Very recently I received a surprise e-mail. Someone sent me a Facebook friend request, which isn’t unusual in itself. But the name...now, that was more than unusual. It was a name I never thought I’d ever see again.
As I looked at that name, over 30 years rewinded for me in a millisecond. After the cloud of memory cleared from my eyes, I saw his photo in the e-mail message. Yes, those are his eyes, and that is his smile...I knew that face, even though he was 17 the last time I saw it.
With that Facebook request, an amazing journey began. One that few people are fortunate enough to take, and one I never expected in a million years.
We had spent several years riding a school bus together. We lived on the end of the route, so we talked a lot, every day. He sat on the high school side, and I sat on the grade school side, always under the constant vigilance of Clyde, our gruff, eagle-eyed bus driver. We talked about pretty much the same things most teens talked about in the 1970s...everything except that we liked each other. But my little pink diary was filled with thoughts on how much I liked him. He treated me like I was special, and important, and he imprinted a very positive, lifelong impression on my heart.
As happens, life moved on. Two innocent country kids began to grow up, and life parted us. He went off to college, and my family moved out of the area. Years flew by, lives lived, loves found and lost, good times, sad times and some confusing times, but not once in those years did our paths cross. Sure, I asked about him over the years, and when I started working on the Internet, I did a few searches. Nothing. I didn’t expect to find him...besides, he wouldn’t remember me. He was a senior and I was in junior high. I laughed at the thought that he’d ever remember my name.
Until Facebook. “How have you been, you may not remember me...rode that big old yellow school bus with you everyday... How is life??? Would be fun to catch up...”
He remembered me. Amazing. Staring at his strong, mature face, I still saw that boy. Those vibrant eyes and that charming smile. Seeing that name in my e-mail inbox seemed surreal. He just digitally dropped in, through time and space.
Honestly, I was a little nervous. Very happy to find that he remembered my name, but what was he like now? I’d had so many years of this wonderful set of memories entrenched in the fabric of who I am...would knowing who he grew up to be shatter those treasured memories? Would it just be better to keep the memories protected, keep that young girl’s crush safe from reality? That seriously crossed my mind...
However, I need life to be real. I’m a “face it head on and deal with it” person and I need to know truths, not live with pretty illusions...besides, I have an extremely curious nature. So, I clicked to accept this old friend from the past into my current life.
My reply e-mail was probably a lot of babble. I felt a little sorry for him having to read it; must have been pretty silly. The little girl from the past wanted to write all sorts of things, but I kept telling myself, don’t sound like an idiot, don’t say too much, let him tell you some things first...
He wrote back right away. I read his e-mail with a feeling that this isn’t real. This can’t be...but it is. It’s HIM.
For several days we exchanged e-mails, each more fun. They were filled with memories of a hometown, a valley, that we both adore. Catching up on family and friends, where we are in our lives. E-mails filled with humor and cherished, shared memories went on to become chats with more up to date information. We revealed some of our lives, and remarkably, there was no discomfort or uneasiness. We were not two strangers; after all this time, in God's plan, we were never meant to be strangers.
From chats, we crossed over to real life... and one evening the phone rang. I’m telling you, seeing his name on my caller ID, the complete surreal quality hit me again. HIS name and number on my phone. I nervously and excitedly picked up the phone, and I heard his voice. Even though he had a cold, there was a familiarity that settled right in...or was it already established from the chats and e-mails...or from time itself? I don’t know, but we had a laugh-filled call that seemed to mix time and reality in an amazing way. To speak to a childhood sweetheart after all those years...to find out your affection had been returned, and to not feel awkward about it...it was just amazing. (I think I’ve worn out that word!)
We’ve only just been reintroduced, and we are learning about each other’s lives and loves, past and present...and I realized that the relationship we formed in childhood had been one of friendship. A friendship that started in one decade and patiently waited through many decades, to arrive rich and full.
This reunion is a treasured time of my life. Whether we stay in contact, or life separates us yet again, the little girl now knows that boy felt the same way about her...and the woman knows the man is a good friend.
Life is remarkable...simply amazing.
