I've been delinquent in my blogging.
Oh, I've had ideas, even had one that promised to turn into a political rant. Some stranger came along and left a politically-charged comment on a photo of mine on Flickr which I deleted because it was childish, annoying, not very well thought out and had NOTHING to do with a hot air balloon passing in front of the sun. What bugs the crap out of me is that I let it bother me most of the morning.
See, I'm the sort of person who will argue a thing in his head until I've worked myself into a stomach-churning ulcer-making tower of righteous anger. Problem being, I don't voice any of those well-thought out arguments. I just carry them around for a while then putting them into the well-worn wooden filing cabinet that sits in the reading room at the top of my skull, there to sit until I die and my card catalog is strewn to the winds.
I'm becoming a little bit of a localvore. I heard that term a few days ago and I laughed. At it, not with it. What is with the media/public's desire to turn everything into a cute catch-phrase? Anyway, I'm producing and eating my own food. Well, a tiny portion of it, but more so than some. I had a steak, baked potato and salad last night for supper, and the lettuce came from my garden. First lettuce I ever grew, and it was lovely. The onions are coming along nicely, so I'm sure at some point not only will I be eating my own onions I'll be passing many around, too. At least to the friends who are willing to approach me.
The broccoli are shaping up nicely, and if it ever stays dry for a few days in a row I'll be out there in my little patch tilling and preparing for cucumbers and squash. tomatoes and snap beans and beets and zucchini. I'm ready. More than ready. In my Book of Good Things To Do, 'kneeling in the dirt, planting' ranks right up there with motorcycle riding, cuddling during a rainstorm, and how women smell.
The local farmer that manages all the fields around my house is throwing me off this year. Usually he doesn't plant until Good Friday, and he puts in cotton. Miles and miles of cotton. This year he's gone over to the BioFuel side and has planted corn. Corn in every field, as far as the eye can see. It's already four to six inches tall, an almost eerie bright green. I'm going to miss the multicoloured flowers on the cotton plants, and those dark green, pointed leaves. I'm especially going to miss the smell of warm cotton in the sun, and the smells of harvest time.
My azaleas are blooming like mad. On mornings when the light is low it shines through the masses of flowers and beams colored light into certain rooms in the house--soft warm pink, and an ivory white, and a red the colour of a new wine.
I miss my camera. I put my bigger lens in the shop a while back to repair some tiny scratches that occurred during the motorcycle accident in October, I think. I kept thinking it was tiny particles of dirt or grit on the lens and I cleaned and cleaned every surface until I finally realised that they were always in the same spots. I've been forced to rely on my much smaller lens, the one that came with my camera, and I've realised how spoiled I've become.
Now that my larger lens is due home tomorrow my smaller lens crapped out on me. The gross focus ring stopped turning, then it simply refused to do anything. I was forced to go out this weekend on three balloon flights armed with nothing but Mrs. I's little Sony point-and-shoot. Talk about humbling. I guess I needed to learn to appreciate what I have more, by having it taken away from me for a while.
Don't get me wrong, it takes nice pictures, it's just not meant for someone who has gotten used to having control over things like shutter speeds and aperture settings. Oh, and it's also not meant for someone who is used to having the shutter operate the moment the shutter release button is pushed. This little thing likes to think a while before taking the photo, likes to measure the relative humidity and ponder deep thoughts before operating the shutter. Between a few nice shots of the balloon and a train or two I also got a number of shots of the truck's window frame, parking lots, and blurry photos of what seem to be wet Impressionist paintings.
A big part of my problem is also being tired, so with that I'm going to post this for you, my few loyal readers remaining and get some rest.