Sloth--Not!!

For those of you who think that I've just been kicking back enjoying my leisure time . . . THINK AGAIN!

As I alluded to in my last post, I have become addicted to Photoshop, of all things. Since that post, I've spent an inordinate amount of time playing with the powerful features the program possesses. Of course I haven't even scratched the surface, but at least now I have a rudimentary understanding of both layers and actions. It's not an exaggeration that several evenings now have lasted until 2:00 or 3:00 a.m. because I've become so involved in learning "just one more" facet of the program. (Can you say obsession?)

Even more important than that, I have been gifted with the opportunity to spend some real quality one-on-one time with favorite grandson Hunter. He and I played at the park on Friday while Farida went to get a TB test--and we had a great time.

Yesterday I got to pick Hunter up from school, and we hung out at his house while Farida and Jason attended to Farida's first paying photography assignment. Those of you who remember how gifted Farida's photography was way back when she was in high school--and way-too-conservative mom offered her insights into how difficult it would be to make a living being a professional photographer--will understand the monumental step this is.

Time, circumstances and Farida's own talents have perfectly positioned her to recapture those dreams..

Years later she's rekindled her photographic passion and is setting about to make it pay off. (YES, Farida, you can say "I told you so!")

You go, girl! You have the eye, you have the passion, you have the talent and you are gaining skill by leaps and bounds. Leap for all you can achieve!


(Obviously "passion" is a big deal to me this morning, having used the word abundantly.)

Farida, any time you need an Ani to try to entertain Hunter, just ask!)

By the way, Jason, too, is an excellent photographer, so they really make a great team. I can see Hunter, too, getting into the "family business" as he grows. It's exciting to see all the opportunities coming their way.


Love to everyone! More soon.

Confession is Good for The Soul

I confess. I haven't been blogging because I have been "playing."

With Photoshop and Photoshop Elements.

I'm not often intimidated by computer software, but Adobe programs are so intensive that they really have a long learning curve. Up to now I've learned the bare minimum to do what I need to but not really using anything like the real capabilities of the programs.

Because of my new passion for photography, I've been following several photographers whose work I really admire. What a blessing that G. Dan Mitchell just happened to post a brief "tutorial" on making frames for online photos. That's something I'd asked daughter Farida about, but she didn't really give me a lot of help, probably because no one has ever shown her the tricks--or because she's never been interested.

After reading Dan's blog post, I screwed up my courage and decided to give it a try. It worked! In the process I learned a lot more about layers in Photoshop and Elements, which is an essential part of using the power Photoshop is famous for. Now I'm addicted and can't wait to learn about other features I've been avoiding.

It feels sooooo good to reach even a small Photoshop summit! Thanks, Dan, for the inspiration.

Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Mea Maxima Culpa

When I started blogging, not that long ago, I promised myself that I would post regularly--my goal was at least three times a week. For a while it worked, then I caught the galloping crud (or whatever it was) and lost all energy, at least for writing. I did find enough strength to make an expedition out to the Sierra Vista Scenic Byway, a journey to Yosemite Valley and yet another out to the Yosemite High Country. But I didn't have energy enough to write.

By some miracle best-friend Betty, who lives in Israel, caught me online today and said, "what's the matter? Got writer's block? I've been watching for a new post for WEEKS!" It pleased me more than you can imagine that she looks for my posts--and made me feel guilty as well.

The trek out to the Yosemite High Country (Olmstead Point, Tenaya Lake, Tuolumne Meadows) was extra-special because my companions were roommate Carol, daughter Farida and favorite grandson Hunter. It was Farida's and Hunter's first view of my favorite part of the park, and I loved showing it to them. What made it even better is that Farida was a geology major in college and delighted in describing all the geologic features and processes that shaped this incredible place. I confess that I don't remember all the terminology, except for "cryobiotic soil" . But this place has always fascinated me, and I want to know even more.

These boulders are "glacial erratics," left in place by the glaciers as they moved through the Valley.

That big hunk of granite in the background is called Clouds Rest and has been a hiking target of mine for several years. It's a 14-mile round trip from the Sunrise trailhead to the summit, and the views are supposed to be incredible. The summit, at 9,930 feet, is higher than the summit of Half Dome.

This area of Yosemite National Park is chock-full of granite domes and magnificent peaks just begging to be explored.

What I most enjoyed, however, was watching Hunter play. He may be a budding rock climber, based on the way he tackled the boulders he came across.

What I would most like is to be able to share with him my very favorite mountain hike of all time--Mt Dana, right at the eastern entrance to Yosemite. The second-highest peak in the park, it rises to a magnificent height of 13,056 feet. I confess I didn't make it to the top, but I came fairly close--probably within 100 vertical feet. The talus boulders at the top were just too large for my short legs to negotiate. But I did get to the point where I could see the Dana Glacier and Couloir as well as Mono Lake and the Kuna Crest. It is quite amazing to start a hike with mountains towering around you--and end up at a height ABOVE them. It is at once humbling and empowering. I really hope to be able to share that feeling with Hunter and impart to him the love I have for mountains--any mountains.

