What was that again?

Did you ever have a really great idea?  I'm talking an earth-moving, soul-shaking, supreme-being-like epiphany - something that rocked your entire worldview and was certain to establish the next evoloution in human nature?

Ever put such an idea off as 'I've GOT to record this!...but (insert real life situation here) comes first' resulting in going on about your life until the hot idea gets buried in the back of the deep freeze of your mind, to wallow in a slow-death of freezer burn, never to emerge into the warmth of the kitchen again?

Yea...me too.                         All.    The.     Time.            


I'm sure there are millions of unrealized ideas that once struck me, but I've misplaced in the everyday drudgery of earning enough currency to keep me and mine's carbon-based meat containers fed, clothed, sheltered, medicated, educated and entertained.

I do have a story to share with you today, however.  It's an old story, and it comes with another story to explain the story.  So get all comfy, kids, and settle down into your blankets and pillows and jammies...because it's story hour.

Although if it takes you an hour to read this post - I may need to reevaluate my excessive use of esoteric verbiage and relegate myself to straightforward vernacular henceforth.

I had a dream.  

Yea, it's been done before...but in this case...it's accurate.

It wasn't a 'change the world,' M.L.K. type of dream - it was one of those with disturbing, heart-pounding imagery liberally laced with dream-logic.  I tend to have a lot of those.  Sometimes I write them down, sometimes I'm happier just forgetting them, letting the dream logic fade out like fog on a sunny morning.

This particular dream was determined to stick around without my writing it out, and in defiance of the then-brutal schedule I had running my life.

See -  at the time I was working a very demanding 12 hour shift at a manufacturing plant - 6pm to 6am.  It was a mythological-beast of a job (think...Kraken, Minotaur, Dragon, etc...big, demanding, and ready to eat you in one bite for crossing that imaginary line) - half the day spent on a dirty, dusty, noisy factory floor, standing the entire time - cutting big sheets of labels into finished packets of labels, and sorting for flaws as one went through the stacks. 

If this sounds mind-numbingly boring, then I'm describing it right.

But once you learned the job well, you could set yourself on auto-pilot, which allowed for conversations with co-workers (if you could hear them over the shriek of the machinery) or time to let your mind wander aimlessly on whatever subject had caught your fancy.

I fleshed out a couple of good book ideas on that shop floor, hundreds of short stories, had countless conversations with myself, and somehow managed to save the world a dozen times over between picking bad labels out of the good ones.

So, back to this dream that I had...

That sucker was branded into my brain.  It demanded more than simple acknowledgement, it arrogantly commanded delivery out of my head to paper (or its electronic substitute).  It absolutely refused to be silent, to be patient, to wait for the opportune time to become more than an idea.  It was a spoiled brat, throwing a defiant temper-tantrum in the face of the Draconian Job which was interfering with its creative birthing process.

I listened to the incessant whining of this spoiled-brat idea all throughout my work shift, trying to quell the ever-more shrill demands for attention as the night wore on.  At about the midpoint of my workday, I started spinning the story in my head as I moved product from point A to point B.   I wrote brief notes on my breaks, so I could put the everything together once I had time to sit at the word processor.  I knew this one would be a short story - a single, crystallized slice of time - but I was getting excited to put it to paper.

There was only one large problem with typing the story out.  

It was the middle of the work week - which meant another 12 hour shift after only 12 hours off .  12 hours to:
Eat.  Sleep. Bathe.  Dress.  Prep for work.  Family interaction.  Travel to/from work.

Unwinding from the work day by putting an idea to paper was not in the schedule - it wasn't going to BE in the schedule until the work-week was done.  Time between shifts was Premium, Ocean-Front, Deluxe 8 bedroom Mansion Temporal-Real-Estate.  Unwinding between shifts was sleep...there wasn't spare time for anything else.

So I sat the little spoiled-brat idea down in a virtual chair, and explained the situation.  I pointed out the real-life, paper notes I had written out.  It received some attention, and tomorrow, after work, was 'us' time until it was properly constructed.  I think I even gave it an imaginary hug and wiped away some pretend tears.

Grudgingly, spoiled-brat idea acquiesced to real-life situation.

So...I had a little breakfast.  Spent some time with the fam.  Hopped in the shower.  Proceeded to the bedroom to catch some Zzzzz's.

Spoiled-brat idea whimpered in my mind as I composed myself for sleep.

It whistled a bawdy show-tune off-key, while bouncing a fake ball off the supposed walls of my mind.

I rolled around in bed - shushing spoiled-brat idea, reinforcing the need for sleep. 

It lit a bonfire, fanned the flames in my head.

I rolled around some more.

And some more.  I think that's when the keg was tapped, and the rock music started thumping out of the speaker stacks.

The idea would not settle down enough for me to sleep.

"ENOUGH!" I mentally berated my over-active imagination.

I got up, took a couple of sleeping tablets and went back to bed to let them hit.  It was the Pharmacological equivalent of a quick spanking and "Go to your room!" banishment to spoiled-brat partying idea.

