tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75744883543254332832023-11-16T03:57:05.470-07:00Aimless Photographyshoot first, ask questions laterAPhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-28450007595225709342011-11-25T15:33:00.001-07:002011-11-25T15:34:24.724-07:00Rose Coloured Glasses<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiALFU44UqAiVv45JUAwT2vmdzj_QyuUCnZuIvoI2tqhInIbbL2NwsDI9KXiUS7xyr4pFhF9OXJGyykKh6bNot9Ii6lqPWXORSSRSKgsk7cT0TZNomGzdtwJNG7E_Ab2Dkj9plvoH4ZGKe/s400/DSC07243.JPG" /></a></div><a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVgjhmp1-CF-WD0wCaOpT8vP3Gtd_ytNzHzIk70vKKzT980DHkIV7VxBzSBuf3eGHdZ677bqHBAYCyfkMpDBjO2fpsMvwGN3g3AWieTPkl5QulUWmPD0wZjf9wFUs3FymY2sep9kge8Kew/s400/DSC07247.JPG" /></a>I have no hilarious tales concerning roses. I don't think I even have profound ones or mildly entertaining ones. I can tell you that for some reason, I find them difficult to photograph. Roses are perfection, and somehow that never quite seems to translate onto 'film' when I try and shoot them. I want to practice shooting roses, but somehow it would seem kinda selfish if I walked out of the grocery store with armloads of roses for myself. Now, before you get all high and mighty feminist on me, I have zero issue with a person buying flowers for themselves. When Safeway had BOGO tulips on one spring, you can bet your britches I had a dozen bouquets scattered about the house. I only had two vases at the time and had to stuff the tulips wherever they could fit, including the teapot, creamer, and sugar dish. No, we're penny pinching a little 'round here (it being the holidaze and all) and it's the season for giving, not for indulging on out-of-season flowers. Plus, my son is in the taste-test phase of his adventuring (which has included some fairly strange assaults on our Schnauzer), and I'm pretty sure any living thing that we bring into the house would end up in his mouth.<br />
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<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEighsY8PV6WjAahu47JIy6f55nPsTDlb2s4HHup-dRD_KSSxuwVOd7-2_YUoctLwU74QLgzJrLBnAxJcMw_qJQr3vP-HIphfEk0aJ_Ou3pomqH1atBtEddvnMO5RQG_qKUX_9LJPqlDLjwd/s400/DSC07244.JPG" /></a>You'd think I'd have a funny story concerning roses since we do, after all, live in the wild rose province. People intentionally plant them here. In the Maritimes, they grow wild along the highway. We used to have them growing along the side of the house, but we didn't buy them. Nope. My folks went out with a shovel one afternoon and came back with a few bushes. Same went for the raspberry patch they had going in the back yard-- another highway transplant, so to speak. Come to think of it, I think a great many of the shrubs and whatnot in my parents' quite amazing garden had come from along the highway somewhere... the plants, and some of the more shapely rocks, which we got from a construction site that was on the way home from one of my summer jobs. My husband and I have talked about doing the same thing to the tangle of rose bushes planted outside the optometrist's office (midnight shovel raid!), but I reckon someone might notice, and I'm not up for tempting cowboy justice.<br />
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<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD_6j5TW-W5GgzjWhK6UeevmiXLt1JiflAbflH-25T4mwEdo9NK3K10KLcPhhoac-VZWAyLrE_Kqc_Gy8LIUB-Bb5Zo_WpysLAtCJOQC0K6WGqltosJAOy_vpp6RTV1gY0AxWGQ_rDqeLB/s400/DSC07249.JPG" /></a>The shots you're seeing here today were taken from two locations. If you wander around to the back of the Parliament building in Victoria, you'll discover an English rose garden. If you get there early enough in the morning (after the sprinkler system has done its thing), you'll even get the requisite dew on the rose petals-- saves you from having to bring your own squirt bottle. The others were taken after the first snow here. There is a house down the street that has forsaken grass in favour of a jungle of roses. They aren't all that into pruning, so some of the bushes still have whole heads of roses still clinging for dear life, these dry, shriveled things among the red rose hips and the yellowish thorns-- thorns, by the way, of fairytale-esque proportions. I thought you might enjoy the juxtaposition of the lush, summery Victoria roses against the withered back-alley winter roses.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwn5Diyh2Onj-C5pwUosHoE68Ld3Y6qYkRlfDu-ZK8RCs_SYhhR5GHaCCgVNN_ZMNUUkACxUpODt9_f781d-HwLrjcrwGv6bE2ADlIR0xZGj-SAT2IOegQ-KDAls8LC720JDE2LDW1i_tu/s400/DSC07253.JPG" /></a></div></div>APhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-42552255123492943342011-10-01T22:21:00.002-06:002011-10-01T22:25:06.586-06:00Bring on the Totems<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">C'mon. You know you want one. Bring home a totem print for Thanksgiving. And one of the pumpkins, too.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG7mVcKwcpeN8zQK8mfC-xjurWmhdx70wbcbsNNJA6fNQDX5YvwOc4r_z85kdwaht_jb-kMJJ6yhWBdw5SkHMv2LU1KEQWGkdBaJ8rILg5Zo1z0f91Q9lCqZ2EKmfDdaGJcnl2g2JEAkZU/s400/DSC07543.JPG" /></a></div><br />
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</div>APhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-281674853969779492011-09-30T20:49:00.002-06:002011-09-30T20:49:53.804-06:00Know Any Good Jokes?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ru4vGVpBZ2ie2R1j7BMg-01y1gnsMB-PTI4xo4RGpoSRO803s7BVBqqQU4WM6zQSRqIFykx4U_Vuui6m-UR-bQahBaaVidkZTP9N4evvnU3RwTF_WLEbZapfDWI6jIsPm_r0NN2XAL7M/s400/DSC07594.JPG" /></a>I thought I might regale you with some humour or some puns about totem poles. So I Googled, literally, <i>jokes about totem poles</i>. The result? It's kinda like when I was in junior high and did an internet search for a home economics class. Nutrition.Typed in <i>milk</i>. In the case of the former, I ended up with a plethora of sites devoted to jokes about Polish people (Poles... Do they even like to be called Poles? Is that PC?)... and one site of people attempting to make up totem pole related jokes. (Colossal failure. In case you need a few brain cells to die, please view said attempts <a href="http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20100527082618AAK9vpy">here, none of which belong to me</a>. Please note the emphasis on ANY, as if the poster were desperate for totem pole humour. OH MY GAWD. Aren't there ANY jokes??? But I digress.) In the case of the latter search, why oh why would a search on <i>milk </i>(with the safe search squarely <i>on</i>, in 1993, in a junior high school) result in an inundation of porn? I ultimately did my project on caffeine, the benefits thereof, a lesson I would carry with me to university.<br />
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So instead I'll tell you about our trip to Victoria, home to a number of spectacular totems. And Poles, I'm sure, but I haven't looked into that yet, whether there is in fact a Polish community in Victoria and/or if such a community would warrant the adjective spectacular. <br />
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Our first trip to Vancouver Island, we had just a few hours to spend in Victoria before our flight left. We didn't go far, so I decided to spend the last few megabytes I had left on my memory card shooting the totem poles near the museum. My husband's voice suddenly hits octaves I didn't realise possible as he squeaks excitedly, "Animal! Animal!"<br />
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<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidkKRg5xdks4hYfXoaievjG31kGAe1sEbXOv4L4LM4otmIwtp-5BpMdsDCo1g0vy_Qxi1zzaCVykhebGVCERrlnpUA-pcQq-7brM9M-tFeV4a6jfkHgg1_Q5brXqO3A90aiNpOOpybacZ5/s320/DSC07568.JPG" /></a>Okay, so my imagination is going crazy here. First of all, I can't see what he's seeing, mostly because yelping "Animal! Animal!" leaves an immense slideshow of possible animals running through my brain. You yelp, for example, "Platypus! Platypus!" and my mind envisions the platypus and the eyes start looking for him, making the platypus more readily identifiable. I'm no neurologist, but I do believe it helps to know what you are looking for. The only thing I could conclude in those panicked seconds is that it must be an animal my husband has never seen before and therefore cannot identify by proper name.<br />
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So, the thing is, to my knowledge, there ain't much my husband hasn't seen. I am bit of a zoo junkie and make my husband take me to the zoo in pretty much every major city and country bumpkin small town we visit. (Remind me to tell you about my experience at Ueno Zoo sometime), and hubby o' mine is on the up and up on dog breeds, too. He's no animal slouch. So what the heck animal is he seeing that he doesn't know the name for? <br />
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Gulp.<br />
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<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCKXl8RbFI1tk4UPSzeI4HVyBqUOmAQG8aI5NRPiXjTFojhjkn7Jsr98Mv5oBWhWCwftohEFbEBzrgDi43yiYV4lnQA1Di727741R98sYJItn8k3dxM2CFZ_UcsBzIfgUsjwmM_mrzxX4S/s400/DSC07553c.jpg" width="320" /></a><<i>insert list of strange and potentially dangerous animals into imagination here</i>><br />
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I began to wonder if I was going to photograph said mystery beast and therefore inadvertently document the last moments of my life, and would the pictures be shown at my funeral?<br />