I think there's hope!

P. S. I really DO intend to get back to Khyber Dreams within a few days. Thanks to those who've shared with me that they've been enjoying it.

Resurfacing - Finally

For those who are wondering what hole I fell into . . . I finally feel on the road to recovery from the cold (or whatever) that attacked me a week ago today and laid me flat. I've slowly and painfully crawled out of my hidey-hole and am emerging into the world again.

For those who thought I was in Arizona . . . nope. Couldn't go. Couldn't face the 13-hour drive, twice in five days. We're hoping for the first weekend in November, if weather permits. Because everything was in place for a visit with those we love and miss, it really hurt to have to postpone. Looking back on the last few days, though--it was for the best.

Watch for new postings within the next day or two, including a new chapter of Khyber Dreams.

Love to everyone. Stay healthy.

Happy Birthday, Dearest. Bestest Friend!

September 21, 2009 - a very special day for a most special friend . . . and if I've timed things right, this will post at 12:01 a.m. on 9/21/09 in Israel.

I wish I could be with you today to celebrate in person. It's been way too many years since we've spent birthdays together, and I miss you a lot.

Writing this blog has made the memory juices flow in earnest, and over the last few days and weeks, I've been thinking about some of the wonderful places and people we've shared.

Do you remember . . .

Slipping and sliding through the snow in Fawnskin as we city girls watched the white stuff fall for the first time in our lives?

The Amtrak trip to Las Vegas, where I boarded in Santa Ana, you boarded in Santa Ana, and we picked up Bill and Rich in Ontario? What a wonderful, raucous party of four that was! It's a good thing the train pulled right into the Union Plaza Hotel; we couldn't have driven anywhere?



The Elton John concert in Dodger Stadium where the audience yelled and stomped so loudly as Elton sang "The Bitch is Back" that the stadium shook?

Twohey's?

That horrible drive back from Las Vegas where you pretended to be asleep the entire way?


Jesus Christ Superstar at the Universal Amphitheatre with Gail and Evita in Century City?

Looking for the Tate house in Benedict Canyon . . . and finding it (at least the gate)?

Dinners with Farida and Nas at the Hollywood Ol' Spaghetti Factory? In the days when there wasn't an Ol' Spaghetti Factory on every other corner . . .

Coming back from a Las Vegas trip to find that Auntie Flo had fed the girls bacon for the first time in their lives?

Checking out the vanity in Bill and Rich's bathroom--and having Bill come up behind us?

Sundays driving to Palos Verdes to buy strawberries and straw flowers?

Cutting class to drive down to Ports 'o' Call?

The Thanksgiving I removed the pumpkin pie from the oven and dropped it, steaming hot, onto my foot and had to wear socks to Thanksgiving Dinner 'cause I couldn't get my shoe on?

The holidays when Champ realized we had had too many glasses of wine and took the opportunity to take a nap on the bed?

Those Idyllwild weekends where we'd have to call to let work know we were "snowed in" because we couldn't bear to go home?

Three-hour telephone conversations?

The purple swan from Nellie?

Driving somewhere--I have no idea where--with Auntie Flo singing Old Macdonald's Farm at the top of our lungs?

The night Abid and I stayed overnight at the El Molino apartment and we slept in your bed, awaking absolutely petrified to find Poopsie staring at me?

Your wonderful Camaro?

 Sharing a room at the Wawona Hotel, with a bath down the hall?

You, Doobie and me sitting at my dining room table during your visit to Bass Lake, watching the deer frolic outside?

There were many, many more people, places and events that we've shared over these almost-fifty years. I'm sure you can add to them.

If you never remember anything else, please know that I love you and cherish the years and the friendship we've shared. May this birthday be the best of all birthdays to date . . . and the least of those to come.

I love you, my friend.

meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Every Day Is A Gift

I had two choices this morning:  get my rear out of bed really early and head to Yosemite to try to get some sunrise photos or stay home and do housework. Because a meeting of the Yosemite Sierra Visitors' Bureau was scheduled for 2:00 p.m. in Oakhurst, my time was limited, so that factor added to the decision-making process.

The choice should have been easy, right?

Actually it was. I chose the housework. It's been several weeks since I've slept well, and last night, for some reason, was very restful. I awoke at 5:15 a.m. and decided to sleep a bit longer. It was absolute heaven.

Even the dusting, mopping and vacuuming were relaxing in a strange sort of way, once I got going. The animals weren't quite sure what was happening because they don't see this kind of activity very often, but they managed.

Once done with the vacuum, I took its reservoir outside to empty the water--and came face-to-face with "our" herd of deer. Yosemite Lakes Park is overrun with mule deer. They are pests, and they trample all the gardens they can get to . . . the ones they don't prune to the ground, that is. That being said, I still have an affinity for the beasts . . . their twitching ears, their massive brown eyes, their wagging tails. Despite their negatives, for me they have an undeniable beauty. The herd that often hangs out at our house consists of two does, each with two fawns and usually one or two additional does who accompany them.