It responded by turning UP the music, breaking out the hard liquor and 'shrooms, and inviting the metalheads over to the crib for a 'Wicked Disaster of a Random Fiesta!'

Attention:  NOW.    No time for sleep, no time for dreams, no time for restoring the body - "you can sleep when you're dead, dammit!"

There are times when I really dislike the creative voices.

I finally got out of bed at 2.  I was supposed to be up by 4, so I figured even if I COULD get to sleep, a bare 2 hours of rest to go work a 12 hour shift wasn't the best idea in the world - especially when you work in a factory using really big and wickedly sharp knives, dies and spinning cutty things powered with 2 TONS of hydraulic pressure.

I wasn't about to flirt with amputation...So I called in an absence to work, and allowed the birthing-labors of spoiled-brat idea to proceed.

Society of this time will say that sleep deprivation is not a good reason to miss a day of work - but that's an issue I'm not going to address in this posting.  Maybe later, we'll discuss the finer points of this country's obsession/problem with trading labor for survival and all subsequent judgements - but not today.

The story itself took around a half-hour to write. 

A half hour.  30 minutes.  1800 seconds.  A good power-nap is quoted at 20 minutes.  You can cook a frozen pizza in 15, let tea steep in the cup for 6-8 minutes, and remember to brush your teeth for 3 full minutes 2 times a day.

30 freaking minutes - when I wasted 5 whole hours rolling around in my damn bed.  Why, WHy, WHY?!?!?! didn't I just write the blasted thing before I went to bed???

Hindsight - it's always 20/20 vision...and I still regularly mentally kick myself in the can for it.


But the story was worth it - let me know if you agree...

PRISON OF THE MIND

I pound against the rainbow hued glass walls of my prison beyond the point of pain, slamming my fists against the unyielding surface until even my arms grow numb. I scream and beg and plead for mercy until I am too hoarse to send even a whisper up the funnel shaped ceiling. A torrent of tears flood from my eyes as I curl up on the bowl shaped floor. I cry myself to sleep, exhausted both physically and mentally.

I awake oddly refreshed, and suppress the wave of insanity that demands I continue the cycle, pounding, screaming and crying until I am no longer me, but some shapeless mass of cringing emotions and nerves ready to be shaped by the malevolent presence that would free me.

No. Not free me. Freedom is now beyond my grasp, forever lost to me. Unless. . . .

I MUST ESCAPE!!!

I throw myself bodily against my prison wall, beginning the cycle anew. My mind splinters into fragments of feelings. Rage, pain, terror, panic all compete with my rational being for the ultimate control. Control. What a tremendous joke. I have no control left. That, too, was stolen from me by my captor.

I feel my hands. The pain gains control of the shattered fragments of my mind. I focus on nothing but the red hue of my pain. It is a living thing, sucking my soul, this pain. A dry croak rips from my throat, demanding attention. Water. I must have water.

I stop pounding for a second, feeling this sensation of having a dry throat. This feeling, too, seems to be a living thing, capturing my attention. Without pause, there is a glass in my hand. I can feel the moisture of condensation on the outside of the glass; it feels cool and soothing on my sore skin. The water feels good against my dry lips, my raw throat. The glass is empty, and I hurl it against the wall. The glass shatters against the prison wall, the shards spreading against the unyielding collage of colors like water across tile. Before they hit the floor, they are gone.

It felt good, that bit of control. The act of violence snaps the fragments of my mind to a whole. Yes. For a while, I am free of the madness that stretches its fingers towards me. I can think, I can remember. I remember why I am here.

An innocent day. An ancient bottle, stuck on the top shelf of an equally ancient shop, in a tumbledown shack of a curio shop in India. The beautiful swirl of colors glinting in the dusty sunlight. My longing to have the antique in my hands. The wide, blackened teeth smile of the wizened shopkeeper as he takes it from the shelf. The old glass stopper, made of the same myriad color glass, flaring out from the neck of the bottle then tapering to a delicate point. Tight, the stopper, hard to remove. Inside the bottle the scrap of ancient parchment. Giddy with curiosity, translating the words. Blackness and light. Here.

A fire ignites behind my eyes as the rage builds. Remember the words! Those words trapped me here, those words changed my world, and those words changed my being. Those words so violated me, those hateful words. I need to remember them, to scream them out!

I feel the need to splatter myself against the walls of glass to end this existence, but I cannot. I traded my freedom for the dream, the unreal. With those spoken words I imprisoned myself.

I am the genie in the bottle.

Morphology

You ever notice when you start a new project, it goes in a different direction than the one you intended when you started it?  I started this blog in April, and it's fast-tracked itself into an entirely new being in 4 short months.

They grow up so fast...

My initial idea for this blog was rather simple.  Take teapot for walks.  Put teapot in interesting locations, photograph same.  I had intended this to grow into having strangers hold teapot with interesting backgrounds and/or odd positions for visual impact, distributing cards for the blog as an invitation to see what I've been up to... Kind of a "Come to the blog to check out your own picture, come back to see others" concept that would drive internet traffic to my project. 

Eventually, this was to morph into Hands Across Wisconsin, aNOTHER blog, where I would focus strictly on hands. 

