A rather chilly, gray day this, and the thought of split pea soup just warms me up. Pea soup also harkens me back to a camping trip I took with Clipper some twenty odd years ago.
One evening, while we were camped along the Elkhorn River in northern Nebraska, I was making a pot of the aforementioned soup over an open fire. The odor must have been irresistible for soon a neighbor walked up and started small talk. I offered him a bowl of soup and he quickly accepted. I then poured him a whisky on the rocks and he gratefully accepted that too. This fellow, about my age, was an itinerant photographer. He traveled throughout the West taking portraits at schools, churches, and clubs. His specialty was baby pictures. The man was extremely happy with his job and very proud of his work. In fact, after the second whisky he rushed back to his tent and toted over a large album of his best baby photos.
Looking through the album, I was stunned by the quality of this man's work . . . stunned, that is, not by the high quality of his work, but stunned at how terrible the photos were. They were awful. This poor man who smiled lovingly as each page turned and who took such pleasure at showing me the album seemed to have a God-given gift for highlighting the flaws and imperfections in each of his tiny subjects–-red spots, rashes, pointed heads, lazy eyes, bad teeth, crooked smiles–-all seemed to be accentuated in this man's photos. I did not see one child that could be called cute, cuddly or adorable; indeed, most were ugly and grotesque in the extreme. Many photographers, I've heard, snap three or four shots and pick the best. This unlucky man must have drilled a dozen and picked the worst. He was a good, decent guy who loved what he did, but I am absolutely certain that as of this writing he has drifted to another line of work.
____________________________________________________
Art of the Day
The old year is out like a lamb and the new year enters like a lamb. And that suits me to a T. No A-bombs, no earthquakes, no sunamis, no pestilence, no frogs, warts or lizards.
Well do I remember the Y2K World-Enders. Do you? There was so much written about it at the time that I too started to get creeped out. Let's face it: When physics professors leave their jobs in the cities and move to a deep hole in the desert, or when a normally down-to-earth neighbor with an advanced degree in engineering starts hoarding dried food, gasoline and flash light batteries, who wouldn't get a bit concerned? Y2K found Deb and I camped in the Blue Ridge of Virginia on a steep mountain side. Can't say I was real concerned about the world ending that night but I did poke my noggin out at midnight to see if there was any fire in the sky or looters headed our way. When I had satisfied myself that the earth would continue to rotate on its axis, as of yore, I fired one round of my pistol into the air in celebration and promptly returned to bed. And so, for my money, any new year that comes in like a lamb--be it Y2K or Y2K+9--is a very good thing.
Quick, Stale Thought #2: Christmas is for kids. And by kids, I mean those little wingless bipeds under the ages of 10 or so. Except for making the season as nice and fantasy-filled as we can for the wee ones, adults have no business being in the holiday business. How many arguments have been started, how many marriages ended, because one or the other failed to read the other's mind when it came to gift-giving? I know of at least one such case. I sincerely believe that adults should not exchange Christmas gifts. And yet, it is hard to avoid. Indeed, in these "tough economic times" the barrage this past Christmas was greater than I ever remember. Brenda Lee, Bing Crosby, Elvis, Johnny Mathis, Burl Ives, and the entire Mormon Tabernacle Choir beseeched us from a thousand different AM and FM radio stations to join their Merry Madness. These siren calls led us none-too-subtely to the malls. As the festive tunes wafted in the stores where people shopped like sharks feed, I could not but help notice the dour, downcast eyes of the employees who walked and worked and waited for the Jolly season to be over, just like myself. Maybe we can have the Great American Gift Out, similar to the "Great American Smoke Out"--no more adult Christmas gift-giving.
__________________________________________________
Photo of the Day
