month, or I'm not going to be able to finish another one before Christmas. I've also been reading. I haven't wanted to write, but I think that tide is beginning to change: Indeed, my head is full of words this afternoon.
Recent Comments
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Brianne said:
Yes, Gogol is a great band. I'm glad I accidentally found out about them. Their music is the kind that... read more
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I like considerate birds. ;o) read more
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