Hands are the way we explore our world.  We touch.  We feel.  When we shop, we want to stroke a potential purchase, to experience the tactile reality of the object in concert with the visual, aural, and/or aromatic sensory inputs.  We further reach out with our hands to manipulate the objects around us to better input visual stimuli or create new stimuli to the persons around us. 

We use our hands every day in more ways than we can count...from the moment we wake in the morning to composing ourselves to sleep at night...our hands are in constant use.  They are THE primary way we interact with the world.  And these interactions are so commonplace, we don't even realize we're using them half the time.


                    "I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty..."
                                "This is a hands-on project..."
                                         "Hand me that cup, would ya?..."
                                                 "He's a very handy person..."
                                                          "I know this place like the back of my hand..."
                                                                      "She's all thumbs..."


These, and more, are phrases I want to explore with my camera.  There's a whole other world of interpretation out there just by cataloging what we do with our hands, and I want to capture it.  This little blog is the prelude to that study.

And then the reality sinks in..........

My brilliant "life-of-a-blog" plan got shelved rather quickly.  I took the teapot out for a walk once. 

>>>ONCE<<<

We had a good day on my Riverwalk, and it posed in its perky way in the foreground of the waterfall.  It was a wonderful spring day, others were out for a breath of (finally!) warm air, and I got some glances, but no approaches.  Everyone was content to let me do my thing.

I could feel the attention, though.  And that attention was WAY outside my comfort zone.

I like to go in what I call chameleon mode when I'm out and about - nobody notices me until I WANT to be noticed.  And it's easy enough to do - nobody really watches the short, round, self-contained woman in rather plain clothing out on the fringes when there are so many other, far more interesting things to focus on.  There are days when it's a reach outside my comfort zone to pull out the camera and start capturing images - that, in itself, draws attention.

I'm a ninja-wallflower - an observer, a spectator, a watcher, a recorder.  And that guise is a very comfortable aspect to wear.  I should know - I rarely take it off.

So - approaching random strangers with a teapot and a camera - it just screams "Look at ME!!!!!"

Not my cuppa.  So much for the grand concept.


To find interesting situations to put the teapot in that didn't involve jumping head-first into the aforementioned attention pit - I went immediately to plan B: researching disaster stuff.  Fires, floods, tornadoes, volcanoes and weird weather were duly researched online, and 'shop utilized to settle the teapot within the frame.  (I will NEVER forget Perch-nado!)  Found a couple of interesting things to do with that - the stories of Pele, the Waterspout, the Beethoven post to name a couple...



 

I also crafted this shot (featuring just the teacup on the seat cushion) which was originally intended for the Pele post, but because there's snow on the mountain and I was featuring Hawaiian myths, I went a different direction. 






 
Plan B rolled smoothly into Emergency Concept Plan A once I realized it is far too depressing to see what we humans are doing to this planet, and what this planet is doing to us humans in retaliation (unless you see it the other way around).  I'm not here to point fingers at who fired the first shot or drew first blood (such as it is when trying to anthropomorphize the ball of rock we live on) - I'm just observing that we humans are awfully short-sighted in how we're ruining the only thing in the known universe that can support the whole of our race.

                        Only after the last tree has been cut down...

                      Only after the last river has been poisoned...

                      Only after the last fish has been caught...

                      Only then will you find that money can not be eaten.

                                                                              ~ Cree Indian Prophecy

This has to be one of my favorite quotes because it's dead on.  We forget about those things that allow us to maintain our carbon-based meat containers, and instead, focus on acquiring as many little green squares of paper as we can.  Which is unusual, because the little green squares of paper are happy just the way they are.

Christianity looks for a person to herald in the end of days - their representative of pure evil in human form (which is a bit arrogant of humanity, if you ask me...) but I figure they're way off.  We're not looking for a human to usher in the end of our existence...we should be looking for something that influences us in destructive ways.

Money is the Anti-Christ - our new God.

Whoa...where did that come from?  Morphology demonstrated in a single blog post.


This blog keeps evolving to suit the mood of its author.  I really never know what I'm going to write next, or what I'm going to capture in my lens.  Sometimes, the story lends itself in the photo I work, sometimes, its the other way around.  It's kind of exciting, waiting for the inspiration to strike, and an almost physical need to put it together once it does.
 

I can't wait to see what pops up next.

Weapons of Mass Distortion

Brave little teacup.  Sad little teacup.  Silly little teacup.  You thought that jumping out of my bag onto a concrete surface would save you from going in front of the camera again?  Not a CHANCE, buster!

I've never been one to let a bad-luck situation grind me down.  I usually pick up the pieces and re-purpose them.  One thing I've learned in my time on this growing ball of rock is if you dwell on the negative, that's what you get in return...more negative.  I'd rather attract the positive by taking a bad situation and finding the good in it. 

I'm just a ray of sunshine, ain't I?  With altruism like this, I may have to turn in my National Sarcasm Society Membership card...AND the matching tie-tack!

cold, dead hands, anyone?

