I follow as many of your blogs as I can. I do. I try hard. I am usually still picking my way through hundreds of notifications as we’re heading off to bed. I sometimes do a few more on my Kindle even after I’m already in bed. This morning, it’s all back. Hundreds of notifications and who knows what else. I am throwing in the proverbial towel.
It’s Saturday. I want to go out and take some pictures. I could sit here all day every day for the rest of my life and I would never be finished … so
I’m deleting anything I have not yet read. I need to ditch the backlog to make room for the influx that will hit tomorrow morning. Sunday is the biggest email day of the week and includes all the sales pitches and “specials” for the upcoming week.
Forgive me. I can’t stay in front of the computer all day going from blog to blog. I regret having to empty out the inbox, but a gal’s gotta do what a gal’s gotta do.
Last night it was the new (dark of the) moon … and Friday the 13th. Although the day passed without incident, as darkness fell, our dogs became scarce.
They are “free dogs,” having a door of their own through which they can come and go. They are hysterical, obsessive barkers, but fortunately, not as loud as some previous canines we have owned and I have more or less given up trying to coerce them into a less raucous lifestyle.
The thing that made this remarkable was that they didn’t come back when we enticingly rattled the biscuit box lid. They were not on the spot to collect a fresh biscuit! All three were gone quite a while and came back looking tired, but satisfied. What was going on?
They had been out there, changing into another form in the dark of the moon. I had underestimated their lurking weir-genes. Two weir-Scotties and a weir-Aussie … that’s lot of “weir and tear.” I urged them to come inside, but was only able to catch a few quick pictures.
Clearly the change held them it its grip.
This morning, of course, all evidence is gone and they are “merely” dogs again, looking to cadge a belly rub, a scratch behind the ears, and the ubiquitous treat. But we know the truth.
Do not underestimate your furry friends. When comes the dark of the moon … the darkness within may appear. Watch the woods, watch the glowing eyes. And keep the biscuits handy!
There’s a world of difference between shooting portraits of your friends and family when everyone is young … and doing the same thing forty or fifty years later. I’m always bemused … and occasionally infuriated … by people who think we will love pictures of us which advertise what time hath wrought on our faces. The liver spots, wrinkles, eye pouches, jowls. The weariness.
Seriously? Does anyone want to look old, haggard, or merely unattractive in a photograph? How often do you see the picture someone took of you and say (out loud or in your head) “That just can’t be me! Who is that person?”
I try to take non-awful pictures.
Many of us have few pictures of ourselves because we hate the way we look in them. Who would blame us?
Photo: Bette Stevens
I believe that no one wants unattractive pictures. No one wants to look fat or wrinkly or haggard. Unless you are a dog because when you are a dog, cat, or horse for that matter … you always look great. Which is why I wonder why most of my dogs run away from the camera.
I do my utmost to smooth out the wrinkles, fade blemishes, and make the people I love look in pictures they way they look to me. I don’t see them as old. In my mind, they are and always will be young and beautiful. What I want to see in pictures is joy, love, and beauty. Someone else can go for “truth” in photography. I’m serious about flattering.
To participate in the Ragtag Daily Prompt, create a Pingback to your post, or copy and paste the link to your post into the comments. And while you’re there, why not check out some of the other posts too!