Over at "The Kat Eye View of the World," part of this summer's Exploring With A Camera, is "Frame Within A Frame." I had a great deal of fun going back through old photos, but I quit when I realized that I could just bore you silly with photo after photo. So, instead, I narrowed it down to these:
Alex's toys frame his cute little face...
...exploring an antique shop in Ellicott City. The arch serves as the frame here.
Our hotel window frames the view...
A statue in Saratoga Springs, framed courtesy of Mother Nature!
More framing courtesy of Mother Nature...
An outdoor walkway...
At the National Shrine in D.C. The August Break 2011, Day 8
I am busily going through last year's photo folders, determined to wean down an overwhelming collection of shots. Many of them are just plain bad, and I don't hesitate to hit the delete button. Time and distance does a lot in that regard. Others, I tend to muse over, trying to figure out just which shot...out of 10 or so...is worth keeping of that flower.
I came across this one, shot just about a year ago. Not a great shot to be sure, but the image of these rocking chairs, and many more, swinging from the ceiling amuses me. It's a clever use of space to be sure. This particular antique dealer was making the most of what she had. So many children's rockers - all sorts, all styles, and various sizes. Shortly afterwards, we returned and chose one to bring home. I love the idea of my grandsons' fannies plopped where many a child's fanny has been plopped before! Dom has nearly outgrown the one we chose, but Alex's fanny is next, and I'm sure we'll pick another for Dom.
Sitting here, I'm realizing how many images of rocking chairs flit through my memory. I can still see the rockers lined up on my grandparents' porch. ( I can also see my head firmly stuck between two slats on that same porch, but that's another story for another time!) My mom and aunts occupied those chairs, whiling away the hours of a Sunday afternoon, gossiping away.
And, each and every time we visited my Aunt Mary, if the weather was at all decent, she and mom rocked away the hours on her porch...yup, gossiping away.
Nearly abandoned rocking chairs wait quietly on my dad's porch. Both mom and dad spent many an evening chatting quietly as they rocked. As my sisters and I grew, we did the same.
Fast forward a bit to the birth of my own babies, and the picture of my husband, headphones attached, rocking a sleeping baby. Should I tell you that my husband slept also? Somehow, he never dropped a baby.
Two years ago, my daughter gifted me with a rocking chair to rock Dom. Now, I sit and rock her Alex as well.
I wonder how many miles I've put on these chairs? I know there will be many more!
...what these folks have in common? Well, except for the scribble girl that is?
Look at that grandma - she's so formal, so serious. And that baby...
Check out the cats' eye glasses. I had a pair once, third grade I think. I thought myself quite the thing, the cat's meow, you know. Pun intended. Have you stopped groaning yet?
Several generations of a family, but I have no clue as to whom they are.
Isn't she a little beauty? I found her, the photos above, and so many more - including a wedding photo - in an old black album in an "antique" shop a year or so ago. All these photos, so meticulously preserved. But not one of them...not one...had any sort of writing or identification on it. And, I wonder what happened that no one wanted to the album. So, of course, I bought it! I have my eyes on the album itself, reconstructing it to be a personal journal. And, I'll breathe new life into this family with my art.
Mail art! Some wonderful postcards and letters greeted me last week, so of course, I need to return the favor. I did these on cardboard from Alpabet cereal boxes. They've been sanded, gessoed, painted, and had various bits and bobs glued onto them. They'll be on their way tomorrow, and I have plans for making more.
My muse seems to be slowing waking up...about time, the lazy thing.
Meet Matilda. (She's not the one wearing the cranky pants; I am, but that's a story for a bit later.)
Why Matilda? I don't know; the name just popped into my head. She looks like a Maltida, and when I named her, I began humming "Waltzing Matilda." I'm really dating myself, aren't I?
Now, you should know that I'm not much of doll person. I own one other, made in a class with Leslie Riley. I love her - she's much the opposite of Matilda.
But, dolls? My mother despaired. I've been known to give them haircuts, to cut them open while practicing to be a surgeon and the stitching them up. I've given them a tan with nail polish, and then totally erased their features when winter came. You see, I figured they didn't need their tan anymore. And what else do you take nail polish off with? Poor mom, she kept trying though.
I didn't mean to buy Matilda; she lured me with her wiles. I admired on my first go round, and then put her back. But, as I circled the antique mall, she kept popping into my head, and I kept going back, admiring her, and putting her down. Obviously , in the end, I could not resit that face.
Matilda would like me to insert here, that she most defintitely is NOT an antique and to let you know that crafted items were tucked here and there in the antique mall.
I love Matilda's pocket - the little x's are so darn appealing, and the two ladies looked like they needed a good home! Tucked inside her pocket is a little tag. On one side you see:
and on the other side...
Matilda knew, in her heart, that she and I were destined to be together. And, every time I look up and see her, I can't help but smile.
As for the cranky pants, well that ingrown toenail and I are still...I was going to type "joined firmly at the hip," but realized what an absurd picture that created...well, we'll just say, I still have that ingrown nail.
After spending most of the morning at the medical center, I finally got into the examining room, where I spent even more time. I did most of the Washington Post's crossword puzzle in that room.
When the physician's assistant entered, she smile, looked at my toes, and pronounced the one to be ingrown.
Really? Ya think?
She then told me to make an appointment with podiatry. Huh? I wait all that time, see the lady for less than 2 minutes, and I get a referral?
On went the cranky pants.
I told her that I lost a day's sick leave for this. She replied that I may well not get an appointment until I was out of school anyway.
I replied that I couldn't get my toe inside most shoes without a good deal of pain.
She told me to wear flip flops.
I told her that I was breaking dress code and insurance regs. She just kept smiling.
She then I suggested I soak my foot 3x a day. Now, could you see that?
"Okay, guys, take a 15 minute study period while I soak my toe." Now, that would go over well.
Phil suggested we walk to podiatry, which we did in under a minute.
The nice man told me that I could not make the appointment until my referral number came through and that would take 24 hours.
???? Must be one slow computer system!
So, Phil calls today, and there are no appointments for over 30 days. I am now referred to Bethesda.
Did you catch the ugly word?
You guessed it. We have to wait another 24 hours for that referral to go through!
God bless the military health system...if you are the dependent wife of a retired enlisted person, you are very low on everyone's totem pole!