I've held onto the shattered remains of my teacup for around a month, and finally dug them out of the travel bag to put them to good use.  It's so tough viewing the remains of a deceased loved one.  Not to say I won't eventually toss the chunks the next time I de-clutter, but, really, anything can be interesting when captured in JUUUUUST the right way in front of the camera lens.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once upon a time, in an apartment far, far away (OK, not that far...only 12 miles, but I'm setting the mood here) I had a comedy/tragedy mask combo hanging on my wall.  Composed of ceramic with a high-gloss glaze, Comedy was white, Tragedy was black.  The two masks were rather austere - no additional decorations, paint, or details - just the bare, shiny faces with empty eye sockets and open mouths.  A trio of twisted ribbons were tied at either side of each face, creating a loop in the back to catch a nail strategically hammered into the wall.  There was extra ribbon on each side left to dangle - the only 'frill' to the pieces.  On the surface, they were pretty standard fare.  I found them hanging from the wall of an antique shop, at a reasonable price, so I adopted them and brought them home.

They were happy little masks, full of positive energy, and brightened up my living space with their contrasting white and black features. 

I have the same weakness for masks (comedy/tragedy, Mardi-Gras, Carnivàle, etc.) that I have for stemware.  Anything unusually embellished, uniquely-shaped, or charged with happy energy catches my eye.  I find glass/ceramic/porcelain/pottery is a good medium for holding ethereal energies, and even if they are never charged by a practitioner of the artes, can retain the artistic vibes given off by their creator within the creative process.

I even went so far as to create some of my own masks back in the day, when I was enduring a 'bout of clay creativity liberally blended with Star Trek Geek-dom.  I made masks with Klingon, Cardassian, and Ferengi features.  Decked out with hair (when appropriate) and painted tattoos, they were quite the stunning collection.  I hope they brighten the rooms of whomever owns them now, as I've lost touch with my creations.


What?  Have you forgotten that I'm slightly to the left of 'normal?'


Well... to return to the story... I have 2 ceramic masks hanging from the wall in an apartment far, far away, complete with dangly ribbon things on either side of the faces.  I also have a cat.  Cats like dangly things.  Mine in particular finds dangly things absolutely irresistible.  Cats have a perverse need to bat at dangly things...although, with my cat, batting at dangly things is why he's breathing and converting food to waste products and fur.  It's his purpose in this life.  Cats also have claws to hook onto the aforementioned dangly things, and sufficient mass to pull them from their secure perch on the wall.  Can everyone do the math, here?

I woke one morning to see the black tragedy mask in pieces on the floor.

 *sob*

Yes, the tragic irony in this little story is thick enough to warrant its own zip code (plus FOUR!)...but everyone knows, if you live with glass things with dangly bits and a cat, broken glass things and slightly-chewed dangly bits are going to appear...C'est la vie


 I put the remains away, intent on some day gluing the pieces back together.  When inspiration hit a few months later, I dug them out to run a series of shots, operating under the assumption that anything can be made interesting when framed in the right perspective.  Some of the shots in that series proved my assumption correct. 

I shared my favorites on Facebook, tucking the series away on a file in my computer, and stowing the physical remains back in their cubby.



Tempus Fugit - time flies - many moons later...

The SQO's band finally had enough music properly performed, mixed and recorded to put out their second album.  We settled, after much debate, on an album title of Regeneration as the best fit for the album, due to the bassist being new, and both him and the SQO being HUGE Dr. Who fans. 

Of course, the debate in this case consisted of a ton of different titles being tossed about by all 4 band mates and my occasional suggestion, and everyone had to agree on the one that fit the best.

Creativity by Committee is sometimes a long, arduous process.

The SQO and I browsed through my files in search of suitable graphics.  The candle/mask series was a natural, as the imagery additionally suggested this rebirth or regeneration, the resilience of not letting a setback stop you, and the emergence of something happy and perfect from the shattered remains of a tragedy. 

Two of the candle/mask series shots ended up as the interior cover and the back cover of the new album.

The shot that made it to the front cover, after I gave the boys in the band 2 dozen different cover configurations to choose from (Creativity by Committee, take II), was 4 cell-phone shots of the guys taken at their first show as this new-lineup - again, the intent behind the image was what sold all the members of the band.  All I had to do for the front cover was put the pieces together with some text to tie it together.

I just want to mention here...the candle/mask series was taken with a cheap little point & shoot camera, and edited with the free photo-editing program offered on Photobucket.  The front cover was taken from the boy's cell phones - which also don't have the greatest resolution or megapixels.  Just to be clear, here - you don't need a bunch of expensive stuff to capture images and turn them into a fantastic project - all you need is determination, drive, and vision.

So the next time that someone tries to sell you some expensive lens, or you run out to have the 'latest and greatest' DSLR body to take FANTASTIC pictures - remember - the gear only captures the images...your inner creative visions are what make them great.

And what happened to the Tragedy Mask?  He now has company - the Teacup has moved in with him.  Someday, perhaps, the glue will join the party.

Brrrrrr............

Strange, that I would have a blog post with such a chill-inducing title in the middle of one of the two hottest months of the year - but I have my reasons.