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The end to this story is not nearly as interesting as the beginning. Evidently, my husband has never seen a North American raccoon before. Ja. Fer real. <i>Raccoons</i>. A pair of the critters. It makes sense if you've ever seen a Japanese raccoon, called a <i>tanouki </i>(Mario Brothers fans, remember the <i>tanouki </i>suit? Yeah. Raccoon suit.) and you'll totally get why the coons on the lawn were totally alien to him. But still. We had to add <i>The Raccoons</i> to the list of TV shows my husband has to watch in order to <strike>not freak out his wife</strike><strike> unnecessarily </strike><strike> </strike>better understand Canadian culture. <br />
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It was a good experience, though, because the next time he hollered "Animal! Animal!" at the corn maze a year later (in that case, for prairie dogs popping up and down like those gophers you whack in a carnival game), I knew I wasn't in immediate peril or going to die.<br />
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<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguBtay8YpPuntuCju2gFfiEzafyUj8kcC1QsC2zWDp6yXPz-9AEhkRlC9mRFoK1SZjATFKKT7JFhjchSwiSNsLfZNTGKW21YwVWpcdaMC2QlHI5NF_SwYo_i-afI233-1CB0mZWRN3W9Lu/s400/DSC07584.JPG" /></a>In the meantime, now that you've made it to the anti-climactic ending of my totem anecdote, I hope you've enjoyed the images. Some of them were in fact taken in Duncan, on Vancouver Island, where, if you must know, a wasp crawled down my decolletage during the shoot. (For our concerned readership, my <span class="st">spheksophobic cousin was obliging enough to coax the wasp out and my bosoms escaped unscathed.)</span> I find that some of the shots really work well as a set, and if you're interested, they'll be available for sale shortly. In fact, a huge variety of totem shots are going to be available. And you don't have to tote'm to your house. We'll mail 'em. </div>
APhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-37887787806299722752011-09-23T16:47:00.001-06:002011-09-23T16:47:34.005-06:00Images of Autumn<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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APhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-87201374373728208972011-09-23T16:02:00.001-06:002011-09-23T16:19:14.876-06:00A-maize-ing (Pun Intended)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's autumn. In some places, it's still summer. Not here, nope, zero, zilch, nada. Officially autumnal. Yellow leaves, crunching, the perpetual smell of burning something in the air, cardis, oxfords, tights, jaunty hats, grasshoppers and wheat and red berries. And NO CAMERA. Distress. <br />
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Right around this time of year, last year, we went to our very first pumpkin festival out in Bon Accord. We've been there several times since (albeit not for pumpkins), mostly because I'm inclined to believe my husband likes a good deal (in any language). They have a corn maze (which I love to tell people is a maize maze, mostly to see the expression on their faces when they don't get it, or think I am suffering from a speech impediment). They also have a canon that they shoot the pumpkins out of at a 2-D pirate ship. (Last weekend, pumpkins not being quite ripe yet, it was a corn canon. Seriously awesome.) I was a few months preggo at last October and not showing at all, yet the demands for 'belly shots' were rampant on Facebook. I was awfully tempted, folks, to stuff one of the pumpkins under my shirt just to freak people out. That, or find a picture of me from Thanksgiving when I've eaten too much and pass it off as baby bulge. Turkey baby. Baby baby. Same difference at four months, right?<br />
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So let me tell you about this place. Don't go if you don't have a giant sense of humour, because unless you can get into the kitsch and shabby attractions, you'll spoil your afternoon. The corn maze is awesome-- that is, unless you go at the end of the season, and people have tramped through it to take a shortcut to the parking lot. At that point, you're sort of wishing you'd worn industrial boots because, ladies and gentlemen, a cut cornstalk is actually quite penetrating and resiliant. They also hide a number of oddities, including discarded Timbits, which our schnauzer found (and was disgruntled to relinquish). Their petting zoo boasts an exorbitant variety of chickens. The first time we went they were roaming freely around the grounds. I have a thing for chasing chickens, and every time we've visited since, they've had the chickens behind bars. Alas.<br />
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The Enchanted Forest bit of the festival consists of things intended to be creepy... but what makes the Enchanted Forest legitimately creepy is that it looks like a playground out of a horror movie. The statues and whatnot that are intended to be cute and charming have fallen into decay, paint peeling, cement cracking, vines and grasses rising up and twisting around them, like an abandoned circus or playground where children were murdered. WAY freakier than the plastic skeleton sprawled in the dead leaves, although, I must admit that the plastic Kewpie doll in the muddy witch's pot was also somewhat twisted. The kids delight in the mundane plastic skeleton while the adults shiver at the legitimate and more subtle creepiness of the place.There is also an authentic 1970's hearse they pull out for Hallowe'en.<br />
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If you have children who have difficulty assessing the severity of a situation, do not take them to the toddler's maze made of six-inch-high bales of hay. I cannot tell you how many kids stand in the maze, unable to figure it out, and believe they are legitimately cut off or separated from their parents, also in the maze. They stand there bawling until someone comes to rescue them. It never occurs to them that they can walk through or over the wee piles of hay... Strangely, they know that the skeletons in the "concert hall" singing country songs aren't real.<br />
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You can stuff your own scarecrow. The best part about this is that people leave behind their discarded scarecrow parts. It's like D-Day on Omaha beach. Lots of parts everywhere. Dismembered scarecrows with their faces drawn on by 6-year-old artists. It's colourful and comical and gruesome all at the same time. Be prepared, friends, if you go, to sit in a hay pile stuffing jeans with straw. <br />
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And did I mention there are pumpkins? LOTS of pumpkins. <br />
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We're going back this year because my husband has decided he wants to take pictures of our son on all the pumpkins. We did a dry run of Oliver on the pumpkins and hay bales last week at the Harvest Festival (which really, was just an excuse to shoot corn out of a cannon), got him with an Olympus point and shoot. Epic fail. I have documented a plethora of Oliver expressions suitable for a number of caption contests... I'm afraid none of the captions would be family friendly. Glare-o-rama. Lots of up-yours stares and eff-you grimaces, proof that kids are on to the ridiculous need of parents to pose them in "fun times" pictures. I can wait until adolescence for those looks, thank you very much.<br />
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And then there is the issue of my camera AND lens being in the camera hospital-- still in the waiting room to go through triage, I'm told. Must be a Canadian camera hospital. Luckily, aside from the glaring, Oliver hasn't started doing anything photo-worthy, like sculpting masterpieces or tap dancing. But, the next pumpkin festival is around the corner, and I haven't got a gawsh durn thing to get it with. Le sigh.<br />
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In the meantime, please enjoy the collection of foh-tohs I have to share from autumns past. I'm gonna give them their own post so you can enjoy them without the distraction of words. Although, if you're here, thanks for reading the distracting words. I'll also be setting up a new image gallery so if you're looking for some of these fabulous seasonal images, it'll be easier to find them.<br />
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APhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-71516573440807339182011-09-20T11:20:00.000-06:002011-09-23T11:20:48.200-06:00The Busy Season<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-pGtBZt9-Z4EpkksT1MZIebBbtCx6NoQAXf227KcWBh2zbZ70_ZNy_yfKxsKeUtx3SUryxsHuAjDqgOh9tXErJcVVpmJWtDE16d7RYsQfJcXOHjedbUhEk8mkKvdF0vW6vjifC_XPovY4/s320/DSC06626.JPG" /></a>It seems, sometimes, that the months can fly by and feel like days. You look back and wonder where the time went, how you managed to neglect your diary, how your blog goes without updates, and you haven't bothered to answer those e mails from your mom. (I don't have that problem with my mom... I think if I somehow didn't assert my existence in the universe for more than three consecutive days, she'd inundate my phone with messages and eventually end up on my doorstep.) In our world, we moved, took a vacation, and started a new teaching semester all in the same breath. Looking at the calendar, I realise this was more than thirty days ago, not yesterday. It's a miracle some couples manage to find the time to talk, right?<br />
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<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFJENTW7o38BBGr5BnduvVoLGB9jUKJlH2P1mTjU9csdWaa0lbExpdqy0Cw8FJdqwW4LAeWOtd6fKT17r29qy7OevMwzfWDO5YUsXGuAdb5EgHgbXhrTWHLmo_LtANfY9dylTWmtf4EScL/s320/DSC06645.JPG" /></a>My husband and I found an interesting solution to this problem that inevitably creeps up during the busier phases of our lives. We came across this Q&A book at the bookstore and bought a pair of them. Essentially, there's a different question every day that you answer, everything from philosophical questions (what's standing in your way?) to silly questions (do you need a cold shower?) to questions about what you ate for dinner (what was the last meal someone cooked for you?). The book allows you to record your answers over a period of five years (starting from any year-- you can fill in the year as you go), so in 2012, I can see what I wrote in 2011, or in 2015, I can see what I wrote in 2014, 2013, and 2012. I'm curious to see how my answers this year will be different next year.<br />
