I finally bought the palm-sized digital camera I’ve been wanting. Nothing fancy, but now we won’t have to cart around the large digital camera everywhere in case a photo-op presented itself or kick ourselves for forgetting it.*
Janie—who was bored in the way only eight-year olds can be on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon with no prospect of television or computer time until after dinner—perked up when she saw it. Her mother—whose last nerve was being twanged raw from a couple hours answering said bored eight-year old’s questions about when dinner was gonna be—perked up when she saw this.
After some basic instruction, I handed over the little guy and asked her to try it out for me—and to please shoot some stuff through the windows to see how the images turned out.
She took some excellent images of a squirrel doing his squirrelly activities outside the living room window, which I wish I could share. But she figured out by herself how to delete the images, so when I went to look at them, I had only an assortment of self-images taken by my beautiful, charming, and genteel daughter:
She does have pretty eyes, even when they’re crossed. Or glazed.
But at least hers are in focus. I decided to try taking some photos of the river on the commute home, which would have worked better if I hadn’t been the one driving. Aiming was pretty much out, as per cosmic law, I couldn’t catch a single red light in the entire four mile stretch. I did however, catch something else:
Yes. My thumb. Which isn’t in focus, either.** But this one turned out all right, if you imagine the river running slightly downhill . . .
I’d better post this and go—it’s Sunny’s turn with the camera, and she’s just blinded the cat . . .
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*Or, I might add, spring for phones with photo capability. I’d make a lousy Luddite, but the only thing I use my phone for is to make phone calls—I even block texting and will continue to do so until all phones come with keyboards.
** I can hear MacDougal Street Baby and Averil rolling their eyes.
Earful of Cider 