We have two of the oddest methods for raising money in this state - called the Polar Bear Plunge and Freezin' for a Reason. 

I still hear of these events, and immediately think - These guys are nuts!

The two charity drives are legendary, annual events in Wisconsin.  Both have ordinary people (ordinary....but not exactly SANE) jumping into large bodies of water in the middle of winter...without an impending threat of bodily harm if they don't comply.

Yup...I said it - they do this voluntarily, and ON PURPOSE! 

It's a mad attempt to convince the people in this state with money AND sense to donate generously to the cause of the jumpee's choice. 

The scary part - it works.

The leap is traditionally accompanied by a crowd of well-wishers cheering on the participants while bundled up to the eyebrows and sipping steaming cups of hot chocolate liberally laced with alcohol and marshmallows. 

And cookies. 

As an aside, here - there is always an appearance of something baked and sweet anytime there are more than 4 people gathered together up here.  Cookies.  Cakes.  Sweet Breads.  Muffins.  Donuts.  Bagels stuffed and/or topped with fruits and/or sweet goo.  We do them all.   We take our pastries seriously in this state.

 I can handle an obsession with bakery goods (the proof is in my waistband) but the whole jumping into Lake Michigan in the dead of winter in Wisconsin?  I don't think I've ever been THAT bored - even when the winchill drops to negative double digits and I'm terrified of freezing to the sidewalk.

I'd rather make a dozen chocolate, chocolate covered raspberry cheesecakes with burnt-sugar glaze and chocolate chips.  From scratch.



There's a new 'thing' making its way across the interwebz - the Ice Water Challenge.  Just another way for someone to do something mildly foolish in front of a camera all in the name of a good cause.  This challenge is simple:  Video record someone pouring a bucket of ice water over your head and plaster it all over the social 'net. 



Like all charitable challenges - there's a request for any and all who see the show to donate generously to the cause of the soon-to-be iced person's choice.

This one ends with callouts - you get to name five of your friends (seriously...I like to think I treat my freinds better than this...) to repeat said challenge in the name of THEIR favorite charity.


And thus is born the newest orgy of 'Hey, look at me doing something not too bright!' videos posted on social forums across the globe. 


Some people get quite creative in their dousing.  I saw a guy yell out "Go Big, or Go Home," before loading a large skid mover's bucket with the required ice and water.  He got REAL wet.

A bunch of firemen used a fire hose (no ice, but that's a LOT of water pressure!)

One guy lined the back of his pickup truck with plastic sheeting, filled with ice water, and belly-flopped in.

And, of course, you've got the random costumed dunkers - Batman, Ironman, Spiderman, Superman.  You'll notice, there are no superWOMEN doing this...our superpowers must be brains.

present company excluded, of course...

I laughed when this one guy got three buckets dumped on him - the third aimed square at the crotch. (I'll say again...friends like this...) He started pulling his clothing away from his body yelling 'Oh shit!' Deliberately pulled the waistband of his shorts and pointedly looked down still yelling "oh, Shit!"

You know what they say about cold water and men, right?

Well, now that we have the backstory, details, and research laid out - you can guess where this is going, right?  I got called out.  I guess I need a new circle of friends.


I really, REALLY wanted to ignore the whole thing, as the only thing making anyone do this is pure and simple peer pressure - and just get on with more important things in my life, like photography and 'shop and the great teacup replacement adventure, but then I had a thought: 

The still shots of a large volume of water and ice being flung could be something worth capturing on the camera. 

Proving once again that I'm more than just a bit weird, more than just a bit obsessed with water and my camera, and that I REALLY need to learn to ignore thoughts like these.

Soooo - 5 gallon container - check.  Off to the local Walmart I went, and I can use the container afterwards to store stuff, or donate to Goodwill if I'm feeling the need to de-clutter.

Ice cubes - check.  I don't feel the need to keep 50 or so trays of frozen water in my little freezer, but ice is easy to procure in this country.  a 5# bag of frozen, semi-uniform cubes is under $2.  Consumerism at it's finest!

Cronies - check.  I can't run the video, the still-cam and fling water at myself BY myself, unless I've got a couple of clones handy or have suddenly developed telekinesis.  (In case you're wondering, the answer is 'no' on both...)  Lucky for me, my son, DIL(2B) and SQO were available and willing to help.  Strange, the amount of perverse pleasure they enjoyed at the idea - but I'll ruminate over that later...

Set up was easy - give the video to my DIL(2B), give the bucket to the SQO, set up the still cam on the tripod and set to sport mode (just push down the button and WHAPWHAPWHAPWHAP - the shutter will continue to fire off until you let up on the button) and yea...let's do this.
  
In three............two.............one....  

That'll teach me to get on the wrong end of my camera lens.

Summertime, summertime, sum sum sum SUMMERTIME

Ahhh - what better way to enjoy summer than with an icy cold, sweet and bite-y frozen adult beverage?  Complete with all the trimmings.

As the teacup is a shattered mess, and the teapot is, at this very moment, cowering in a darkened corner wracked with grief...my martini glass has bravely stepped up to the plate to star in this next blog post.