January 25, 2010
January 3, 2010
Wishing you all a happy, healthy, wealthy and wise 2010!
Until I can take the time to be more verbose and pop out some pretty prose, here's a photo of "my girl," Dixie-Doo. She's been home for one year and four days now. We had a swell Christmas and "Welcome Home anniversary," and here's a photo of her smiling contentedly...yes, really, that is a smile curling those little beagly lips!
Happy new year, with wishes and prayers that it's a great one for us all!
December 16, 2009
Very funny e-mail about Christmas decorations -- still laughing!
A very cool family member sent me the following e-mail today. I laughed, and the more I thought about it, the more I laughed. It's just one of those things that you fill in all the possible scenarios that go beyond the e-mail message. Or maybe I'm just strange that this gave me buckets of giggles throughout the day. Either way, I'm good with it!
As usual with the e-mails I post, I don't have any clue who the original source is, so if anyone knows, please let us all in on it so we can tell him or her thanks for sharing!
Take a good look at the photo, then scroll down and read the caption/story. And don't sip a beverage while doing so...I'm just sayin'...
“Good news is that I truly out did myself this year with my Christmas decorations. The bad news is that I had to take him down after two days. I had more people come screaming up to my house than ever. Great stories. But two things made me take it down:
First, the cops advised me that it would cause traffic accidents as they almost wrecked when they drove by.
Second, a 55 year old lady grabbed the 75 pound ladder almost killed herself putting it against my house and didn’t realize that it was fake until she climbed to the top (she was not happy). By the way, she was one of the many people who attempted to do that. My yard couldn’t take it either. I have more than a few tire tracks where people literally drove up my yard.”
As usual with the e-mails I post, I don't have any clue who the original source is, so if anyone knows, please let us all in on it so we can tell him or her thanks for sharing!
Take a good look at the photo, then scroll down and read the caption/story. And don't sip a beverage while doing so...I'm just sayin'...
“Good news is that I truly out did myself this year with my Christmas decorations. The bad news is that I had to take him down after two days. I had more people come screaming up to my house than ever. Great stories. But two things made me take it down:
First, the cops advised me that it would cause traffic accidents as they almost wrecked when they drove by.
Second, a 55 year old lady grabbed the 75 pound ladder almost killed herself putting it against my house and didn’t realize that it was fake until she climbed to the top (she was not happy). By the way, she was one of the many people who attempted to do that. My yard couldn’t take it either. I have more than a few tire tracks where people literally drove up my yard.”
November 4, 2009
Blazing Memories: Fall Chill, Sudden Loss, Lifelong Lesson... It was 1971
Early in my writing career, I wrote an essay about a very meaningful time of my childhood. It was a time of tragedy, by most people's definition, yet, I have positive memories of that October in 1971...and the lesson delivered to my child-soul. A real-life Halloween horror that provided me with a lifelong lesson and sense of appreciation.
Here is that essay, unedited...with all the bumps, bruises and written stumbles that come along with being a new writer...
More Than A Home
On a crisp, late October evening in 1971, I sat hypnotized, watching the largest, hottest, most ferocious fire I have ever seen- and ever hope to see. That night, through the tears, I learned a valuable lesson. The most meaningful memories can be a mixture of good and bad, and loss can leave a gift of appreciation.
Earlier that morning, my two younger brothers were making sure the entire family was up and starting the day. They ran around our rustic, lovely old house, from one spacious room to another, calling out and teasing our baby sister.
Mom had been up for hours, so breakfast was on the table. We all piled into the huge country kitchen and were greeted with the warm, aromatic smell of fresh hotcakes, homemade vanilla syrup, and sizzling, crisp bacon. No one noticed a slightly acrid smell coming from a back bedroom.
We loved our home, but it was something very special to me. It was the greatest house on the planet. There were four huge bedrooms upstairs, one for each of us. The second floor was our domain. It was so great, it even had a pink bathroom containing a mammoth, claw-footed porcelain tub. You could swim laps in that monster.
Directly off the front door, there was a long, half-winding stairway climbing to a large landing, which worked well as a wonderful eavesdropping-on-adults hiding place. We spent many weekends sliding down those stairs in cardboard box "sleds." Our goal being to slide right out the front door, but we could never get enough speed.