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<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOaefDKIpWgUg4D5rAyolNKC5WGtTGMeodb-UivCpeNKVuTd2Xsxk5qAz6zD203fJoPWZA3RwZvIOFfyZ2wX2QyPpXa5RNDQIeDz17LrTLLfnwX26_ihMoQEcJG_uMhP58lmEq1FW0DSbx/s320/DSC06609.JPG" /></a>My husband I keep them on our night tables, and as we're going to bed, we answer the day's question and talk about our answers. Sometimes we have about thirty seconds of sharing, sometimes the day's question actually gets us talking before we pass out.<br />
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<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjJGNyNFdTsZmwqol_8ZdIpDp2NIWmGDnugz7cf_iI2v7BP2xSZrxH_h8nCODf6ozFdsG9I3VDLXEZQxCUswzPIlglhOq4O80cB-TEDjBnIcVcUo6di5HyvtOUN-HZluzrkfBwSPppDvvp/s320/DSC06663.JPG" /></a>A bigger project we've taken on is a sort of auto-biographical journal that prompts you to write down different memories and experiences, info about your family, quirks and quarks, and your philosophy on life... we're hoping to finish them before we're old, senile, and can't remember our own names. We thought it might be a nifty keepsake for our kids or our grandkids, who would never know us as young thirty-somethings, just wrinkly, doddering, doting grandparents. (What I'd really like is for my parents to fill them out, but I don't think that'll happen. They somehow manage to be two of the busiest people I know.) I'll try and find the links for you so you can check it out for yourself. It seems a little daunting, but again, it's been a project that has definitely stimulated some conversation between my hubby and me. It's amazing how much you don't know about someone, even if you've been with them a million years.</div>
APhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-17526396445070933082011-07-22T11:25:00.000-06:002011-07-22T11:25:04.468-06:00The Treatise<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxe5Bxr53zxcNopi63kMu0snNV578v9RzpJ0XCUWTTdFMnGSlWtV1z7zOc2L1IylaXQiJ-hDKr_n_VBUi7j20HNPa3OqUFN0FNpSBwrEHBu0TvC6ps1A-seipIO92rxmEDGXCgoqcqS3z5/s1600/DSC05023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxe5Bxr53zxcNopi63kMu0snNV578v9RzpJ0XCUWTTdFMnGSlWtV1z7zOc2L1IylaXQiJ-hDKr_n_VBUi7j20HNPa3OqUFN0FNpSBwrEHBu0TvC6ps1A-seipIO92rxmEDGXCgoqcqS3z5/s400/DSC05023.JPG" width="400" /></a>So we left off at my sudden and burning desire to photograph the rural and the derelict. I wrote a letter to a friend of mine who, over the last eight years, I have only communicated with via letter. Yep, snail mail, the lost art of writing. My friend, whom I call Joe (the result of another story, which I shall tell another time) is a brilliant young, edgy, award-winning playwright who happens to be Australian and alas, <i>in </i>Australia. We've been exchanging letters since university. In any event, I think I will share the letter I sent to him with you, as it indeed paints our photographic tale of adventure in all the right colours.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjWtQOmu0WuCr55jdJCpNN73gJvXF_858Q4AmnrNs99lquFXe35hT7SGZz5zdQYU8JvrowpOx-OibCwDJBqAdM6AzUElKeIPEsRMeWizBrVPk2EjH3wybm92-eGTbswHA46EQ5frwieo72/s1600/DSC05034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjWtQOmu0WuCr55jdJCpNN73gJvXF_858Q4AmnrNs99lquFXe35hT7SGZz5zdQYU8JvrowpOx-OibCwDJBqAdM6AzUElKeIPEsRMeWizBrVPk2EjH3wybm92-eGTbswHA46EQ5frwieo72/s400/DSC05034.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>I am considering, Joe, writing a treatise on the repelling of mosquitoes, which have effectively stolen what brief summer we have here, that and the incessant road work. Even the immigrants here know the half-joke that ~shire has the following seasons: winter, more winter, still winter, and construction. And this is how we teach them the meaning of the word sardonic.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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</style> <![endif]--> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLjrpiX3saV-2J70mjtztaxGZ4yfw4r1h2R7J9HlWuThNf35bgYzJLFHl0cB7Hon0r0U9r9LRM0gx6ECPf5IQ6NMtq53ySzPmee5xxpEoDgGKGSkR7MA3cHnbyZBS3HdEo6z5pp1KCxycC/s1600/DSC05030c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLjrpiX3saV-2J70mjtztaxGZ4yfw4r1h2R7J9HlWuThNf35bgYzJLFHl0cB7Hon0r0U9r9LRM0gx6ECPf5IQ6NMtq53ySzPmee5xxpEoDgGKGSkR7MA3cHnbyZBS3HdEo6z5pp1KCxycC/s400/DSC05030c.jpg" width="285" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Conspiracy theorist junkie husband believes that the government… yes, the mighty municipal government… is responsible for the mosquito invasion to distract from the fact that all of ~shire’s major roads have simultaneously been unearthed and are likely to stay that way for yet another summer, thus forcing traffic to constant apocalypse-esque city-evacuation levels of traffic jams. I suppose if hubby and I invested in a kayak, we could use the Saskatchewan River as a sort of shortcut through the city, except I’m afraid that if I got tired, I would be whisked away to Winnipeg, which might be a fate worse than death. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br />
</i></div><i style="font-family: inherit;"> </i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9R7ArBl_0ojYQeqSIku-gws_jkg-uXYcceaGf_zL5LAFkbk_hMpNsMhyphenhyphenV6Vkbw6NSypbzAR9yvjfN5r8Qg1_d7rK-BCn_IsdsKE_gQSj220t9T-B3cXgoLtniIEu7tXc0c20UyLryjoy3/s1600/DSC05052c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9R7ArBl_0ojYQeqSIku-gws_jkg-uXYcceaGf_zL5LAFkbk_hMpNsMhyphenhyphenV6Vkbw6NSypbzAR9yvjfN5r8Qg1_d7rK-BCn_IsdsKE_gQSj220t9T-B3cXgoLtniIEu7tXc0c20UyLryjoy3/s400/DSC05052c.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Winnipeg, you see, used to hold the proud title of Canada’s mosquito capital. They have to regularly spray the city to make it habitable. (I am not sure what effect the spraying of mosquitoes has on the human population, but there must be some sort of chemical reaction in the brains, or else why would people voluntarily stay in Winnipeg during mozzie season?) In the Old Country, they have tales of babies being spirited away by fairies. In Australia, isn’t it the dingoes? Well, here in Canada, it’s mozzies that make off with the infants. I feel like Prime Minister Harper has missed out on a great natural resource, and he is so fond of <s>stripping</s> taking advantage of natural resources. You see, I feel as if Canada has access to a rather brilliant bio weapon. Perhaps that is why we are a peaceable country. No one has the stomach to piss us off for fear of a mosquito bombing. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcFYkJ46S_ARXyhGxyhJ-CKwYEF9tfDG5-NBhagXMrGONYL-H1Bs_qceA_agIcuHmtGve3QGiR7iIQWKeJsym5R2d0EF9kL-OXHlrH6fnYXDlcMtrZjQ0xeJccOHdKdbvf1FtiRr3j_Xly/s1600/DSC05058b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcFYkJ46S_ARXyhGxyhJ-CKwYEF9tfDG5-NBhagXMrGONYL-H1Bs_qceA_agIcuHmtGve3QGiR7iIQWKeJsym5R2d0EF9kL-OXHlrH6fnYXDlcMtrZjQ0xeJccOHdKdbvf1FtiRr3j_Xly/s400/DSC05058b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>I would like to remind you of the tense I used in order to speak of Winnipeg’s mosquito status, its claim to fame: </i>used to<i>, as in, no longer. According to the reports (which remarkably sound like bragging), ~shire presently has six times the number of mosquitoes Winnipeg does. (They have determined this by counting the females. HOW does one DO this, count the females???) I understand that we are a competitive province, one that delights in competition against Winnipeg, but really, ~shire need not be number one in this thing. Being number one in catastrophic environmental destruction and number one in homicides is quite enough. But we are. Six times higher. And they say that this is “average” based on our historical record of mosquitoes, the years before the drought. (There is a historical record of mosquitoes?) Yes, the drought kept the mosquitoes away, but now that the rains have come back, so have the mozzies. In droves. In swarms. In clouds of black, oscillating orgies. They fling themselves at the car as you tear away from the park, bouncing off the windows and the hood, tires screeching, not unlike hapless zombies at the end of the chase scene. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our walls were covered to them (mosquitoes, not zombies) to such a degree that dear husband lit the mosquito coils inside to smoke them out. I think he was willing to do a dozen loads of laundry to get the campfire smell out of every fabric thing indoors than be eaten alive in our sleep. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmzj6EzwTHIl51TqLfrutKTkFW7HunHSvo_UTBZKd1oO51Ap6gVxlqdqv5eALwNT-NWpjKRKG99k36EwufMbPCMUKRshxmIQiMt4FvPFfvSnWHe1wgLRKQt2Jp9lqofSx_T-0CLex9rdEe/s1600/DSC05077.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmzj6EzwTHIl51TqLfrutKTkFW7HunHSvo_UTBZKd1oO51Ap6gVxlqdqv5eALwNT-NWpjKRKG99k36EwufMbPCMUKRshxmIQiMt4FvPFfvSnWHe1wgLRKQt2Jp9lqofSx_T-0CLex9rdEe/s320/DSC05077.jpg" width="320" /></a><i>In Newfoundland, at the wildlife museum, there is a rather substantial jar filled with red liquid (which I have told myself to this day is red-dyed maple syrup). The placard tells us that this is how much blood the mosquitoes can and will drain from a moose, ultimately killing it. People are wearing their mosquito bites like battle scars, and really, that’s what they are. People seem determined to tough it out, to go out of doors bundled like ninjas in winter, and run through the parks, arms flailing like madmen, chased by an almost cartoonish cloud of black mosquitoes. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><i style="font-family: inherit;"> </i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkSaeICxZS9RvXwoRbpcPbhyRsedPLyuymoSkynBhQdcJranvrsAJgbzpuvZ2KFJ0-kV37_SfT1CJfpErDTqwSxGPy0LwQm5skFhjkoKdH97BBn8zr8_OyH73WsCfnCtxevGAKhD0S-K_g/s1600/DSC05214.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkSaeICxZS9RvXwoRbpcPbhyRsedPLyuymoSkynBhQdcJranvrsAJgbzpuvZ2KFJ0-kV37_SfT1CJfpErDTqwSxGPy0LwQm5skFhjkoKdH97BBn8zr8_OyH73WsCfnCtxevGAKhD0S-K_g/s400/DSC05214.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>I myself made the mistake of going out of doors one afternoon sans chemical protection. Husband and I stumbled upon a canola field that played host to a row of derelict barns. I had to shoot it. I hopped the barbed wire fence and traipsed up the long unused dirt path through the trees, camera in hand, floral rain boots on, grass to my knees, butterflies flitting in the weeds and wildflowers, sunlight pouring through the birch and poplar. I felt like I should have been in some rustic Whitman poem and was feeling rather good about myself, trekking through nature to shoot the landscape. I felt very artistic, very idyllic indeed. Until I was swarmed and felt rather less idyllic as I ran, screaming like a banshee, back to the car. I should not have screamed, because I’m certain I swallowed enough mosquitoes in that instant to end the (slight) anemia I’ve suffered since Oliver’s birth—or, perhaps add to it. Is it a myth that the mozzies can bleed you from the inside out? Or does that go in the swallowing of watermelon seeds category of old wives’ tales? </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><i style="font-family: inherit;"> </i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjMIKoPN3Vtu8ULna_ZiEqZY9oPUMbzZ5drBT7Bw8xaszqC00AqoL2QMvVLjIcPKl3Lf_9J5Y8bFVcZ4kjXCU_l9VzgfjGJ3gN4BC7inoX2r4vQ4xRP7pvVsKK2vg3uEys9zu7dV0ioIRu/s1600/DSC05209b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjMIKoPN3Vtu8ULna_ZiEqZY9oPUMbzZ5drBT7Bw8xaszqC00AqoL2QMvVLjIcPKl3Lf_9J5Y8bFVcZ4kjXCU_l9VzgfjGJ3gN4BC7inoX2r4vQ4xRP7pvVsKK2vg3uEys9zu7dV0ioIRu/s400/DSC05209b.jpg" width="400" /></a><i>Well, regardless of the insect protein I ingested, in that moment, I sustained fifty bites from shoulder to elbow on my left arm alone. To add insult to injury, as I was later examining my swollen face in the bathroom mirror, I could not tear my eyes away from the grotesque sight (they say the same thing of horrific car accidents), and smashed my face into the door, squirting a stream of blood from my left nostril all over our Ikea bath carpet and orange Ikea bath towel. Husband o' mine swears I did it in purpose. I’ve wanted to replace that bathmat for months, and I’ve left it there, bloodstain and all, to prove to him that I did not intentionally inflict a nosebleed on myself. He forgets that, graceful as I am, I once gave myself a black eye on the folding closet door, which, by the by, does not make for a sturdy prop when one is trying to wiggle one’s legs into skinny jeans while pregnant. Words to the wise, should you ever try to wiggle into skinny jeans while pregnant.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><i style="font-family: inherit;"> </i><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaCkWZxKYiaRf2aa78p4UdNYL5rF1ndNOgacYT_2qa6s13mnvUy_4GUQ2Kt1VZN24JKorH41UWeZIQbEkGT3EDDzs1mmmsyNJtZYqCpZAHI9bKy9gIL6d1OswjBZhKOEQTE2N9fLRWQPcR/s1600/DSC05206b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaCkWZxKYiaRf2aa78p4UdNYL5rF1ndNOgacYT_2qa6s13mnvUy_4GUQ2Kt1VZN24JKorH41UWeZIQbEkGT3EDDzs1mmmsyNJtZYqCpZAHI9bKy9gIL6d1OswjBZhKOEQTE2N9fLRWQPcR/s320/DSC05206b.jpg" width="320" /></a><i>I wrote an e mail to the mayor. He has ignored my invitation to partake of a walk through the park with schnauzer Stanley some evening. Nor has he decided to fix the plane that, once upon a time, before the time of the decade-long drought, sprayed our fair city with mozzie-killing pesticide.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><i style="font-family: inherit;"> </i><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>But I have also considered the alternative (the alternative to what? To becoming a shut-in). Would repelling the mosquitoes through natural means make summer in ~shire any more tolerable? Here is, in no particular order, the list of ways one can naturally repel mosquitoes. I shall leave the inevitable conclusion to you.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><i style="font-family: inherit;"> </i><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><i><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant: small-caps; line-height: 115%;">The List</span></u></b></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><i><b><u><span style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant: small-caps; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></u></b></i></div><i style="font-family: inherit;"> </i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><i><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Wear bright colours, such as traffic cone orange and day-glo yellow</i></li>
<li><i><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Duct tape your pant legs and your long-sleeved shirts down, even in 35C heat waves </i></li>
<li><i><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Wear many loose layers, even in 35C heat waves</i></li>
<li><i><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Refrain from perspiring </i></li>
<li><i><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Avoid activities that involve CO2, such as exhaling</i></li>
<li><i><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Eat lots of raw garlic or ingest garlic tablets so that your skin secretes a garlicky odor</i></li>
<li><i><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Douse yourself in citronella, geranium, and soybean oil</i></li>
<li><i><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Rub yourself with fennel, thyme, clove oil, and celery extract</i></li>
<li><i><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Bake at 350 for 25 minutes</i></li>
<li><i><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Refrain from using shampoos and soaps, particularly ones with a floral scent or ones that eliminate your own scent</i></li>
<li><i><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Do not mask your natural body odors</i></li>
<li><i><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Slather your body with bear fat/grease that has been infused with castor oil or cloves or cedar</i></li>
<li><i><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Spritz yourself with the urine or musk of bears, deer, or other various animals. If deer or bear are unavailable, cow urine and cow dung are effective alternatives</i></li>
<li><i><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Smoke, or burn something indoors when you are not at home</i></li>
<li><i><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span>Do not wear sunscreen</i></li>
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<br />
<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXrB8clRRoPToMQKXtoo5KDgYZLTo02CFZaqZFNqOiranX6FKSqgNgxrV6exkThEk750jzeLrBbD7cRWPIZHDC3LrGuN_rgiY2go5FgkZLxqoqDWBILfqNz5YHy6MHsEYnaQHGNexPRc7t/s400/cracked+mud.jpg" width="267" /></a>While at the farmer's market, I met a <a href="http://www.lauramcglone.com/">photographer </a>who has an eye for the kind of things I'd like to shoot... that is, if I could just pip off to <insert exotic country here> whenever I felt like it. In fact, she is in Borneo at the moment on a photo shoot. I sigh in green, frothy jealousy. But it was not her exotic shots that caught my eye but her local ones.<br />
<br />
Yes, she had a rather impressive, textural and rich collection of the rural and the derelict. I have no idea where she found the house? barn? that she shot in, but I want to find one like it, too.<br />
<br />
When I was a child growing up in Newfoundland, just up the highway from my grandparents' cabin in Holyrood, there was an abandoned house. Salt box house, in retrospect, and it still had all the fixings-- old furniture, old stove, the kind you have to put wood inside to get hot... at least, that's what I could glean from peeking in the window and the open door. My father would never let us go inside. He went inside once and left me outside, just burning up. I never wanted to disobey him more in my life than at that moment. I never wanted to explore a place more than this old, abandoned property with the clover and the thistle and the grass growing as high as my waist, the pieces of somebody's life left behind, perhaps the magazine left on the table where someone had been flipping through it, dishes left in the sink to dry, never put away, moldy linens still in the closet and on the iron beds...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH7Y5__8Z35TWwc7OsB91Ks5_TqGax_JZdq28RpqdOk5QhBAQyBsj9ewy69Aj7RziY28RgG7ylkozt16X3TqeTYyCekSKgEdMApV6udXGs4Rgqw4q51mJwp0BZ0QRIvzc31pBcMq4X8-Z5/s400/old+barn.jpg" /></a>I was experiencing my first pang of nostalgic curiosity, a haunting feeling I experience whenever I saw a place like this, or watch Titanic or Schindler's List, or hold an artifact from a museum (you're allowed to do that, right? touch the old stuff?), put my grandmother's dainty gloves on my own hand or go through her purse and find a 80-year-old shopping list. It's the feeling I had when walking through the halls of Versailles and marveled that once upon a time, it too was a house and not a museum, that people looked out those windows on their drive and on their yard, or sat in those chairs, now forbidden, and stoked the now empty fireplaces. The idea of ghosts was fascinating to me, romantic, that the shades of the past could still be creeping about. I was never afraid of ghosts, just the dark Shadow Man I was convinced lurked outside my bedroom door in the hallway. But he was not a ghost.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.lauramcglone.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0cU95ITXN-_H6qgzSSY41DVDWdzoxJjXvov2wTHuKwgd-vc6KcudBKjqd4luEmFc5EOCWQA8j2UVAHMtryVV_NS8Y9hQWhuUpPTIbW_ALQ5dEkdvhnzcHc2jAFMbNoKmjsiT7lgB6uZaC/s400/Untitled-1.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