This was another Goodwill find - there is a slight chip on the edge, but I couldn't let that deter me from snagging this beauty.  I only found out after it made its way home with me that this martini glass was a promotional piece for Grey Goose Vodka - and prices range from 10-15 bucks on eBay to $200 for a set of 2 on Amazon.  Crazy what people will pay for something deemed 'collectable.'  I think I spent two bucks on mine.

Never one to leave a surface plain when I'm in artistic mode, I dug through the net for a bit of learning, got some supplies, and dressed the glass up by etching a pattern into the bowl.  I think the crazy branches go well with the pewter vine stem.  Unfortunately, with all the cold, sweet, lemony stuff currently occupying the bowl, you can't see the etching. I'll have to show off the etch work when I'm finished with my treat.


This is a strange summer for Wisconsin.  Usually by this time, we've all closed our windows and doors, cranked the A/C, and are bitterly complaining about the heat and humidity.  Traditionally, we have high 80's moving in to low 90's, and the humidity is so heavy you can practically backstroke in the air.  Then the heat wave comes, we reach triple digits, and start reminiscing about how wonderful winter is with -30 windchill. 


"Oh, what I wouldn't do for a cold breeze right now!" murmurs a portly woman industriously fanning her florid flesh with a copy of Vogue.  "Its hot enough to fry eggs on the sidewalk!"


And, yes...this happens pretty much every year.  Someone goes out and cracks an egg on the sidewalk, the road, the roof, the hood of someone's car, etc., and watches the poor embryonic chicken sizzle to its doom.  Sometimes, there are toast points involved.

                               Mmmmm...toast points.

But this summer has been fabulous.  We've had maybe one day of higher humidity, but it hasn't been all that hot.  The weatherman will tell us it's because of having such a long and cold winter that lake Michigan froze soooooooo deep and is still soooooooooo cold, it's having an effect on the temperatures.  Well, I can attest to the water of lake Michigan being REAL cold, as I found out when I dipped my toes in on the 13th...but I'd say, just like all weather predictions, he's got a 50% chance of being right on the reason behind our wonderful summer.

We're made it through the 4th of July Holiday weekend - America's independence day.  How do we celebrate this auspicious event?  Like every major holiday in this country, it's gone commercial.  We go to a carnival, consume WAY too many foods that are freakishly bad for us (ahem...deep fried Snicker's, anyone?), drink a lot of overpriced alcohol, get on metal contraptions that spin us 'till we're dizzy enough to puke (after the booze and the deep-fried candy bars, this is probably a good thing, in retrospect) and spend a ton of money we may or may not have in reserve on cheap junk or cheaper entertainment.

Oh...and for the finale of this holiday...we blow stuff up!!!!  

                      Can you tell I like this part?

I got 'volunteered' into more photo projects.  I happened to tell the guy who runs the Wisconsin Vapers Group on Facebook that the artwork on the SQO's band page was all my work.  His eyes lit up, he started to pant (well, it COULD have been the hot sun we were sitting in), and I believe I saw a bit of drool...  I knew I'd just announced an exploitable talent - and that I'd just volunteered for several favors.   Yea...I'm a sucker - but making Facebook banners is FUN.

A little aside on the whole 'vapers' thing - I am one.  I have been for better than 5 years.  By vaper, I mean I consume nicotine, not by igniting a carbon-based leaf product on fire and inhaling the results of that combustion into my lungs, but by using an electronic gizmo called a Personal Vaporizer (PV).  You may have heard them mentioned in the news by a different name:  they're called E-cigarettes, E-cigs, ENDS, E-hookahs, E-pipes, E-pens, vape pens, and just about any other E-name someone with half a brain could come up with.

They're really a neat idea - which, of course, sets a lot of tongues wagging and got a lot of busy-bodies all up in arms...you'd think we were running naked in the streets from the overblown reactions!  I'm going to stay away from the politics surrounding my little gizmo, however, because I promised myself I would NOT get political in this blog.

So let's get back to the blowing stuff up bit.  Firework displays are set off in pretty much every town in Wisconsin around the 4th.  Yes, there are some tiny towns who gang together to throw their celebrations, but we've got cars and everything - even in the middle of nowhere - so nobody misses out on their chance to watch the skies light up with multi-colored balls of fire and sparks.


It is very 'Murican! to blow stuff up.


I've seen good displays, I've seen bad ones.  My favorite had to be when I was a teen - they floated a barge out in the middle of Clear Lake in Iowa, and shot the fireworks off that!  Imagine thousands of people gathered on the shorelines, some with small fires on private property to keep them nasty mosquitoes away, some on the boat launches in the sodium-lights, some on bridges, some in the lake park - the lake was surrounded by humans - most of them with some source of illumination.  Imagine further, if you will, boats on the water, their dim running lights a thousand additional points of light glimmering in the still water.  Then the stately barge (ok, I'm waxing poetic, here, by calling it stately...) chugging it's way to the middle of the lake.  Watching the other boaters open a path and then close ranks behind the barge was a show in itself, with the promise of more to come...