Quite often I'll come home to find one of the does and her babies camped  next to the house taking a nap. Of course they jump up and scamper off as soon as the car comes up the driveway. Although I often carry my camera with me, I never seem to have it when "the kids" are around.


That's why today was a gift.

I was home; the deer were far enough away that I didn't startle them when I walked outside. I quickly went back inside, grabbed the Canon and the 75-300 mm and shot away.

Although the lighting conditions weren't ideal, and the guys were in the shade, I got a few shots to play around with. Rather than running off, they all stood around and allowed me to shoot away. One of the fawns actually had laid down in the field and continued to stay there. Unfortunately my photos of her were out-of-focus and unusable.

 

 

When the herd decided to leave, I came back in the house and prepared to download the photos. As I looked out the dining room window, a raccoon ambled by, outside the fence. There was no way I could position myself to get a picture, but I watched him until he disappeared into the neighbor's yard.

I love living here, in the mountains/foothills. What a blessing each day is.

Inspiration - CBS Sunday Morning

You probably realize by now that I'm not shy about sharing what I'm passionate about. When one of those life-altering moments that occur all too rarely happen, I talk about it. Like last Sunday morning.


I'm not a huge television fan, and in fact lived happily for over two years with no television at all when my cable broke, and I elected not to repair it. The one program I am absolutely wedded to is the CBS news program, CBS Sunday Morning, which just celebrated its 30th anniversary.

Over the years I've enjoyed many of the segments they've aired, but one they broadcast last Sunday, September 13, was one of the best, first aired on CBS Evening News then spotlighted on CBS Sunday Morning.

It's the heartwarming story of a grizzled and grouchy Phoenix cabbie, Tom, who gets lost going to pick up a client. (Apparently he regularly gets lost!) He arrives thirty minutes late. He and his rider, Rita, get off to a rocky start as he takes her to a medical clinic for an appointment. The rider declines to give the driver a tip and hopes never to see him again. Tom feels the same. Of course fate pairs them over and over, and the cabbie decides to find out why she goes so regularly to a kidney dialysis clinic. What he learns about dialysis gives him a new perspective toward Rita. She needs a new kidney, and up to now she's been unable to find a match. Something about Rita and her story touches Tom, and he tells Rita he'll get tested. She doesn't expect him to follow through. Both doubt he'd be a match even if he does since every member of Rita's own family has failed the test. He keeps his word, though, and the doctors tell Rita and Tom that if they were any closer matched, they'd be siblings. They've got a date with the surgeon in December, 2009. In an adjunct to this story, Tom realized another benefit from his gift. Tom's daughter, lost to him for 30 years as a result of a bitter divorce, contacts her father and introduces him to his grandchildren. Told with grace, wit and empathy, the story left me in tears.

I'm proud to say I've been a CSM follower since the beginning. I've traveled with Charles Kuralt all over the US, followed all the human interest stories, laughed at Bill Geist's slices of life, learned details about the lives of singers and painters and politicians and just-plain-people. They seem to get to the heart of whatever story they're covering and celebrate the best (or worst) in their target of the moment.

I cried when Charles Osgood took over the CSM reins--and even harder when Charles Kuralt died, much too soon, not too long thereafter.Although Charles O has grown on me over the years, I still miss the original Charlie K. Probably always will.

In a way, I credit CSM for the start of my writing career, as a result of a formerly-regular segment called "Postcards from Nebraska" written/produced by Rodger Welsch. That segment fast became dear to my heart because my parents grew up in Clarks and Central City, Nebraska, not terribly far from Welsch's town of Dannebrog. Although I've visited my parents' home state a few times, I've never lived there. Something, though, draws me to the rural life they lived and that Welsch described in his segments. One postcard, in particular, hit home in a way no other accomplished. Welsch talked about how high school kids spent months of their summers helping their parents and neighbors in the corn fields that so dominate the Nebraska countryside. He described particular techniques that are used to make sure the corn pollinates properly.

I don't know why that segment captured my imagination, but it sparked a story I called "Coming Home" which I wrote early on in my classes with Fresno writing teacher Elnora King. Although it was far from an overnight success with Elnora, it proved to me (and eventually to her) that my writing had potential. That was not the first story I published, and eventually my firiend Virginia Walton Pilegard--who has actual farming/ranching experience--helped polish it up. When we submitted it to the editor at Sterling Macfadden Publications' True Love magazine, we got a call. "We want to buy your story, and I want you to know that this is the first time EVER that we have decided to buy a story as soon as we read it."

It's important to mention that by this time, in conjunction with my first writing partner, Sunny Baker, I had a track record with Sterling Macfadden.  We'd sold some twelve stories to the "confession" market. It was not by accident that they looked at "Coming Home." But it touched my heart that those editors caught the love I poured into that tale and eventually published the story Virginia and I wrote.

Since that market seems to have dried up in the years since I stopped writing, it's not likely the Kidney-Cabbie tale will end up as a short story, but it's good for the soul (my soul, at least) to see that the compassion embodied in the tale still exists.

As Ghandi says, we must be the change we wish to see in the world.