So the photograph I saw that really captured my attention was one of a bouncy horse, a toy that I'd had as a child. It sat in the ruins of whatever place she was photographing, this symbol of innocence and childhood just cast aside. Why was it left there among the bottles and the cans and the other remnants of desertion?<br />
<br />
I've been trying to convince my husband to take me on an excursion into the deep, red-neck countryside of this province so I can trespass or creep into the derelict and abandoned barns along the way... The best he's done so far is take me a 20-minute jaunt to the outskirts of town, where our adventure will continue next time.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXkCSuPHUW2wP0aGudALeIe0TdG3alLvkVXTqm8vd1kCV3byqzGr1G7ang8EI-sUvAPyme749EOOOIdnumT_3GN_jFl_9UQ_ThSbxmd1z2jxLilMPNWECsh4ffw0szuSJA_XmZ-QQ0BKTc/s400/highway+stretch.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Until then, I highly encourage you to <a href="http://www.lauramcglone.com/">visit her site and to take a look through the galleries</a>. You may wonder why I am promoting another photographer's site, that it will <a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/">hurt my own business</a>, but to summarize one of Ayn Rand's philosophies rather crudely, we should not be afraid of others' greatness or attempt to squash it. It is a small person who fears the accomplishments of others. We do not fail because others are successful. We fail because we ourselves have not achieved success or greatness. So, waxing philosophical aside, check out <a href="http://www.lauramcglone.com/">her galleries</a>. They're great. And <a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/">visit mine</a> while you're at it.</div>APhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-90526322733089598412011-07-20T13:12:00.000-06:002011-07-20T13:12:22.075-06:00Kiosk<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">For those who haven't the time or energy to view <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/aimless-photography/sets/">our full gallery</a>, you can <a href="http://aimlessphotography.groovepress.com/">visit our kiosk</a> if you're looking to make a quick purchase! We've included a sampling of our most popular images (by sales) and are making them available in 5x7 prints. Of course, we do <a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/">sell other sizes and other images</a> which are available through our <a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/">webstore</a>, but if you just want a nibble, check out the kiosk <a href="http://aimlessphotography.groovepress.com/">here</a>.</div>APhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-34186056801072132102011-07-20T13:01:00.002-06:002011-07-20T13:07:49.494-06:00Just Beet It<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-WqJsmWaDHT0mkDzuLbtTbKRtcV_lhSiiTPvj9VDn6L3sXQUfuPRs8tDaWMLLpyAQcwA_sFRnSy82ahk6OqdyLiY3ycMr1R7UQQ0oFjOAi8KSpDMQguQcmj67DDqMfhnYF5ZXV8sa2If/s320/DSC04144d.jpg" /></a>Farmer's markets are fabulous. Anywhere. One of my favourite markets is in Seattle (the Pike Place Market, where they have the first ever Starbucks), but there is always such a crowd I find it difficult to shoot over or through people. I am short and not exactly what you'd call imposing. Lord help me if I don't get front row at a busking event. I always end up with somebody's bald spot.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgminCBgNpD2W81vyAAT-hyK-7TBHIgOXuEs-BmPtPYVgwyn8O2gs6rTDQr2nFs-7_USnwZL3-aORbC1U84mIr4BUJHYhATuo4-1o64iN9hci92U34J2E3_SPdaSuNmRvDWCF5fmByRVbVd/s400/DSC04146.JPG" /></a>But what a great way to get some really colourful photos, right? (At the farmer's market, not some dude's bald spot.) Clusters of vegetables, beans, pastas, flowers, fruits, candies, fabrics, soaps. Oh, the textures. A friend of mine has the most amazing shot of chilies from the Seattle market. I would really love to hit someplace with spices, like India or Morocco, and get some of that on film. If I used film. However, I don't know how plausible or practical it would be to push our giant plastic North American stroller through a sweaty, spicy, vibrant Middle Eastern market and try to take a decent shot. I may be an old woman before I get to explore the off-the-beaten-paths (and even some of the well-worn roads) of the world.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRBZLdc06KHC869L07MNgJqNovy4ivgDC6DWpJYRpZ9a2ecfdPO88OU1sYbpJQYk98vpk0m5-eaJ5dX_ncoH0yOLugpMfJAvk4ULjn044c2pPpqN9Yef-Fh1-ZsoSq3peTYgPcYNPD9SV8/s400/DSC04153.JPG" /></a>So I went to our downtown farmer's market to grab a few snaps. It's no Morocco, but if you're lucky, there's a really fun candy display or heaps of fruits and vegetables. Unfortunately, due to the weather we've been having, there wasn't what you'd call a wide variety of veg. (Or, for some reason, candy. None to be seen. Perhaps next week we'll see candied mosquitoes? More on this later.) In fact, root vegetables seemed to be the only thing available. Beets. LOTS OF BEETS. And parsnips. Time for a good old-fashioned Newfoundland vegetable boil with that much to choose from. So I shot the beets.<br />
<br />
And then it got me wondering if it were true if beets make you pee red. Does anybody know? I had a roommate in university who decided to test this to see if it were in fact fact, but he never told me the results of his experiment. Probably a good thing. A friendship has to have boundaries. I have also heard you can time how long it takes your food to go in one end and come out the other by eating beets. I don't know why one would need to know how long their digestive process takes, but it's good to know that there are simple and natural ways to explore this miracle of nature.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiscwaXA0wOemex6w-jLerB6uBNjJ16u8tjAIoaCn3Y-gjKbMd82xBbPqlN9okn2LNDl4Uu8jBaQWM7cuU2wWdUHgCs4cg4BYFCNt-eiJG5o2ZhMPOxwnKUzaPLxCJSwxzPpDx7LouwdFF0/s400/DSC04144c.jpg" /></a>In the end, we bought an artichoke. No, not a beet. Being originally from Newfoundland, it was my first non-canned artichoke, and I wanted to cook it. Supposedly, you have to boil them for a heinous amount of time, which, by the by, is the quintessential Newfie cooking technique... I wondered if I had inadvertently come full circle... In any event, after boiling my artichoke in water, lemon, butter, and pepper for about an hour and a half, it disappeared. A few flakes of artichoke heart, not even a mouthful, appeared on my plate when my husband proudly emerged from the kitchen. Alas, after all that wait, he had prematurely removed the artichoke from the burner, deemed it too tough to eat, and chucked the whole thing, save for scraping out a wee bit of the heart. So I still do not know if canned artichoke is superior or inferior to freshly boiled artichoke. Maybe we should have gone with the beets? Again, gentle readers, you will have to let me know. Or, if you have better artichoke recipes. That, and the beet thing. <br />
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<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDGMbU0i5DmCrfw-SBFtEjt8tAClo2yL7odqjdx6ApXc0PFLssoa3ufu9dWtRzq9lhvlbmrlwatv1ZZY5I0vAYdvF7rIc8XoqWMSw3Y-xBq7ffI7PybPih-IIBrSP6WlHduvp8yTNp2o74/s400/DSC04151.JPG" /></a>But our market adventure does not end here, for it was the innocent, innocuous beginning to a much less enjoyable journey. Stay tuned.<br />
<br />
</div>APhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-5996100177008508392011-07-08T23:48:00.001-06:002011-07-08T23:49:38.599-06:00Tanka<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjY4Hpw0QRFDcQDzOVHbDXARjW-OijYOxMNQTGCDgYF8r6XGMhKPadP8jRkRW_Gb6uTDmOzrJWPHDy5RJZBTp2e5xrYUuyG8TuuVhadPZ1El_AJgzTvIQ2A9DSjzXT_txIKZ8OOL9Z28qv/s400/DSC04304.JPG" /></a>Written by a friend and translated from its original Japanese, here is the state of affairs here:<br />
<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></div><h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":1}" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-weight: normal;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">エ ドモントン 日ごと五箇所は 蚊に食われ 掻きむしるたび 悲しき快感 </span></span></b></h6><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><b>In Edmonton, at least five mosquito bites a day--</b></i><br />
<i><b>each time I scratch 'em,</b></i><br />
<i><b>somehow, a sad pleasure</b></i><br />
<br />
It seemed fitting to show you my leetle friend, for whose digital image I sacrificed several pints of blood in the capture. He, and <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/aimless-photography/5831143723/">his dragonfly buddy</a> (affectionately known as <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/aimless-photography/5831143723/">The Ham</a>), are both available in the <a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/">webstore</a>. A fabulous pair with fabulous colour and detail.APhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-36121863035206084252011-07-08T09:33:00.002-06:002011-07-08T23:50:36.626-06:00Oh Me Nerves<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvd_FyiGB0RqbCSIHiufRqp24P3J0dubbQwnBpOXD_0IF4AQEWFZcESFCTsuakJE2krZZSpgzyg3bBlEep9Wlz2gKCmVn9OFMpg1oI3ltphRW587Vx48gAYARVjlMlDgvqvXXUD7NkhILC/s320/DSC04779bw.jpg" /></a>I had a Jonah Day (or perhaps a comedy of errors?) in photography the other day. At least I didn't cram fireworks into the wood stove, but the way I was headed, I'm surprised my Zeiss lens didn't end up in there. If I had a wood stove. Which I don't. Probably a good thing, too.<br />