There is NOTHING to compare to being on a boat in the middle of a darkened lake watching fireworks in the sky mirrored in the water.  It was a light show like no other!

I always flinch, now, BEFORE I hear the boom of the firework exploding, because being close enough to see the barge meant we were directly UNDER the pyrotechnic, and thus the sound wave reached us FAST.  Standing on solid ground, in a crowd, with the technicians a couple of hundred yards away is safer, yes, but somehow less satisfying.

I've watched the Rhythm and Booms show in Madison a couple of times (they're a national group who go all across the country) which is timed to music, but it still isn't as phenomenal as those small-town, lake country displays ON the lake...which I will probably never see again.

In the wake of our country's almost fanatical drive to protect the idiots from themselves, we've attempted to sterilize every aspect of life in this country that 'could' conceivably hurt someone, so I'm certain that the firework display on the lake has been deemed too dangerous to spectators, and moved to a safer locale.  A shame, if you ask me, to see the display go the way of the dinosaur.

My worst firework show had to have been one of the last ones I watched in Watertown.  Not because the pyrotechnics were bad, but because of the accident.  One of the mortars exploded in the canister, on the ground.  It was an ugly ball of light, not pretty and spread out across the sky.  The crowd saw the light first, then heard/felt the shockwave, then felt the wash of heat from the explosion.

When you blow stuff up, even when you're a professional pyromaniac, sometimes accidents happen.

After the blast, the show was momentarily stalled as the technicians rechecked their setup, before resuming the dazzling light show for the crowd's consumption.

I wonder how many other people will recant this story to their children, their friends, their families, as they watch the rocket's red glare and the bombs bursting in air to celebrate the country's liberation from an oppressive government?

Happy Birthday, America!

The HoneyMoon's over (Lake Michigan)

This Friday, June 13th, 2014 - there was a rare event.  A full moon rising on Friday the 13th.  What made this moonrise even rarer was the coloration - a warm, amber-honey color was predicted for this rising.  Thus, the Honey Moon.

So, risking all the horrors of Friday the 13th - and when you're carrying a DSLR camera to the beach/lakefront that's a LOT of money to be daring the bad-luck fairy to look away from - the mythos of the full moon causing madness (ok...so I'm already crazy and didn't need to worry too much about that one) and my Squidnificant Other's (SQO's) being bored, I dragged him into the car and off we went.

Once we got to the lake, I realized I had forgotten all about the whole 'cooler by the lake' thing, and was only wearing a light top with no sleeves.  Well...  Artists always suffer for their work.  My Turn!!!

We arrived a bit early - sunset was in full swing, but the moon hadn't come up yet.   So, as I had some time to kill, I set up on my beach for some sunset shots.

I wasn't disappointed - Mother Nature delivered a very purple sunset...

My beach on the Lake (and just to be clear, here, if I've gone to a location for shots 3x or more, it officially, at least in my mind, becomes 'mine.'  My Beach, my Riverwalk, my Fountain, etc...)
runs roughly northwest to southeast, so I can get both sunset and moonrise on the same location. 



I foresee a foray out to my beach in my future...one VERY early morning.. to catch a sunrise.

As we made our way up the concrete causeway to the round observatory extending into the Lake, I found - people.  Not many, just a few, people -as crazy as I am- with cameras extended toward the horizon to catch the Honey Moon rising.  Once again proving that I'm not the only nut-job in this state, but amongst a small, eccentric minority of slightly insane nature-lovers.

I snapped away.  Moonrise was well in progress, the color was fantastic, and the camera was singing in electronic joy.  Once I took my attention off the moon - I noticed the power plant further up the shoreline.  Beautiful, the way the reflections hit the water. 
Say what you will about the cost of utilities these days, but I'll forgive them my high-heat bill last winter for them putting out this spectacular light show on the shore.  But only last winter's bills.  This winter, they're on their own.

 Now, I know I've mentioned that the SQO is a musician.  As a performer, he's a natural in front of the camera.  I've lost count of the number of projects he's appeared in - he's always a willing vict...er...volunteer for whatever insane idea I have involving my camera. 

I'd come across a number of forced perspective photos on the web - and naturally, the 'what the hell' just burst out of me in the throes of the moonrise (who am I to question the strange ideas blooming under the light of the full moon?) 
Several moments of 'just a bit to the right, now raise your hand JUUUUUUST a bit more, back to the left a hair, turn your head a little more, lower your chin, NOPE, too much, lower your hand a fraction of an inch,' produced this ducky little shot. 

And, as an aside - He was certainly more attentive to the Lakeshore temperature than I was - June, and he's sensibly dressed in a leather jacket, hat, and scarf, while I'm doing the whole 'Freezin' for a Reason' thing.

Overall, the shoot went well - but I couldn't tempt the wicked fates of Friday the 13th by getting great shots without paying the price for my success - even with being under dressed, freezing my bunz off, and succumbing to the influences of the light of the crazy-generating moon.  (where do you think the term 'lunatic' comes from?)

