Thursday, June 5, 2014

once I had a camera

and I took pictures.
All the time.
Sometimes for publication, sometimes for galleries.
Sometimes because I had a camera in my hand.

Here's one:

The view from Loro, Lusitano stallion.  Portugal, 2006.

Now, my little camera is in the hands of the Repair Specialists.
They are Assessing the Failure.

At this point, my biggest concern is that they will press the ON button,
and because the camera will fire up, they will say,
"We have fixed this camera! Send it back."
Because by the time I managed to ship it off, it would turn on again. 
And I thought, "It has fixed itself! Huzzah!"

Then I took a snap and noticed a foggy spot in the frame. 
And I looked into the lens and saw not just condensation, but actual water 
sloshing gently back and forth at the bottom of the lens.
Speaking as a photographer: It was creepy.

By comparison: this water is not creepy.  Maine, 2010.

Well, all I can do now is wait.
And I am sorry there have been no posts,
but apparently I can't string more than 140 characters together
without the spark of images.
Never really noticed it before, because I always have images.

Today, in mild desperation, I went spelunking on a flashdrive,
to find a few snaps to share
so I could write a post, however out of sync.
Welcome to that post!
Stay with me if you can; there's a treat at the end.


In other repair-related news:
farewell, thousand-dollar breadbox...
and welcome back, my beautiful oven!!!

Here's how it happened:

The appliance store failed to send me a bill for the service call back in February. The outcome of the service call (= non-functional oven) and lack of follow-through from the store (= getting no closer to having a functional oven) was obviously not what I had hoped for. Still, I felt responsible for the cost of a service call, and expected a bill. So when I was in town one day recently, I stopped in at the store, checkbook in hand.

While I quickly reviewed the Sad Story of the Stove for the manager, the service tech happened to overhear me. He asked a question. Then he looked thoughtful. Then he said he wanted to come out again and have another look, "just in case."

And he did. And he tested a different part than what the original error code had told him to check the first time. And got an odd measurement on his metering device. Suddenly, everything fell into place. (For him, not me. I was just pacing back and forth and trying not to hope but actually hoping very, very hard.) This different part was working well below its proper range which made the thermogizmo think the stove was more or less on fire and therefore the fan was on all the time and the failsafe device that keeps an eejit from using the stove when it's already on fire would not let the control panel respond to input.


Anyway, the technician replaced the low-functioning part, and I turned on the power, and my oven was working again.

Can you believe it?

Ninety dollars.


(Cue the Hallelujah Chorus!)

I immediately went out and bought gruyere and heavy cream and a head of cauliflower, and made my favorite baked cauliflower dish. It was lovely. No picture, of course. Sorry.

Also no pictures of the subsequent mushroom quiche, bread pudding, or cranberry cake.

But here's a nice snap of some bowls in my kitchen, taken three years ago:

These bowls are white. Like my oven.

Still with me?

Finally, to wrap up this disjointed and oddly-illustrated post,
I strongly encourage you to click this link
to read a letter written by E.B. White in 1951.
It is in response to a complaint from the ASPCA
regarding the licensing of White's dachshund, Minnie.
I promise you, this letter will make you laugh.