<br />
If you don't know what a Jonah Day is, and aren't reading your bible every night (I, in fact, first heard the expression in one of the Anne of Green Gables novels, and believe you me, even without the bible reference in the other hand, it was NOT hard to understand from Anne's experience just exactly what a Jonah Day was.) In the meantime, the uber short version of the story is, Jonah got swallowed by a whale and lived there in its belly for a while a la Pinocchio only without the sprightly Jiminy Cricket until the whale coughed him up. If that isn't an unlucky day, I don't know what is.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKekA9aOHzWYqdwtFrKKdEgequ4Nsf66H7y-auoVejmGLPKaTqd_KiNSB3XJojnGJkOm7UVgivIdFg_e4-VCNGBXsS6oOpoNjmzeXk56fMwQzMvMcArerMkzaLGV0DY1GCElh7WbLaCz1_/s320/DSC04796.JPG" /></a>I first discover that, because of all the pictures I've been taking (mostly of my son... I do get a little carried away, to the point where one of my colleagues worries that he'll start calling the camera "mama"...) that my computer space is running a little low. Like, really low. Dang. I don't want to invest in an external hard drive just yet. Not yet. There are end of summer sales to hit. So I decide to do a massive cull of all the duplicates, copies, and icky photos I've taken over the last five years. Except somewhere in the cull I manage to delete an entire folder of <i>nice </i>landscape photography that hasn't been saved to my gallery yet. The loss of most of the pictures doesn't irk me so much as losing one particular shot of a grassy field with one of those perfect, poetic trees and a winding path. The sky has sweeping, textured clouds and the sunbeams are bursting through the branches of that tree and streaking across the field like the beams from a Care Bear's tummy. It's gone.<br />
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<br />
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<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOxAP9IbY8wQbmKkRk91Cf4awWFueqyy4_lFc-5pqTUU1aWUlKXCpi-S-AZgmVed0_EozkPg8uxYrkXZZVwwWPDby7xdi7ONVdduSSVqfQEe6biT1TkLlss_cb4qBYAcABV9j_ktnV9wHV/s320/DSC04798.JPG" /></a>So I decide to go back to where I shot it, hoping that the miraculous lighting conditions are just like they were the first time. I've got my camera around my neck with my new neck strap and the lens hood on, ready to shoot at a moment's notice. Except as I'm crossing the bridge, the neck strap breaks.<br />
<br />
Yes.<br />
<br />
And the camera and my lens go hurtling towards the pavement, all slow-motion style. Somewhere, Requiem starts playing.<br />
<br />
Heart attack.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEOT0UAqu1-r2tGPloa_An5GaDWd4_hCUyreNGQDORF3WXQ4M90qbvMGBABDFH5w3r1g76AT2AQfCx0-6Pj7T1uCJ2iU28L-P_IcpYo5BvWTkhXcSh5YV8RAfaXxyJoXPaZAgRvg_0sb9V/s400/DSC04809.JPG" width="400" /></a>Except the lens hood, which is already in the go position, takes the impact, and shatters. The camera and the lens make a ten point landing on the pavement, oblivious to the near death experience it just had, and wins the Olympic gold. All systems are still go, captain, for the field shoot.<br />
<br />
Except the mosquitoes are blackening the sky like a plague of Egypt and I have to shoot on the run. My husband is pushing the stroller through the field like a bumbling kidnapper, poor Oliver jostling around with a giant grin on his face. Luckily he was strapped in or we would have learned rather quickly if babies in fact bounce. I told Oliver he had better watch out or he'd end up swallowing half the swarm. I'm flailing my arms like a lunatic to keep the mozzies away from my husband and son and came *this* close to clobbering poor husband in the face with the million pound glass Zeiss lens. <br />
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<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi825bfYp5FIWKpS0iebKQlMa0q_f5m4VC2MG3sDH9IG9-47NQRUPpHkftGB6aNsZAxSQ70F_5O3QuW_lwra9OViMll-Mx1l5uFs6dkFIrkkEjDCDb5MYZViH2Fyue4-JGGrrzMabCO4RrL/s400/DSC04808bw.jpg" /></a>So, perhaps not a Jonah Day in the truest sense, but a series of accidents and near-misses. When I think of all that could have gone wrong, or have gone much worse, I'm in fact quite lucky. I still didn't get the shot that I deleted, but my camera and my lens and my husband are intact. But as they say back home, oh me nerves!APhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-44817048115735812772011-07-07T12:40:00.000-06:002011-07-07T12:40:45.064-06:00A Feast for the Eyes<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPXGe-9v6b2hXk76PJuprDIdpWXwVG_KkyIq8M9tbsK3fRJuWOOuUfmNRHNSv0b3Yr-X7GYvQj-8ZmCCL6UNr8RLeGXmKdUkPgUvsFs0cBuc6R-UBIOPd5xSUZwTLkShtjJetsIJA3uTWL/s400/DSC04461.JPG" /></a>Summer has finally arrived, but we're all trapped indoors. It's hot and sunny and perfect out there... well, almost perfect. We're being held hostage by the mosquitoes, who have made their comeback with a bloodthirsty vengeance. The newspaper photogs have had no difficulty capturing images of hapless victims being swarmed by clouds of mozzies, gleaming in the sunshine. Some folks are worried about the fairies or the dingoes spiriting off their babies. Me? The mosquitoes. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdiH5THG9ES2GlcjYO0Jwx6gv8x9H00Qg8Xg072287SuJ4WVt5Zu6CjeUDuB-vg3kcOt4wUsI87uxqTjBCnT4TSXX5egK86HGzHK34oJQbBX0WosXs-YfUrFMM1evMbmnlE_cnBn29o2Mq/s400/DSC04331.JPG" /></a></div>The heat, however, inspired my husband to hold an impromptu lunch party. His idea of advanced notice is, oh, 24 hours max. And then he's surprised when only one or two people can come... In any event, he wanted a <i>somen </i>lunch party. <i>Somen </i>is a noodle dish served cold on hot summer days in Japan. Or, in this case, Canada. <br />
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<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidtWCuVNhJq3CJhYnch96arfXmtIlMqDvM-7_5qgreShuZzZwJ2LLvvwKOHNCvoMz11SX_WoZ1txcIqLVFDXMNIiiyzofJZJjn5rx8DeoznlcFdvI3xXEC53JtKGbuu1e56BSAHP2bC3k5/s400/DSC04358c.jpg" /></a>Handsome husband made way too much food for the two and a half people that came to lunch, and he's been eating leftovers for days, but hey, I'm not complaining! Check out the foh-tohs that resulted from his meticulous chopping. At least if we can't enjoy the outdoors, we won't go stir crazy hanging out inside. <br />
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These, and plenty more food shots, should be available within the week in the gallery. If you're thinking of dressing up your kitchen with some colour and originality, we have lots of images to choose from.APhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-20930578275000401582011-07-05T20:28:00.000-06:002011-07-05T20:28:13.779-06:00A Must See<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Okay, fer real. <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2011051/Black-macaque-takes-self-portrait-Monkey-borrows-photographers-camera.html">This will make you smile</a>, and if it doesn't, you're n<span id="goog_687867379"></span><span id="goog_687867380"></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a>ot allowed back here. </div>APhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-56975952446639273472011-07-01T10:39:00.000-06:002011-07-01T10:39:46.216-06:00144 Years Young<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I've assembled a collection of Canadian photography here for you to enjoy... the images may not all be iconic, but they are all Canadian, taken coast to coast. It's a beautiful country. Most of the images are available <a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/">through the webstore</a>, but if you can't find it, and you love it, just <a href="mailto:aimless.photographers@gmail.com">e mail</a> me. <br />
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<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7p8w53en4Ydhdy9OrCeOmsyQ23W2Yiy3xOrbGR4S4SE6C1HRLwjJqH9rww9pVdFY4b-ioJtQxNG8DZ_tlXfuBamFpns7o4kEvNa95VpRLRdLdhZpIxOZZXVRA6BV4fkSNvlT83uQF906q/s640/DSC08737.JPG" /></a><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOYm2IrZuEnCyksWMu4TD3qtclzLH8OAWLw0hiv1wINAx2gwCk5HrngK0sZFEK3QgcWTyrSu0YiCbsCY1e148X_raZSG96oaoV-pGyCoR4F-ol_FJ8-NA28r1bi7raJEdZ9Rq49r5kYWZM/s640/DSC00536.JPG" /> </a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><br />
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<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOlLzGty17rYaBpAA05pPEjsKyJnPcKtrjLt6osnLItImcq-U3GI4T85S1bm9ZiMnGpEk10hxZY9XsCMRlRvkLZ7aW2VhMldif0H9T3Who4VvIo0FYyEsKeupQw4QkDBAVgfydq9BJfHNi/s640/st.+lewis2.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>APhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-51611354597312225652011-06-30T13:14:00.003-06:002011-06-30T13:17:40.139-06:00Rainbow Feature<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIThDuqzIS7HRWjhuTHzMkfs5kjuudyB55Kfpl1qYrl_5D0_dCCeBLW7ph4QLzydXHAGCNlpKSIWH5oTVmPIlHM2xF8MEy15aB9PDAbARGRbmr80nN4GX3xFazw9snxNTUDLqHuKZjDj-R/s400/rocky+mountain+rainbow+b.jpg" width="400" /></a><a href="http://poppytalk.blogspot.com/2011/06/its-rainbow-day-summercoloursweek.html">We did it again!</a> Check out our Rocky Mountain Rainbow <a href="http://poppytalk.blogspot.com/2011/06/its-rainbow-day-summercoloursweek.html">featured </a><a href="http://poppytalk.blogspot.com/2011/06/its-rainbow-day-summercoloursweek.html">here</a>. <br />
