My planet will include some stuff like this.
F-stop what? ISO what? Exposure what?
You’d be surprised how many night shots you take before you get one that works the way you want it to.
Is there any greater division in the world than that of night and day?
There are at least five trees in this photograph, taken with my new camera. 😊
Oh boy… New camera… Learning… Happy happy… Here it is… Can’t stop… More later…
In response to today’s prompt I’m going to do something I seldom do. I’m going to re-blog an entry from my Old Fart series, which originally ran in July of 2013.
The theme of that entry was so apropos this challenge. It was written as a review of a fine local restaurant, and believe me when I say that even today I can remember the exquisite flavors and ingredients I described in the article.
I hope you enjoy this little re-run from An Old Fart Back in School.
Please click here to begin.
One way or another the greatest question we as human beings ever have to ask is: “how do we get from here to there?”
There are many answers to this question – as many answers, in fact, as there are people and situations on the planet. But as I see it the main thing is that we are always assiduously looking for the answer that applies to us.
When we stop looking, we stop making connections. And that’s when we start fading away.
Thanks for visiting.
I guess I do do ‘ick’. Here are some of the many results of the devastating southern Alberta floods of June 2013.
It was a hell of a rain storm. I remember looking at the radar images, seeing this huge, red blob coming straight at us from southeast to northwest. That’s always bad news. Because of the mountains, any easterly wind leads to upsloping, which leads to heavy rains.
This storm brought upwards of 40mm of rain to Calgary over the next three days, which isn’t much. But west of here, in the mountains over the town of Canmore, more than 200mm was received in the same time. And add all that rain to an exceptionally thick Rocky Mountain snowpack and the soggy combination led to an equivalent of more than 900mm cascading down the mountain slopes and into all the southern rivers.
The devastation was rife. Houses, apartments, businesses, roads, bridges, electrical infrastructure was destroyed all over southern Alberta. Basically, if you were near a river, you were at risk. If you were on a river, you were pretty much guaranteed to be affected, if not utterly destroyed.
It was the flood of the century, they said, and there’s no guarantee it won’t happen again next year. I
Well, I say: let’s hope it doesn’t.
I have an ongoing love-hate relationship with my bathroom scale. I don’t know what it is, but sometimes we get along and sometimes we don’t. Sometimes she speaks softly, soothes my soul, makes me feel nice. Other times she’s the biggest, loudest, most disagreeable bitch in my whole world. It goes something like this.
“Good morning, Scaley. How are you?
“Not talkative today? That’s ok. We can’t always be on.
“Yes, I’m fine, thank you. Possibly ate too much for supper last night, but I guess you’ll tell me for sure.
“What’s that? Your batteries are dying? Hmmm, I’ll have to see if I can get you some more.”
We dance around like this for some time before I climb on. I sigh deeply, expunging my corpus-less-than-delecti of almost all its air. I look down…
Of course, there’s always a question of accuracy. She’s a digital model – glass top, shiny insides – so expectations are high – but while she’s mostly quick and attentive, and (as far as I know) right on target, sometimes she’s slow and stubborn, or even nasty, spittin’ out a nasty ol’ digital tongue at me like this:
Same to you, Lady.
So I’m looking down… Sometimes she lies, like when I weigh myself before I have a shower then come out of the water weighing even more. That’s bald-faced, hand-in-the-cookie-jar prevarication – I mean, somewhere an unadulterated lie is smoking a cigarette, having a good smile at my consternation.
Still looking down… The love-hate thing comes in every day. It’s love when she tells me I’m lighter, it’s hate when she tells me the tru – I mean, when she doesn’t. Progress is definitely measured in ulbs and ozzes.
Looking down… I can’t stay mad at her for long. There’s a compulsive element to it, I think: I have a need for her. Like a wife or a lover, whether or not I plan to listen I simply must know how she thinks I’m doing.
I look down at a different result every day. I track my results – I enter them in a spreadsheet I’ve made – to reinforce myself emotionally and stay the course. Today’s reading (in case you’re curious) was down from yesterday, but yesterday’s was a downer from the day before.
Truly, in the bathroom of life, the weigh scale can be a real roller coaster