Her Evening Stroll

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She appeared to be aware of me on the other side of the glass, but certainly not in a panic. Instead, she stood calmly for a few seconds watching, listening, testing the wind and did all this with the fading evening light in the eye closest to me. I dared not move, standing there in the bedroom looking through the window. It was a sweet moment to savor. Yet, it was a brief one and she was long gone before I had had my fill of the visit.

We don't see many deer close to our house these days. I remember how ecstatic I was the first time a doe wandered almost onto our porch. But, that was in the days before we moved in and the house had sat empty while we stayed in Los Angeles trying to sell the property there. After moving in fences, horses, and even a dog with a bark that can split atoms, plus all the human smells with which we litter our little landscape, the deer mostly keep their distance as long as there is light. They still roam close to the house during the night. We know about their nocturnal visits by the look of the plants out front.

Every Little Bit Counts

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I hadn't even considered picking up the 50D with the 70-200mm lens since my hand surgery. I have stuck with the lighter 40D and the 50mm, or even the G7. Today, I felt that I could no longer stand the suspense and reached for the heavy equipment. Granted, I could only manage the camera for a very short time before taking breaks, but I managed to snap a few pictures before common sense won the day. 

You may be thinking, "why not use a tripod?" I tought of that for a fleeting second, then remembered how difficult it is to open a water bottle, or brush my teeth, and decided against it. My tripod is not state of the art, and I have given myself a couple of good pinches with it even when I was at my best.

I have begun to venture into creating my own texture layers and this is my first time to post an image using one of mine. There are a couple from Shadowhouse that are favorites and I know I will continue to use them from time to time; but, I can see myself enjoying my own creations, as well. 

All Wrapped Up

I thought I would would share this snapshot taken just before my debut in the boxing ring. Okay, you are right. I am not about to take up boxing. This is what my hand looked like when I left the hospital last week. While I am long past needing that much padding on the hand, I still have quite bit of dressing covering the stitches.

If you thought you spotted writing on my fingers and that they have a strange orange cast, you are right on both counts. Prior to surgery, each finger scheduled for the knife was marked, "yes"—no smiley faces, though.  The orange cast is from the antiseptic, not an out of kilter monitor.

In The Pink?

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Since I am still not at my best, it seemed an appropriate time to post my impression of the pink peonies that The Husband brought home a couple of weeks ago. Just as the peonies had seen better days when I took this photograph, I have been better. But, what matters is that I have been a great deal worse.

The healing of my hand is coming along nicely. I am typing with all ten fingers now and yesterday I picked up the 40D and snapped a couple of pictures. Since I had the old Canon "nifty fifty" on that backup camera, the gear was light. I couldn't resist giving it a try. I didn't make any pictures that I want to post; but, that was mainly because the freshest flowers in the house have seen better days. Unfortunately, they haven't aged as gracefully as the peonies or the tulips did. The sound of the shutter was music to my ears and fueled my determination to continue the hand exercises. Keep the Advil and Tylenol handy.

Today, I dream of living where peonies bloom for weeks on end. But, I dream about a lot of things and who knows what it may be tomorrow.

The Road to LA

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We left home at 4:30 Am Tuesday for my appointment at the hospital in Los Angeles. Since I didn't want to add a camera to the list of things for The Husband to lug around, this one is from the archives.

We may not be overjoyed about the fact, but the two-hour trips to LA are a big part of our routine now. This is my romanticized impression of the back way—the route we take unless there is snow and ice in our area. First, we have to drive into Tehachapi, then Highline Road takes us to Tehachapi Willow Springs Road through the windmill farms. By the time we the turn onto 90th St. West (where this photo was taken), we are past the town of Mojave, nearing Rosamond, and well down into the desert. Say farewell to our mountains.

By taking this route, we avoid the ten or fifteen minutes it would take to get from Tehachapi to the freeway. It saves some of the monotony of freeway driving and usually saves the travel time. That is, is unless you get stuck behind one of the big trucks that use this road. In that case, you have to slow down and enjoy the scenery. Eventually, we cut over to the 14 freeway and then it's over an hour of being sandwiched in one of those lanes among all the other cars, buses, and trucks headed to Los Angeles and outlying suburbs.

Don't get me wrong. Freeways are marvelous time-saving developments, and I am big time in favor of them. Still, sitting on one for hours at a time causes me to lose touch with where I am. For me, it is an odd and disorienting sensation. Narrow, back roads aren't as safe, in general; but, they seem to be human scale.

Scenes along Tehachapi Willow Springs Road and 90th Street West, such as this one, have now become part of who I am and where I live.

Flowers for the Sick

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If you have seen Tennessee Williams' Streetcar Named Desire, you are likely to remember, "Flores por los muertos." Since I may be under the weather—but definitely still kicking, the line isn't appropriate in my situation. Never mind. I took some liberties in my translation of the playwright's dialogue. I am sure he became accustomed to that.

I wasn't feeling well over a period of several days and I got two beautiful bunches of flowers to cheer me up. The Husband had to travel to Los Angeles and brought home a bunch of pink peonies and the white tulips you see here. Even though I didn't feel up to taking photographs until the flowers were past their prime, I love the look of them in their last days.

I will be out of touch most, or all, of this week. I am not sure I will be in the mood to hunt and peck keys with one hand after my surgery. But, I will be checking up on everybody. That means if you get into mischief, I will hear about it.