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This was taken through the windshield as we were on the highway on our very first ever trip to Banff. In fact, a lot of fabulous shots were captured on that trip, most completely by accident. I'll be featuring a few in an homage to Canada on July 1st. Check back tomorrow! especially if you're into Canadiana or heck, like the colour red. I'll be featuring mostly photographs, but there might be the occasional anecdote to entertain the masses. See you then!</div>APhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-6714457980297092882011-06-30T11:09:00.001-06:002011-06-30T13:24:45.362-06:00100 Days Old<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio8jLto6Rwc9zQIaHQYJ5kdDMGN67yHfspmst5_kiJc2civ00F0vo-8Q-BkXHzUNMRn0SrOD8if1gdgoDHmmOz_dKSPh0Dl_vf2xOoEkg3g2XHU_NdDcfZESL8kleGTNWfBmSLTW7kvpsi/s400/DSC03635.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>My Oliver turned 100 days old on Tuesday. It's a big thing in Asian cultures, the 100 day thing. If we'd been back in Japan, he would've been dressed up, plonked on the lap of the oldest family member, and grandma or grandpa would've pretended to feed him fish. It's a symbol of health and strength and that he'll never go hungry.<br />
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Unfortunately, all Oliver's grandmas and grandpas are about a 10 to 12 hour flight in either direction, so we did the best we could... dressed the kid up in a <a href="http://www.shimazakura.com/Baby-jinbei-s/23.htm">jinbei </a>and went out for sushi. I don't post pics of family, but the look on Oliver's face as my husband pretended to feed him a piece of raw salmon is priceless. Oliver's eyes seem to be reaching across the table pleading for help!In the meantime, here is one of the sushi shots I have from dinner. I'll be uploading some sushi and tea shots eventually to the gallery, some artsy, some in their original states. In the meantime, try not to lick the screen. </div>APhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-60918275584163668812011-06-29T14:03:00.000-06:002011-06-29T14:03:49.659-06:00Double Feature!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZOQ4IbWRNnRyfTuaQMlHHIqbWLsjtJ1wWNwCwE1Hf2sWfCNzNWHwr1qT2RDAFtHRc_-atoKCKLofhEFIjI8GO-QD-ETDUn6zdu7_YtwEEP-g147hEARTdX1mNWqFmiYK-JwrWobFoViYi/s400/dock.jpg" width="400" /></a><a href="http://poppytalk.blogspot.com/2011/06/summercoloursweek-blue.html">We made it again</a>! My husband jokes that the dock photo looks better than the real thing... We went to a lakeside retreat about an hour from -shire. There was supposed to be a beach... there was... it was a little squishy (that's the best word to describe the texture of the beach, I swear), and we had to discourage our schnauzer from eating the pelican poo... BUT there was this dock, and it fulfilled one of the items on my bucket list: photograph dock to infinity. Here it is! Chosen from hundreds and hundreds. <a href="http://poppytalk.blogspot.com/2011/06/summercoloursweek-blue.html">Featured on Poppytalk</a>. </div>APhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-26442300084608662322011-06-29T10:03:00.002-06:002011-06-29T10:07:26.376-06:00Featured!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0mZjnCXdMk3xAsL4TOv6Kw7R9PNHYqQa06MyjDPuF3iIezIdGtoyV3R5nI5gN6SFYmlRHTYSscTTDmdXUPdyK0edVbKBTo2WINxPtmLikBKZOHE4CFSHCVWo8yGmoUUOYMRSFtSRBwwEI/s400/5763776286_7aa1a4c358_o.jpg" width="300" /></a>Check us out! <a href="http://poppytalk.blogspot.com/2011/06/summer-colours-week-pink.html">Featured</a>. Can you believe it? <a href="http://poppytalk.blogspot.com/2011/06/summer-colours-week-pink.html">Here's the photo</a> that turned heads. It was taken on Etajima, an island near Hiroshima. It was the beginning of summer. I've often described the humidity of Japan to liquid air. That day was no different. Etajima is not known for having a lot of sakura... in fact, the island was covered, and I mean covered, in citrus trees. The ground was littered with rotting orange orbs. Imagine the smell? Kinda glorious. These steps went up and up and up to a temple? shrine? can't recall (will have to ask hubby, who has a steel trap memory) and happened to have the dried out petals from a lonely, lonely cherry blossom tree-- not the typical wimpy pink, as you can see. Captured this shot with a Canon point and shoot.<br />
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Our Facebook page just about had a heart attack. It vacillated between 47 likes and 1,291 likes for about an hour. Glitch, or the fickleness of the adoring (or not so adoring) public?</div>APhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-43548953850622000232011-06-28T11:16:00.002-06:002011-06-28T11:35:14.430-06:00Jamaica Me Crazy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaywatjMWlo7MJzQydgkDMIj0yKSHe-fb9weaMnub_OlbOoK7OIKjbDnlLBeiuLoAlfTyrhLgMCsDuM9-kWgp8X4ObK4HVq34NhLVoFFzeqsMvCVcsje_xk3g2MWJ11K1odQdXy91QslX5/s400/rondel+beach.jpg" /></a>A couple of years ago, we took our late honeymoon in Negril. People (and Lonely Planet) swear up and down that it's the most romantic part of Jamaica-- a quiet, long, white, sandy beach with spectacular sunsets. (True) The beach is also supposedly home to the best jerk chicken joint in Jamaica. (Also true. You'd never know it to look at the place, it's just a small grill on the beach where the jerk chicken guy not only listens to Michael Bolton but knows all the words...And while we're on this note, I feel you should know that you're going to hear a lot of Celine Dion when you're in Jamaica. To a reggae beat. I have an unconfirmed theory slash suspicion that Jamaicans listen to rap and reggae and R&B in public-- gotta keep up appearances-- but have secret stashes of soft rock and light jazz under their beds.)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDhuZwmjYr9BwUfkOCARr_WQYh_N4-_TjEDm9e2UamYUyS8vciXAqmounJFEpT2ajzbaE6vJkMpyVhvOGLGEfK7VoE8Ba1PGrTvNV6fo76MgR8AwHowwPzBdX4KotriE8kCXvVgRqRssvJ/s1600/jerk+chicken.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDhuZwmjYr9BwUfkOCARr_WQYh_N4-_TjEDm9e2UamYUyS8vciXAqmounJFEpT2ajzbaE6vJkMpyVhvOGLGEfK7VoE8Ba1PGrTvNV6fo76MgR8AwHowwPzBdX4KotriE8kCXvVgRqRssvJ/s400/jerk+chicken.jpg" width="400" /></a>So when we went, I thought we should avoid the whole resort thing and experience the 'real' Jamaica. I thought this would add to the romance. (False)<br />
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Let me tell you, there is nothing romantic or sexy (or remotely enjoyable) about having every inch of your skin covered in sandfly bites. We had become literature for the blind, Hamlet in braille written all over my epidermis (Tale of the Genji for my husband). Folks, do the resort thing. Seriously. From what I hear, they don't let the sandflies (or the hustlers) on the resort beaches. Fer real. If you do decide to stay off a resort in one of the smaller (and yes, very pretty) beach-side hotels, bring your Benadryl. Pill form. You'll thank me later.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2nIS2-u5uhWDv1V-AFgH1YvybIiQbOsufrxAq32W7IQRjpRb-MKvIaLWro-STqe1QiC4kafNRoKl0BYg-3n-nKXcH51a-UMlmgE2Sk5YMlPWNWwyJul7PbpatVfUo4ulQ17AeyBf2A9KX/s400/fisherman%2527s+village+3.jpg" /></a>If you've been to Negril, you'll recognize the shot of the fisherman's village at one end of the beach. The indigo-stained river meets the ocean here. By the way, the river is indeed shallow enough to cross if you want to get to the road (there's a Burger King on the other side), and the indigo won't dye a permanent pair of denim socks to your calves... only be forewarned that one of the local fishermen will offer to help you across, and promptly ask you for lots of money.<br />
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<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpTuySzrddEqlxKC2rcYWF9o9lec8BHoTsscB-mduNaME8wQPwK9FDHsjTG1Ig-aV_y3L7kSTkpA4TbdhrW_AUop3HORBvW6gvy3AjHEJR2geZBbAKyjyjJqw4pJvb80trH1i0Ru3nKBKd/s400/towels+6.jpg" /></a>I have not posted many of the Jamaica shots for sale. For one, sandfly bites do not make for a steady hand, and the image quality is lacking in a lot of the shots. Two, it just seemed wrong to sell the pictures from my honeymoon. You'll find a couple scattered in the webstore's gallery (a bird, a boat, a sunset...), but don't go digging through the gallery looking for a ton of Rasta shots. If you're in the mood for Jamaica, pour yourself up a glass of rum punch and thrown on Bob Marley. Or Celine Dion. Or both. A Bob and Celine mix. And you're there!<br />
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</div>APhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-52204844127649240542011-06-27T13:05:00.003-06:002011-06-30T11:10:50.711-06:00String Theory...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUFRt9uw_14Y_HIDycxwMXN7HH0NZHUPr_ewHZYC5na9beQMmRXzd6k_rtP8IB4RVEh21OXvGsU3UP0KmPDR6PGRNQjBebWAcWu_y35sfivbieDyFXRlNxP5XNzT1MxA_HySH-3b4Xqvia/s400/DSC00316.JPG" /></a>...or, A Good Yarn.<br />
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When I was a child, my mother had her wisdom teeth taken out. I think she was in her 40s, and I remember the dentist gave her one of the teeth because it was shaped like a whale. I don't know if she still has it. My mother is a sentimental and nostalgic woman. She keeps everything, but for some reason, I don't think she kept the tooth. Probably a good call.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP7vLUi0m6CvLXD-YinSF3h_3RkiacR6vfPCojyfARZoRstpJb-cTpdPbs-0io1IdWNrSzG4z5axWwuXAD66HUEhYIFUa1-k_LOopI5W8o9u0IL03vGeWiLAJg6_ZwHD0CDhyphenhyphenxgHxNAMV7/s400/DSC00318.JPG" /></a>My wisdom teeth were taken out when I was a teenager, which I believe is the usual timing for such things. It was Hallowe'en. (I, too, am nostalgic erring on the side of old-fashioned and still use the apostrophe in All Hallows Eve's abbreviation Hallowe'en.) They were putting me totally under since I don't respond well to the general anesthetic, which we discovered the hard way having had a number of baby and adult teeth pulled in my lifetime. I was wheeled into surgery by folks dressed up like zombies, princesses, mummies and witches. I was nervous that the folks dressed like doctors were only wearing costumes and not licensed practitioners at all, but they were drugging me, and I wasn't thinking clearly. Needless to say, seeing Elvis at the hospital may or may not have actually happened, and it's entirely possible a giant squirrel removed my wisdom teeth and kept them with his acorns. (Notice how I chose not to say nuts?)<br />