Finally, there were no more good shots to be had.  As the moon rose higher in the sky, the amber hue faded away, until only the standard white moon filled the sky.  Quite pleased with my shots, I quickly packed things up...because by this time I was shaking more than a bit, I believe I started acquiring a lovely shade of blue, and the mosquitoes were undaunted by the brisk night air (in Wisconsin, the mosquitoes grow fur to combat the weather!). 

The DSLR came off the tripod and into its bag - close and clip.  The Canon with the mega-zoom got looped around my neck.  The tripod was folded, but the legs were still extended.  The teacup had its own little bag to stay secure in, along with a smallish brass chalice I'd picked up at Goodwill (seriously, folks, if you're ever looking for awesome photo props that won't break the bank - go to your local Goodwill, St. Vincent de Paul, or any other resale shop in your area), and they were both nestled inside.

We made haste to the car - up the concrete sidewalk toward shelter and warmth, when I heard it.

A metallic tink. Followed by the breaking of glass.


I had forgotten to zip the bag with the teacup.  Both it, and the chalice, launched from the bag in a misguided attempt to break for freedom.  My poor, brave, foolish little teacup.  I guess the pressures of stardom were too much for it.  It must have been depressed to never be pressed into service as a container for a hot bath of Earl Grey, surrounded with happy, crunchy bikkies on the side.  It ended its life of photographic supermodel-dom on the concrete walkway for the observatory on Bender Beach on the Wisconsin side of Lake Michigan.

Rest in Pieces, little buddy. Friday the 13th took you from me, and the Honey Moon is now over...

Drip, drip, drip...

Above all else, a hobby represents fun!  If it's not fun, it's not a hobby...its drudgery.   I do spend some time on the 'net checking out what others have come up with - and this one has been ticking around in my head for quite some time.  It was pushed forward in the creative queue quite by accident.


My obsession with water continues.  This weekend I was handed an opportunity by the Squidnificant Other (my boyfriend's 'stage name' has been Dr. Squid forever...) by a quirky set of coincidences... 

We spend some time together during the week - separated by band practices, work, and about 12 miles.  Weekends we spend more time together, when life doesn't interfere.  Sooooo....

Saturday night.  We cuddled, we watched a movie, we browsed the web, we did the things that couples do.  I finally ran out of oomph around 2am, and curled up in bed, while he stayed up to check a few things.  Make some snarky remarks and/or thoughtful dissertations on Facebook.  Send out a few emails to the band on rehearsal schedules.  Do a bit more research on something that catches his eye on the web. 

You have to realize my S.Q.O. is a fully-functional night person - he works well and has knife-sharp clarity once the clock reaches those early AM hours, and distainfully disregards that the world's standard is sleep at this time.  Honestly, he'd be a natural at a 3rd shift job - it's his preferred time of the day...but he tries to keep closer hours to mine, which mirror the old 9-5er job and a sleep schedule to match.  What can I say...love makes you do strange things sometimes...like me staying up until 2am and him fighting his own internal clock.

I'm not sure what caused it, as I was in the bedroom lost in dreams...but he ended up with a wild craving for jelly.  Bread.  A schmear of peanut butter.  And one simply does not ignore the after-midnight munchies.

Sooo - bread.  Check.  Next to the microwave.

Peanut butter.  Check.  In the cupboard, 2nd shelf, to the left, behind the honey.

Knife.  Plate.  Check and check.  IT'S SAMMICH TIME!

Jelly.  In the fridge, on the door, middle shelf, about in the middle of the door.  EWWWWW!



I have to interject here, quite apologetically, that sometimes, I forget that certain contents in my refrigerator exist, and science projects happen.  One day, I hope to evolve a new lifeform that will, in its gratitude from being released from the refrigerator, fix Wisconsin's weather to be 72.5 degrees  and sunny year round, with light rain overnight, except on holidays and scheduled camping/photo trips.



So - frustrated and thwarted (and a little bit disgusted) he ends the life of my little biological colony with extremely hot water and dish soap, and then leaves the jar in the sink filled with water to soak out the overly sticky remnants. 

I'm sure he found something companionable to snack on to satiate the midnight-munchies...but he didn't let me in on the ingredients in his snack-a-palooza.


When I got up in the morning, I saw the evidence of the thwarted sandwich.  It was sad, really - the peanut butter jar, bread, plate and knife were all poised and ready on the counter, patiently waiting for the jelly to join the sammich party.  I feel so bad that they all got stood up.

And then I saw the jar in the sink.  Filled with water and under the spout - which has a slow drip (I gotta keep reminding myself to ask the building superintendent to fix that...) and it struck me...catching a water drop in motion has been on my bucket list (I just HAD to...you realize that....) for a long time.  Hello, opportunity!

I snapped off a series - blurry....blech.  Missed the drip...fooey!  Shutter speed too slow...indistinct image.  Too high...darkness.

I ran through a lot of variations on settings - always remembering my exposure triangle, until I got one that froze the water in mid-splash.  You can see that the drips above the splash are still a bit indistinct, but I got very, very close to what I wanted.

I see another 'bout of learning on the web for how to correctly frame, light, focus and capture a drop in the throws of the splash - but for a first attempt, I'd say not too bad...