During what must have been her "ceramics phase" my grandmother made this fish, part of a set that includes another fish and four bubbles; her name and a date - 1959 - are scratched in the back of the fish.
I can remember the set hanging in the bathroom of a house we lived in until I was in the 4th grade. That winter, we moved to a new house in the nice part of town. My mother was intent on decorating in "early American" style, and the fish never made a reappearance.
Aafter my mom died, I discovered them, wrapped in newspaper, and poked into that closet in the hall that held all the random crap that never got thrown away.
Now, the two fish and four bubbles live on the wall above the aquarium in my office.
I really like the way the fire escape stairs look like a giant cross-stitch pattern climbing up the side of the Petroleum Building in downtown Midland.
1. Some months ago I entered a photography book, Where the Spirit Left, in a contest sponsored by blurb.com and Photography.Book.Now.
2. On Wednesday, I got an email that the book had been named as an honorable mention.
3. Yesterday, I got an email that included things like "egg on our face" and "database error" and "isn't cool" and the news that my book wasn't, in fact, any kind of a winner.
4. What a bunch of idiots, specifically Mike Barash (mbarash@blurb.com).
Are non-compressed worms a problem for you? Do you suffer the shame of an unorganized tackle box? Have you always wanted a way to carry TWICE as much tackle in the same size box?
Then you need a WORM WRAP. It's innovative. (I know that because I read it on the label.)
Back in college, I took a couple of photography classes, one in Ansel Adams's famous Zone System. At time, I was almost positive that I was the next Ansel Adams (even though I was studying architecture, and was attending university that didn't even HAVE a fine arts program).
My friend Mark and I would wander around the central Texas countryside taking pictures - nearly the same way that my friend Carlos and I do now. (Except back then, I drove around in a Pinto.)
This photography, which is a little trippy, is a shot of a photograph that I made one of those afternoons with Mark. As near as I can recall, we'd found an out-of-business roadside bar-b-que stand and I concentrated on documenting the minutiae... again, sort of like I do now...
Contrary to what you may think, sunflowers do not follow the sun - at least this field of sunflowers don't: in mid-afternoon, they were all facing east. It's too bad, really, because the photo would have been a LOT better if they'd been facing west.
The dome at Holy Family Catholic Church caught the morning sun, sending sparkles across the church yard. And beyond, even: I saw it from a mile away and knew I had to take its picture.
The song "Your Bright and Shiny Eyes" (the Gretchen Peters/Tom Russell version) was playing as I stepped out of my car to take the picture. And while I don't really consider this dome to be a symbol of God's eyeball or anything, I did sort of dig the interesting combination of words and visuals.
This the west side of Forrest Heights United Methodist Church, the church I grew up in. The tall narrow windows on the left are in the Fellowship Hall, where my wedding reception was held. That's easy to remember.
Those other windows, on the second floor, are in my old second grade Sunday School room. Don't ask me to explain how THAT bit of data still resides in my head, but it does. And not only that, but I am almost positive that our teacher that year was named Mrs. Brenneman.
This stretch of Erskine Road used to be home to several businesses that made "ready-built" homes. Somewhere along the way, that term gave way to "pre-manufactured homes" at some point, and the businesses went away. I am not implying the two things are connected.
Although I would like to point out that "pre-manufactured homes" is a ridiculous term: to me it means a pile of 2x4s, a large bundle of sheetrock, some concrete, and so forth, not a house that's built somewhere and installed somewhere else.
The entry canopy at one of those new strip shopping centers in the south part of town. I can't remember the names of the centers, and I never shop at any of them, so to me their names are "those new strip shopping centers in the south part of town."
I love swimming pools at dusk - after the swimmers have gone home, and just before the birds and bats swoop in for a drink. The water is still except for tiny wind-driven ripples, and the surrounding trees are reflected in it. The deck is washed clean of the day's activities. The entire place is restful and ready for tomorrow.
Back in the olden days (1978) I took a job as a drafter (called "draftsman" back then) with a small architectural firm in Albuquerque. The boss was a man, the other drafter was a man. Our secretary was called The Gal. I sat at a drafting table, drafting.
And, nearly every time someone walked in while The Gal was away from her desk, they would assume that I was the secretary.
Also, back in the olden days, I was a calligrapher. So, I made this sign for my desk.
Of course, it didn't make any difference to those people who thought I was clerical help (as compared with drafting help). But it made me feel better.
One of my earliest memories is of my parents staying up late to process slides in the kitchen. I can still remember the first photograph I took - of a rock, with a mountain in the background. In college, I was almost positive I was going to be the next Ansel Adams.
All of which has led me here.