Just love taking pictures and processing them.
I delude myself to think anything will come of it.
And I like to write, though the experiences are diminishing.
Things to write about, that is... don't get around much at all.
The kachina tells a story.
The kachina tells a story.
A gift to my father thirty-odd years ago, I happened to be at a crafts fair around this time before Christmas. It was available in a sort of silent auction. I called my brother and sisters and asked if they'd like to pool some money to put a bid in and present it to our Dad at Christmas. They were agreeable and my hundred dollar bid was successful. He loved it.
It came into my possession after he had passed.
It came into my possession after he had passed.
While photographing it, it fell and broke its legs.
Estranged from my brother and sisters, it's unlikely that we'll "get together" for the holidays. I'm never invited to their homes and mine hasn't been tidied up in some time. So this remembrance of Christmas past will have to do to put me into the "spirit" and remind me I'm not to blame for this. They really don't think much of me. Never did. Maybe cause I'm untidy.
Estranged from my brother and sisters, it's unlikely that we'll "get together" for the holidays. I'm never invited to their homes and mine hasn't been tidied up in some time. So this remembrance of Christmas past will have to do to put me into the "spirit" and remind me I'm not to blame for this. They really don't think much of me. Never did. Maybe cause I'm untidy.
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