She was a great house, but one of her best attributes was her age. Our grand lady was going to celebrate her one hundredth birthday. I can remember so clearly the feel of the highly polished wood floors as we slipped around the corners, "skating" from connected room, to hallway, to next room. The smell of home-baked bread. The nightly sound effects whispering from the aged beams, as if the gracious old girl was lulling us to sleep with her dry, creaking, comforting voice. I remember every square nail, every restored rough-hewn wood panel, every groan in every stairstep.
After breakfast that particular morning, dad went into the back room to check on the old oil stove. It was puffing along, trying to keep us warm. Within moments, we heard dad yell for help. As we ran in, we saw him throwing coffee cups full of water at the wall and ceiling, above the furnace chimney. There was an angry red glowing spot threatening to climb to the adjacent ceiling, which was the floor of the boy's rooms upstairs. It only took a few minutes, and several mugs of cold tap water, and the emergency was declared over. No more hotspot, no more danger. We began preparing for the afternoon Halloween party at church. We forgot all about "the incident."
A few hours later, we all piled into our VW van, and off we went. The party was colorful and festive; and soon after dark, it was time to head home. As we were leaving, some friends asked us to come by for pie and coffee.
Dad thought it was getting rather late for the boys, so he decided to drop them off at home first. However, by the time we had reached the house, our pleading and cajoling (and a little nudging from mom) worked, and he gave in. He decided to let the boys stay with us.
Thank God.
We had been visiting for a short while when we heard fire sirens wailing in the distance. We lived in a rural dairy community, and there were many miles between neighbors. This was an area where people watched out for each other, so when the sirens screamed, everyone became concerned. Quickly, we were gathered up and loaded into the van.
Following friends and neighbors in a convoy of concern, we headed toward the terrible crying of the alarm. The closer we got to our part of the valley, the tighter my stomach knotted. By the time we crested the hill overlooking our beautiful valley, I knew. We all knew.
The incredible glow in the sky couldn't be mistaken. The smoke billowed upward in eerie gray-black pillars, rising high above the brilliant, searing, all-devouring, flames.
We parked across the street and watched through hot, dry, stunned eyes as our home and life turned to ashes in less than seven minutes. All we had left in the world were the handmade costumes we were wearing, and each other. Especially each other.
Later we were told the fire had started in the furnace chimney and had immediately spread upward, engulfing the boys' room and collapsing the second floor. The boys would not have had a chance.
The next morning, at daybreak, we went to see what might remain. All there was left was the brick chimney standing tall in the center of the devastation. Here and there we found little mis-shapen globs of melted glass or what looked like remnants of our old cast-iron cookware.
The only other thing that remained were hundreds of old square nails which had once held together a graceful, sheltering home filled with love. Each nail represented a time, a person, who had shared in the hundred years of memories.
That night I lost the home I loved. We lost all our material possessions, including seven beloved family pets. But, with the loss, I gained something very valuable -the realization that the most precious things we can have are those who love us. The scorching loss of my home left me a true gift of appreciation, which I treasure beyond words, -even more than a home.
Here is that essay, unedited...with all the bumps, bruises and written stumbles that come along with being a new writer...
More Than A Home
On a crisp, late October evening in 1971, I sat hypnotized, watching the largest, hottest, most ferocious fire I have ever seen- and ever hope to see. That night, through the tears, I learned a valuable lesson. The most meaningful memories can be a mixture of good and bad, and loss can leave a gift of appreciation.
Earlier that morning, my two younger brothers were making sure the entire family was up and starting the day. They ran around our rustic, lovely old house, from one spacious room to another, calling out and teasing our baby sister.
Mom had been up for hours, so breakfast was on the table. We all piled into the huge country kitchen and were greeted with the warm, aromatic smell of fresh hotcakes, homemade vanilla syrup, and sizzling, crisp bacon. No one noticed a slightly acrid smell coming from a back bedroom.