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<a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp-W5hnVjvaS9rIZX1cscnLju4wy7Wmt_bwfWAvB4Rdwz5IGjYLr23HC7fvm4bIgxk8Nmlpzu_Qh-f9wfpybhZ36fguUhNG9r9W5l7PPavmn95OJbalzNhLwSjmjMRJC8J69EWXiI2Jyek/s400/DSC00313.JPG" /></a>The fun didn't stop there. Of course, when they pull your wisdom teeth, they send you home with enough Codeine to sell in the junior high schools of Canada. Of course, if you've ever been on Codeine, you think you're perfectly fine, lucid, sentient... which you are not. I, a teenager, woke at the crack of dawn the morning after the squirrel pulled my teeth . It was a Saturday. I promptly proceeded to go flying down the stairs, landing in a heap on the hardwood, legs splayed up the wall, new dent in the drywall. Of course, being drugged, I didn't know how to respond when my parents asked me if I were okay... I wasn't sure if I was registering pain. And my sister's sleepy voice drifted from upstairs, "Is Aim going to the hospital again?"<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Several hours later, I'm microwaving a towel for my aching jaw. The squirrels at the hospital tell you to do this. Of course, they also tell you to thoroughly moisten the towel before putting it in the microwave. Evidently, I must have missed a few spots in the moistening process, because I lit the towel on fire. I often wonder if my mother was sneaking a few of the Codeine, because when I went running through the house and out the front door, clutching the flaming towel in a pair of BBQ tongs, my mother registered nothing unusual about this event.<br />
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We will not discuss the essay I attempted to write for my Honours English class while taking the Codeine. Yes, I was determined to carry on as normal. My teacher has promised never to mention it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://www.aimless-photography.com/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYXi0d82XfUe61q1PHbaKoq_6AbqtuKEJ9dhwR3utY7XfZIgPqeR-p7TqQ_o7ndTBKLCjg5aA4O0PmOpUmM4pUDhOr78TQWdfcuc_TW-5s6jJxwQmTxVgeQRIBe7Yn8Am7w0AlNhmup42I/s400/DSC03434.jpg" /></a>Now, losing your wisdom teeth is not supposed to leave any permanent damage or lasting scars. Except in my case. If you've had your chompers removed, with or without squirrels, you know that the stitches they use are supposed to dissolve and come out on their own. They did, painlessly. Except now, for about thirteen years , I have had consistent and regular dreams... nightmares... about pulling meters and meters of string from my teeth. Psychoanalysis, anyone?<br />
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Alternative string story, for the squeamish: in Japan, they say you are connected to your soul-mate by a red string.<span id="goog_859293152"></span><span id="goog_859293153"></span><br />
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While you ponder which yarn you like best, here are some images of twine, yarn, and string taken from a trip to the local living museum. </div>APhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-52367076530199865112011-06-27T11:44:00.000-06:002011-06-27T11:44:19.352-06:00Omiyage Blogs: Monday Morning Eye Candy - Aimless Photography<a href="http://omiyageblogs.blogspot.com/2011/06/monday-morning-eye-candy-aimless.html?spref=bl">Omiyage Blogs: Monday Morning Eye Candy - Aimless Photography</a>: "Can You Canoe - Aimless Photography Totem - Aimless Photography Red End 3 - Aimless Photography Hudson Hood - Aimless Ph..."APhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-27166981136840128972011-06-24T15:25:00.002-06:002011-06-24T15:35:34.988-06:00G20 Photos and Stories<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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<a href="http://www.cbc.ca/news/interactives/g20-perspective/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgamXfDRYqwzw7UzAM65TgQVR2PHmuAtNGIzmv5hiHLew-H7ZN76__zVdErsQb2juCqdZnP-lITzyy4-piZsQVyYyroieYykwEJmnOPrFeH31WmP-sSYErFTUEqqJzNX6BksUsHeCaQN8dw/s400/BW+Evan+Hamada.JPG" /></a>It's a lot of sharing in one day, I'll admit, but if you're less into cupcakes and a little more hard-hitting or edgy (oi, I sound like a judge on So You Think You Can Dance...), <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/news/interactives/g20-perspective/">here's a link</a> you might want to follow. A photographer (professional one) friend of mine Evan Mitsui works for CBC (I think he's now heading up Toronto's still photography department?) and has some of his images as well as his stories featured in <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/news/interactives/g20-perspective/">this CBC piece about the G20 fun times</a> had by all. <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/news/interactives/g20-perspective/">Check out his stunning portraits</a>. The man has talent.</div>APhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04438448963434985364noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7574488354325433283.post-17001459270234618492011-06-24T14:06:00.000-06:002011-06-24T14:06:43.999-06:00My Guts are Made of Icing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPmXvh516XWVZgDSF4lMXCDCH6Ne7GIOo7-uSAV5SB5WPNh6XiKD0ZbKrho_FnnFLv9gm4YDm-LOC-AozAFH8J_IGxyRPvppbg32oX9sBx-cpMaLao9wvRrpFfLZBqSQacE8lJm2ezPb-t/s1600/cupckes+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPmXvh516XWVZgDSF4lMXCDCH6Ne7GIOo7-uSAV5SB5WPNh6XiKD0ZbKrho_FnnFLv9gm4YDm-LOC-AozAFH8J_IGxyRPvppbg32oX9sBx-cpMaLao9wvRrpFfLZBqSQacE8lJm2ezPb-t/s400/cupckes+2.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>If you haven't been able to tell from all my shots of butterflies, food, architecture and paper cranes, I am a distant photographer. As I mentioned before, I'm still working on getting my lens in the faces of strangers.<br />
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However, yesterday I did the unthinkable. I actually walked in to one of -shire's most fabulous French inspired bakeries and, after ordering a croissant sandwich and an oatmeal chocolate chip cookie, dropped off a mysterious package. No, not planning on blowing up the bakery, not unless they discontinue their dark pain au chocolate. I think they ought to buy and frame some of my enlarged Parisian prints for their new space, and told them as much. In politer terms, of course. A letter complete with apologies for being so forward to suggest such a thing. With photographic samples. My husband was waiting outside with the engine running so I could make a quick getaway. I felt like I had just stuffed my pockets full of macaroons and roasted almond shortbreads and tried to make a slick escape. I think I would behaving far less anxiety about this whole scheme if Canada Post had just delivered the package instead.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOULQx9JU3NTaOZKhSpFeYUbLHabKUQvIqYZNkEukP2SAv01cKWerWZhH5QQT5oYnNI5GyqswuLJ3OznA4gsfgROQhbBTs8eBwqD_SG5K-mIllqKX2xwr-AHFL0REAggPvebfo7bJ0sFhP/s1600/cupcake+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOULQx9JU3NTaOZKhSpFeYUbLHabKUQvIqYZNkEukP2SAv01cKWerWZhH5QQT5oYnNI5GyqswuLJ3OznA4gsfgROQhbBTs8eBwqD_SG5K-mIllqKX2xwr-AHFL0REAggPvebfo7bJ0sFhP/s400/cupcake+2.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>In any event, it got me to thinking about baked goods, in particular, cupcakes. I hate them. To be more specific, I hate the icing. It's always reminded me of the stuff they use at the dentist's office to polish your teeth, only with more sugar. Now, I do realise they have made significant advances in icing technology, so that it ain't what it used to be, but I just can't bring myself to do it. I do, however, have an innate girly attraction to cupcakes. I think they're precious. Looking. <br />
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Last year, when I was on vacation all by my lonesome, I went so stir crazy bored I started making cupcakes. Weird flavoured cupcakes. Mocha cherry. Blueberry lemon cream. Orange cranberry chocolate. Caramel pecan. I fed them to my coworkers, none of whom died. I even once set up a cupcake bar with a choose your own topping sort of deal. It was that day I discovered that many of my coworkers share my loathing for icing. I felt less alone in the world, and that perhaps hours of therapy had been avoided thanks to the revelation in the cupcakes.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXMlnsuL_KmE0VmMTx0YLQQhezubKZppS-e3LAYnvNGxfBA2pjou0pAV-1Xj108DlEsV8owIc2Rvfo_e5XeG9ybL8JV7bnJaYu_PMCL70w6vkD8qIv3thEctksosoJ-DYqq3i_T370eBzg/s1600/cupcakes+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXMlnsuL_KmE0VmMTx0YLQQhezubKZppS-e3LAYnvNGxfBA2pjou0pAV-1Xj108DlEsV8owIc2Rvfo_e5XeG9ybL8JV7bnJaYu_PMCL70w6vkD8qIv3thEctksosoJ-DYqq3i_T370eBzg/s400/cupcakes+3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>My cousin had cupcakes for her wedding cake. I thought I'd share the photos with you since they were so gawsh durn purdy. I think if I think about her wedding and the cupcakes right now I can distract myself from having thrust myself on an innocent bake shop. I feel like I've given my number to a boy I like, only I stuck it in his desk at school and he hasn't found it yet-- excited and terrified all at the same time. Things behind the lens are much more comfortable! Maybe I need a cup of tea. And a cupcake.<br />
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