Badger Hair
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The Art of Shaving – expensive but pretty much amazing.
Payphone
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For today’s photo, I thought I’d just phone it in. But this photo would not be easily earned. I stepped into the quiet Medical Arts building lobby and didn’t snap three photos before someone yelled at me asking what I was doing. It was a security guard. I’d spent 15 minutes taking this photo in the same building in March, so was surprised by the shrilly voiced concern.
Evidently, I was deemed a security threat. Me with my business suit, green shirt & paisley tie that matched my eyes … that’s what the homeless man told me later as we shared a couple blocks’ walk to our destinations. I’m not even making that up. Strangers talk to me, and I generally don’t even initiate eye contact any more. I was slightly apprehensive when the guy’s second sentence began with “My psychiatrist says…” but he turned out all right, and we had an interesting, if bizarre, conversation about high fashion retailers Allen Edmonds and Hubert White that he wanted to talk about.
Back to my story: The security guard told me that photographs were not allowed of this wall or in this building. I didn’t know whether to feel flattered because the security guard thought I was a super-fly, secret spy plotting trouble by documenting an abandoned payphone booth. Or the fact that the security guard had enlisted backup, a sizable guy two steps behind her who was jangling a ring full of keys. Really? Two security guards. Really.
I left the building, but I’d already gotten my photo. I win.
P.S. Clearly, Adam Levine from Maroon 5 is not at a payphone in Minneapolis. Because I’m not sure there are any.
Swingin’
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Tucked away on the East bank of the University of Minnesota in the Knoll area is this wooden swing. Here it sits with little rhyme or reason, except for swingin’.
Sing Moten’s Swing with the Manhattan Transfer.
31
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Signs you’re 31: You don’t really give a darn how many people stare at you quizzically as you attempt to take your self-portrait in a public park. (There were several hundred, because it took me 45 minutes.) I probably looked like a crazy. Actually, I’m certain of it. It’s much harder than it looks! Every 10 seconds, I jumped behind the camera, adjusted my tripod, pressed the 10 second timer and then started smiling, laughing and/or moving my head in a clockwise direction while the camera captured five shots at a time. It certainly didn’t help things that I was talking to myself!
Birthdays are not only a day for celebrating but a day for taking inventory: of the family who supports you; of friendships made and maintained and those that have yet to be; of colleagues, and a career that has been both intellectually challenging and rewarding; of passions; a community and a faith underlying it all.
The journey’s only just begun. Thanks for coming along.
Layup
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Today, I took a shot at making an offer on a house. Ultimately, it went to another buyer, but it was not all for naught. I learned a ton and devoured legal fine print like I was starving for run-on sentences. It was my practice layup for the slam dunk that will be my future home.
Tic Tac
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There’s some irony that today’s photo is from the playground. Because today, I began a search for something quite grown up: looking for a house that I XO.
Tool Set
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I went for a run tonight along the Mississippi River and saw dozens of photo opportunities. Of course, I can’t run with my fancy camera, and I forgot to bring my camera bag in the car. Which led me back to my apartment. Where I take photos of last resort. With the window blinds open to let in available natural light, there I was standing on my coffee table (yes, standing!) for a good 15 minutes trying to photograph the kitchen tools with which I make my daily bread. I hope my neighbors across the street were watching.
My photography friend has challenged me to 7 days worth of photos that do not include food or architectural details. It’s true…for the past couple weeks, nature and architectural details and food have become my fallback photos, and I need to mix it up. Now that daylight is longer, this should be easier. I hope. We’ll see.
041212
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As the day was dawning, I shot this awning on my walk to work. I thought it was a fitting number given the date 04-12-12. It’s also the last four digits of my phone number.
Checkmate
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My bathroom scale talked back to me today. As the numbers dipped and rose, it finally stabilized and then both startled me and silently goaded: Checkmate. You’re overweight.
The seams of my slim fit shirts had been giving early warning signs. I will admit that I gained a stone since moving to Minneapolis. I prefer to say a stone like the British, because everything they say sounds more interesting. Even weight gain.
It’s funny because last summer I reached my best fitness level. Ever. Training for long distance running will do that. I’ve decided that I need to make a game of losing. And, to get in the game, you’ve gotta have goals. This spring, I’ve signed up for five races of varying lengths: a 1 mile down Nicollet Mall, a 5K (done!), a 10K, a 10-Mile and a half marathon. That should provide enough motivation because if you don’t suffer through training, you’ll later suffer the consequences (or embarrassment). Game on!
Ukrainian Eggs
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I spent the past six years of Easter weekends in South Bend or Chicago with adopted friends and family, so it was nice to be home. My mom created some amazing additions to the Ukrainian egg display, which reminded me of my 4-H demonstration when I was 10 years old, “How to Decorate a Ukrainian Egg.”
I’d decorated a Purple Ribbon winner egg or two in the past, but I waited until the night before the county fair to prepare my demo. It was not a pretty experience and should have been a sign to cancel the whole thing off. But the show went on. And what a show it was.
One of the decorating steps involves using a syringe to extract the yolk and egg white. And, that’s exactly when my demonstration began to crack. Literally. Sometimes you end up with a cracked eggshell and must start over, so I was prepared with extra eggs. Of course, the first one broke. And the second. And the third. At this age, my young mind was not yet filled with foul words, and I explained these mishaps by saying “Oh bummer,” “That happens,” and “I’ve got more.” I was so determined to get it right. Wouldn’t you know that the fourth egg shattered too? And the fifth! Damn eggs.
At this point, I must have thought the only way to salvage a demonstration gone awry is to turn it into a comedy show. I may or may not have sabotaged my demo by squeezing the hell out of the sixth and last egg. Just for fun. I don’t remember exactly, but I do remember that The Show Must Go On! It was then, my dear readers, that I finished my demo with an imaginary egg. Can you even imagine?
When the results came in, I learned I’d received a Yellow ribbon. In 4-H, that’s a courtesy ribbon. It means “Thanks for trying” or “Better luck next time.”
And that’s the story of the time I got egg on my face.
Grandma C.
Grandma P., Grandpa P. and Mom
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