We loved our home, but it was something very special to me. It was the greatest house on the planet. There were four huge bedrooms upstairs, one for each of us. The second floor was our domain. It was so great, it even had a pink bathroom containing a mammoth, claw-footed porcelain tub. You could swim laps in that monster.
Directly off the front door, there was a long, half-winding stairway climbing to a large landing, which worked well as a wonderful eavesdropping-on-adults hiding place. We spent many weekends sliding down those stairs in cardboard box "sleds." Our goal being to slide right out the front door, but we could never get enough speed.
She was a great house, but one of her best attributes was her age. Our grand lady was going to celebrate her one hundredth birthday. I can remember so clearly the feel of the highly polished wood floors as we slipped around the corners, "skating" from connected room, to hallway, to next room. The smell of home-baked bread. The nightly sound effects whispering from the aged beams, as if the gracious old girl was lulling us to sleep with her dry, creaking, comforting voice. I remember every square nail, every restored rough-hewn wood panel, every groan in every stairstep.
After breakfast that particular morning, dad went into the back room to check on the old oil stove. It was puffing along, trying to keep us warm. Within moments, we heard dad yell for help. As we ran in, we saw him throwing coffee cups full of water at the wall and ceiling, above the furnace chimney. There was an angry red glowing spot threatening to climb to the adjacent ceiling, which was the floor of the boy's rooms upstairs. It only took a few minutes, and several mugs of cold tap water, and the emergency was declared over. No more hotspot, no more danger. We began preparing for the afternoon Halloween party at church. We forgot all about "the incident."
A few hours later, we all piled into our VW van, and off we went. The party was colorful and festive; and soon after dark, it was time to head home. As we were leaving, some friends asked us to come by for pie and coffee.
Dad thought it was getting rather late for the boys, so he decided to drop them off at home first. However, by the time we had reached the house, our pleading and cajoling (and a little nudging from mom) worked, and he gave in. He decided to let the boys stay with us.
Thank God.
We had been visiting for a short while when we heard fire sirens wailing in the distance. We lived in a rural dairy community, and there were many miles between neighbors. This was an area where people watched out for each other, so when the sirens screamed, everyone became concerned. Quickly, we were gathered up and loaded into the van.
Following friends and neighbors in a convoy of concern, we headed toward the terrible crying of the alarm. The closer we got to our part of the valley, the tighter my stomach knotted. By the time we crested the hill overlooking our beautiful valley, I knew. We all knew.
The incredible glow in the sky couldn't be mistaken. The smoke billowed upward in eerie gray-black pillars, rising high above the brilliant, searing, all-devouring, flames.
We parked across the street and watched through hot, dry, stunned eyes as our home and life turned to ashes in less than seven minutes. All we had left in the world were the handmade costumes we were wearing, and each other. Especially each other.
Later we were told the fire had started in the furnace chimney and had immediately spread upward, engulfing the boys' room and collapsing the second floor. The boys would not have had a chance.
The next morning, at daybreak, we went to see what might remain. All there was left was the brick chimney standing tall in the center of the devastation. Here and there we found little mis-shapen globs of melted glass or what looked like remnants of our old cast-iron cookware.
The only other thing that remained were hundreds of old square nails which had once held together a graceful, sheltering home filled with love. Each nail represented a time, a person, who had shared in the hundred years of memories.
That night I lost the home I loved. We lost all our material possessions, including seven beloved family pets. But, with the loss, I gained something very valuable -the realization that the most precious things we can have are those who love us. The scorching loss of my home left me a true gift of appreciation, which I treasure beyond words, -even more than a home.
August 16, 2009
'Twas a Dark and Stormy Night Fraught with Drama
It was a dark and stormy night. The moon, pock-marked and cheesy, begrudgingly shared the only light to be seen. This "Moon of Claiming" wasn't in any hurry to come out of hiding from behind the summer storm clouds and tall old pine trees.
On this particularly dark night, I found myself waiting for Dixie Doodle, my sleek and velvet-eared companion...a dame with plenty of attitude and four gams to get her what she wants. And right at that time, she wanted to take care of some biological business. I'm no idiot--I didn't stand in her way.