(Two of the three textures used in the image are from Shadowhouse Creations.)

Nostalgia or Just Near-Sighted

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I remain all caught up in exploring texture layers. The exploration has led me to thinking more about how I see. Being drawn to nostalgia (I am at that age, after all) has something to do with it, I suppose. Furthermore, I am an incurable romantic and that obviously plays no small part in my fling with this processing technique.

More important, I suspect, is the fact that I am nearsighted. I remember quite vividly the shock I experienced when I got my first pair of glasses, as a child. All the details in the distance came as quite a shock to me. All my young life, the close-up things had rich detail, then beyond a certain field of vision there was a rather pleasant softening of details. I am beginning to wonder if that has a bit to do with how strongly I am drawn to this way of finishing an image.

On the other hand, I just plain enjoy "fiddling" with images. Who knows? In a couple of months, I may have lost all interest in this look. No telling what I will be up to then. Of this I am certain: I can't imagine ever tiring of the challenge presented by something new and different.

Both texture layers used in this image are from Shadowhouse Creations.

Not Yet Ready

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I had been forewarned to install iTunes on my desktop in preparation for the arrival of my iPad. I also knew that I had to deal with creating a folder for the photos I wanted on the tablet, resize those images, and be ready to "sync", whatever the heck that meant. I wasn't excited about either chore.

I had struggled with iTunes years ago and positively loathed the sound of its name. It irked me that I would have to deal with it again. I knew I had a great deal to learn; but, having seen that the tablet wasn't likely to arrive before June 8, I postponed the inevitable and stayed busy with other projects. There was a surprise in store.

Last Friday afternoon, the FedEx truck pulled up in front of our house. "Why was he here", was all I could think? Then, as he headed to the door, I saw the size of the package in his hand. Uh Oh. The iPad was several days early.

There I was—tablet in hand and hours away from having anything on it. It was an interesting weekend. But, I now have a functioning iPad and iTunes isn't nearly the nightmare that I remembered it to be. There were a few rough patches and I am not left any swearing allowance for the entire remainder of this month; but, I think I am over the worst of it.

Although I am never ready for the green to fade on those foothills along Highway 58, I love them just as much when they turn to gold. Every time we make that drive I want wings. What would it be like to spend your days soaring above those miles upon miles of rolling hills and valleys at the southern base of the Sierra Nevadas?

A Lively Ghost Town

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Randsburg, a small town on the western edge of the Mojave Desert, hangs on the side of a mountain and is sometimes described as a living ghost town. Like Jerome, Arizona, it retains most of its old west, mining town character while holding on to life. There are shops open on weekends and the General Store, along with a bar called The Joint, stay open on weekdays.

Randsburg is one of a trio of towns that were part of the mining district in the Rand Mountains of Kern County. Gold was first discovered in the area in 1896 and, just as the gold was becoming more scarce, miners discovered silver and tungsten. The mining continues to this day with several mines still producing.

A small amount of tourism contributes to the economy of Randsburg. (I have yet to visit on a weekend when the antique stores and the museum are open.) Many residents still prospect; others work in mining operations nearby. The Rand Mining Company, as well as the Twenty Mule Team Borax Mine in Boron, employ their share of Randsburg residents, while some folks commute to the nearby salt flats, for example.

There is enough to see in town to motivate several trips. However, it is not looking good for my return until after summer is done. June is another surgery month for me, then by July and August no one in their right mind will want to be that close to the Mojave Desert. At least not in my humble opinion.

Some Joy Even in Mudville

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That phrase "no joy in mudville" keeps running through my mind. While other bloggers post beautiful images of spring blossoms, I look at our barren place and think what is this about? While we have some beautiful days periodically, there are new mud puddles replacing the previous mud puddles which replaced the...you get the picture. The temps are still dropping into the 30's most nights. Plant ye your flowers if ye dare. We haven't dared.

Meanwhile, I have drowned the choruses of "woe is me" by returning to a flirtation with adding textures to photos. If anyone is to blame for encouraging me, it would be Mark Graf. After a couple of his recent posts rekindled my curiousity, I decided to give texturing another try. This time around I wised up (this is definitely thanks to Mark) and stopped trying to work with my own textures. Some things need to be left to the experts. There are textures out there created by people a whole lot smarter than me, and I regret wasting so much time before I got the message. (The bulk of the textures used here are from Shadowland.* More about that later.)
*Edit: Shadowhouse Creations is the correct name of the source. My face is red. Don't know what I was thinking about.

You may have guessed by the whine above that my blooms were photographed indoors. I am also experimenting with walking indoors. We have an old treadmill that has been stuck in the garage waiting for that famous garage sale we need to hold. I hadn't used the thing in years because each time I did my back acted up. I am ready to give it another go. So far, mixed reviews and hoping for gradual improvement.

Clearly, walking in our garage doesn't hold a candle to striking out on the lower valley trail headed for Cub Lake; but, it beats no walking at all. The trails are still fit only for the sure of foot, which doesn't describe me. So, the garage it is, for now. Yes, while a half hour flies by out on the trail, ten minutes in the garage crawls along at a glacial pace. Still, with sufficient rewards at the end medicine goes down a little more easily, right? Eventually, those trails will be dry again and I want to be ready.