I leaned against the porch, wrapped in a tattered, fuzzy old blanket to ward off the dampness. I deeply inhaled the scent of heavy rain, wet forest and fresh ionized mountain air. In spite of losing sleep, I heard myself speak to the night air, something about life not being too bad.
While cocooned, gazing half-mindedly at the stubborn night orb, I realized I was wasting a photographic opportunity. Awkwardly I simultaneously drug, carried and tripped over the blanket, making my half-blind way back to the house. Bursting through the door, the soft glow of my LCD HDTV lit the way, allowing me to semi-quickly grab my camera. As I retraced my lumbering, fabric-laden steps to the porch, I hadn't accounted for the possibility that Dixie would follow...within moments there was a pile of tangled limbs, blanket, tripod parts... accompanied by yips, squeals and wimpering. And then I realized Dixie was still in the yard. If one humiliates oneself alone in the dark, is it still humiliation?
Eventually, I took 25 captures of the stormy sky and brilliantly shy lunar globe, all at different settings, mostly experimenting with manual settings on my Canon Powershot SX10. Due to unintended complications, not one exposure really produced a "good" image. But I was determined that this adventure was not going to pass silently into history. So I began a little post-processing in Photoshop.
I found I liked adding some texture to this image, as if it were a painting. The "fabric" texture depicts the evil blanket and the dark tone properly represents the inky, velvety darkness of the night. Do you agree? Disagree? Sorry I didn't get a picture of the blanket debacle?
(Click image to see it full view and really see the texture treatment.)
On this particularly dark night, I found myself waiting for Dixie Doodle, my sleek and velvet-eared companion...a dame with plenty of attitude and four gams to get her what she wants. And right at that time, she wanted to take care of some biological business. I'm no idiot--I didn't stand in her way.
I leaned against the porch, wrapped in a tattered, fuzzy old blanket to ward off the dampness. I deeply inhaled the scent of heavy rain, wet forest and fresh ionized mountain air. In spite of losing sleep, I heard myself speak to the night air, something about life not being too bad.
While cocooned, gazing half-mindedly at the stubborn night orb, I realized I was wasting a photographic opportunity. Awkwardly I simultaneously drug, carried and tripped over the blanket, making my half-blind way back to the house. Bursting through the door, the soft glow of my LCD HDTV lit the way, allowing me to semi-quickly grab my camera. As I retraced my lumbering, fabric-laden steps to the porch, I hadn't accounted for the possibility that Dixie would follow...within moments there was a pile of tangled limbs, blanket, tripod parts... accompanied by yips, squeals and wimpering. And then I realized Dixie was still in the yard. If one humiliates oneself alone in the dark, is it still humiliation?
Eventually, I took 25 captures of the stormy sky and brilliantly shy lunar globe, all at different settings, mostly experimenting with manual settings on my Canon Powershot SX10. Due to unintended complications, not one exposure really produced a "good" image. But I was determined that this adventure was not going to pass silently into history. So I began a little post-processing in Photoshop.
I found I liked adding some texture to this image, as if it were a painting. The "fabric" texture depicts the evil blanket and the dark tone properly represents the inky, velvety darkness of the night. Do you agree? Disagree? Sorry I didn't get a picture of the blanket debacle?
(Click image to see it full view and really see the texture treatment.)
August 14, 2009
I actually won something - thanks to novelist Joe Finder and Twitter
I'm not the type of person who ever wins anything. I lived in Las Vegas for ten years and the most I ever won was $100 on a poker machine. I think I won $2 on a couple scratch lottery tickets. But otherwise, if it's a drawing, giveaway, gamble, game of chance, random draw...count me out. Not gonna happen.
Author Joseph Finder is promoting the release of his new novel, VANISHED. A highly anticipated action thriller, this book introduces Finder's new lead character, Nick Heller, a "private spy." (Read a juicy excerpt here.) He has a quickly growing fan following on Twitter, and with good reason. He follows people back, and replies to his fans personally. He and his very cool assistant Claire are very fan-appreciative, and it shows. One of the ways is through giveaways and great promotional ideas.
That changed yesterday! I won a new iPod Shuffle on a Twitter giveaway. I had to read my name a couple times to let it sink in. I actually won something, and it was a pretty cool something at that!
How did this happen? Well, friends, it all started on Twitter...
Author Joseph Finder is promoting the release of his new novel, VANISHED. A highly anticipated action thriller, this book introduces Finder's new lead character, Nick Heller, a "private spy." (Read a juicy excerpt here.) He has a quickly growing fan following on Twitter, and with good reason. He follows people back, and replies to his fans personally. He and his very cool assistant Claire are very fan-appreciative, and it shows. One of the ways is through giveaways and great promotional ideas.For the release of VANISHED on August 18th, Joe started a fun and clever Twitter campaign: for everyone who follows him at @JoeFinder, and who makes a tweet using the topic #Vanished (hash tag is necessary), will be entered into a drawing for an iPod Shuffle. I've been enjoying the clever tweets and the wordplay used with the title of the book. Joe has some fun and intelligent fans!
With this new Internet social marketing world, writers and authors like Joe Finder are learning to utilize the tools and connect with readers and fans like never before in history. And it's great for the fans, to know their favorite authors are real, and listen to them. A win-win!
I've read a couple of Joe's novels, and I enjoyed them immensely. I'll be posting some reviews as soon as time allows.
But until then, check out his pre-order special offer for VANISHED and visit his site to learn more about the very interesting Joseph Finder, the Yale grad, ex-CIA agent, former journalist and singer (a cappella, no less!). (I'm pre-ordering and will get a free signed paperback!)
(Photo by Joel Benjamin)
- If you'd like to follow Joe on Twitter, click here: @JoeFinder
- If you'd like to follow Joe's new character, Nick Heller, on Twitter, click here: @NickHeller
- If you'd like to follow me on Twitter, click here: @smilingwriter
And that, folks, is how I came to win the iPod Shuffle. I have become a fan of Joe Finder's books and follow him on Twitter. I love to retweet his posts and those of other fans, and when the #Vanished challenge came along, I naturally couldn't resist. And I actually won! I'm still grinning about it...and watching my mailbox!
August 11, 2009
"Dance of the Lightning Men" is a very funny "How To" if you want to photograph lightning
Anyone who reads this blog knows I am in love with the nature photography of Stephen Oachs. Through my association with him (I've worked with him, mostly as his editor and copywriter, for over ten years), I am learning a little about photography. (Please, no jokes about my being a slow learner!) But, an additional perk is, I'm becoming electronically acquainted with other talented, skilled and gifted photographers.
One of these is Brian Rueb, a fellow who has a winning and witty way with words. I follow his Flickr stream, where he is known as "chaybert," and his stories never fail to get me to laugh out loud, chuckle repeatedly...and occasionally let out a snort from being caught off guard. He has a knack for tossing in something unexpected and totally engaging. (It was one of his posts that resulted in my finding Dixie Doodle and adopting her through PetFinder.com!)
Brian is a very talented and accomplished photographer who teaches art and photography to high school students. As if that's not enough camera time, he also co-instructs with Stephen Oachs, in outdoor digital photography workshops that are repeatedly sold out--and big hits. After you read Brian's story, you'll understand how fun those workshops must be!
So, without further ado, and with generous permission from Brian Rueb, here is an as-is reprint of his instructions on how to photograph lightning...
One of these is Brian Rueb, a fellow who has a winning and witty way with words. I follow his Flickr stream, where he is known as "chaybert," and his stories never fail to get me to laugh out loud, chuckle repeatedly...and occasionally let out a snort from being caught off guard. He has a knack for tossing in something unexpected and totally engaging. (It was one of his posts that resulted in my finding Dixie Doodle and adopting her through PetFinder.com!)
Brian is a very talented and accomplished photographer who teaches art and photography to high school students. As if that's not enough camera time, he also co-instructs with Stephen Oachs, in outdoor digital photography workshops that are repeatedly sold out--and big hits. After you read Brian's story, you'll understand how fun those workshops must be!
So, without further ado, and with generous permission from Brian Rueb, here is an as-is reprint of his instructions on how to photograph lightning...
Tonight’s lightning storm was brief…but exciting…I always love watching light shows…the kind that just change color, and the kind that can pump you full of about billion volts….this was both.The lightning was tricky to capture, and never quite the big blasts I hoped for but it was still impressive…but the color was INTENSE…I’ve never seen reds this deep and vibrant in a sunset before…and so focused to a small area. It just kept going and going. I thought I was the only one enjoying the show when I turned and saw my friend Jesse out shooting as well. It was nice to see someone else had the same idea.
This storm was also nice in that it didn’t rain….so I was able to photograph AND stay dry. If you decide to try your hand at lightning photography try these tips…
1) Bring a spare battery….shooting multiple 30 second exposures can be a pain…and a drain on the ol’ battery.
2) Be prepared to have about 1200 images that look the same, and have no lightning…or you can delete the non-lightning ones right after you take the shot…be prepared that the best lightning will happen while you’re deleting that last non-lightning image.
3) Using a GND filter is sweet…it’ll help give you a bit more light on the foreground…lightning does a pretty sweet job of acting like a fill light in the sky.
4) Get comfortable…you’ll be there a while.
If safety is your biggest concern…try these little useless tidbits to calm your nerves...because if you get hit…chances are you’ll be a human charcoal pile.
1) Try to assure yourself that doing things like wearing flip-flops will insulate you, and you’re perfectly safe.
2) If you’re big metal tripod gets hit…it will lessen the blow…and keep you safe….plus your tripod will now have super powers…and glow. Awesome.
3) Lightning only strikes people with mullets…
4) Lightning is too pretty to cause harm.
5) If birds are out…surely they would go hide if it were truly dangerous out…you’re safe.
6) Do a little dance…nobody ever gets hit by lightning while doing the robot.
7) Make sure your photo buddy is dressed in tin foil…they’ll think it odd…but you’ll know better.
8) Bring Jiffy Pop…after your speedy recovery…you’ll be hungry.
9) Wear sunglasses…if you can’t see it…it can’t hit you.
10) Taunt it. We all know it’s way harder to focus when being taunted…it’s why sports is the way it is. Lightning works in a similar fashion. If you taunt it mercilessly it will become frustrated, and not be able to hit you….
I hope that helps. And worse case scenario….pain is temporary…good photography lasts long after you’re a piece of burnt toast.
July 20, 2009
Beautiful Photography Video
This is the first video that my friend, Stephen Oachs, has put together and published on YouTube. He also has it posted on his blog, which is always very entertaining to read! If you love nature photography on any level, I urge you to check out his blog, Website and watch this video.
Very well done, Stephen! Hope we see more of these!!!
Very well done, Stephen! Hope we see more of these!!!
March 9, 2009
How Ticklish Are Your Feet?
Just how ticklish are your feet? I have a personal 5-point rating system. Where do your feet rate? Let's compare.We're sitting in a comfy chair with our sock-covered feet up on a hassock, eyes closed, all relaxed and starting to doze off, and the dog walks by. Now here's the test...
• If the dog's tail lightly brushes across the tops of your toes, and you groggily open one eye just to casually take a peek, that's a 5. You’re aware, but minimally sensitive. Ticklish only when purposely tickled.
• If the dog walks by, swishing his tail, no actual contact, and you sort of notice the light breeze across your feet (remember, you have socks on), but don’t make any moves, I count that as a 4. Probably about a normal level of sensitivity.
• If he walks by, swishing his tail, and the light breeze causes you to wiggle your feet, but your eyes stay closed, that's a 3. Without socks on, you would have been much worse.
• If the light breeze makes your eyes pop open, and you look around in a “what just happened?” state of mind, that’s a 2 sensitivity. You’ve got some pretty touchy footsies.
• If that same gentle breeze sends you out of your chair, or causes you to launch the nearest reachable projectile at the poor pup, you my friend are a 1, for sure! Not just touchy, but intolerant to touch. You’re in the “tickle me and you lose fingers” club.
• What’s a –1? There’s no dog, you have shoes on, and you hesitate putting your feet up on a footstool, because it leaves them open and vulnerable. That’s me!
So, what is your tickle tolerance level?
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