So many options

My camera has returned from the shop at last. I felt such relief when I picked up my camera again! I don’t want to go through D40 withdrawal again.

I’ve been in such misery for the last six weeks or so that I could hardly function. I dragged myself through my daily routine with ever-increasing difficulty. I felt as if I were going through life in a fog. I made so many mistakes. Details eluded me.

Even if I had had my camera, I’m not sure how good my work would have been.

The shoulder still hurts, but it’s a different sort of pain. I no longer feel in a fog. Yes, I tire easily, but I can THINK again! Today I’ve had more focus, more purpose in what I’m doing than I’ve had for some time. What a relief!

I’ve been researching online photo sales options today. That’s overwhelming. The options are so numerous that my mind boggles. I am hoping to begin uploading stock photos as well as better market the site I already have.

At the same time, I want to find some kind of display space for the actual pictures now that my show has closed.

I’ll still continue to dabble in other crafts, but I’d like to integrate them with my pictures as well.

This should be an interesting journey. I’m hoping you’ll take it with me.

Successful surgery

Shoulder surgery was successful. Orthopedist cleaned out a lot of junk. Hubby said I had so many bone spurs that he was reminded of a cave full of stalactites and stalagmites. No wonder my shoulder has grated and popped for so many years, even though I tried to avoid making those noises. The rotator cuff was damaged, which the MRI had not shown. Arthroscope pictures showed a lot of fuzz on those tendons. Orthopedist told me he snipped off the fuzz, comparing that part of the operation to snipping hangnails. The pictures looked like my rotator cuff was a teased-out cotton ball, or so Hubby said. I haven’t seen those pictures myself. I hope to see them during my post-op appointment May 11.

Yesterday I started physical therapy. The therapists were surprised and pleased with how much range of motion I already have. I was pleased not to feel/hear that unpleasant grating at various places in my shoulder. PT did not feel too bad yesterday during my session, but when I did the exercises at home last night and this morning, they hurt.

I wish I knew the line between pushing through the pain and avoiding further injury.

About to get my camera back

I’ve been without my precious Nikon since mid-March. I had to pester the warranty company for a month before I received the paperwork to send in my broken camera. I sent in just the camera body since the problem was only with the body, not the lens.

(I tried uploading a picture of a D40, but Blogger is in an uncooperative mood today!)

When I thought the camera was about to be fixed and sent to me, I found out that I needed to ship the lens to them. I’ve been forgetting necessary details in this fog of pain I’m in all the time. When I shipped off the lens, I stupidly didn’t put my label on it nor the job number nor write down the serial number before I shipped it. Thankfully, my friend Martha, who ships items all the time for her puppet business, had persuaded me to pay extra to the post office for a tracking number.

I called the repair place. The first lady I talked to was incredulous. “You did WHAT?”

She forwarded me to someone else, who was much nicer. This lady took my tracking number and said all would be well. I was grateful to her. This was right before my surgery and worrying about my camera wasn’t what I needed to be doing.

I called camera repair company again yesterday. They gave me a UPS tracking number. I should have my camera again Wednesday. I can hardly wait. Blogging without a digital camera is just too difficult. Working with a film camera when I’m used to the instant feedback of a digital isn’t nearly as much fun. I’m definitely spoiled.

I like being spoiled. My shutter finger is itching already … and I’m not even certain my left arm can reach high enough to hold the camera in front of my face. Oh, well. Just holding it in my hands again will be such sweet relief.

Once it comes, I hope to be posting a lot more than I have been doing in the last months.

Flannelgraph stories

I made the PowerPoint presentation for Sunday morning’s service. When I asked our pastor about PowerPoint for the sermon, he explained that he didn’t have one this week.

Since our screen looks awfully strange with nothing projected on it, I asked him if he had anything I could use. He said that he was starting a series in the Old Testament and that he wanted to give a survey of that part of the Bible before getting into the series.

If I could find anything, he said the sermon title would be “Piecing Together the Flannelgraph.” Those of us who grew up in evangelical/fundamentalist churches saw our Sunday school lessons displayed as flannelgraph pictures each week.

My mother was an avid supporter of Child Evangelism Fellowship and bought about every flannelgraph book they had. I got to cut out the figures. I loved doing that. The smell of the fresh paper and the flocking on the back (CEF in fuzzy block letters stepped and repeated like wallpaper). I was extremely meticulous about my cutting, although I did draw the line at cutting out the eyelashes. That was a bit much to ask.

She had wonderful flannel backgrounds, too. She had painted most of them and they were pretty good. Oddly enough, although she was an expert at every craft she had ever tried, I never saw my mother paint any other pictures than those on the flannelgraph board.

I was secretly amused at her flannelgraph presentations. Of course, by the time I saw the live presentation, I’d sat through or at least heard numerous practices. My mother did not leave anything to chance. And, as a very avid reader, I’d already read the entire story and stage directions in her book. So, instead of listening to the story, I paid attention how my mother told the story.

She was a good presenter and her presentations were polished. But the voice she used was very different from her normal speaking voice. I never could pinpoint the difference, even to myself, but it was definitely different. I called it her “Flannelgraph Voice.” And it amused me.

Until today, I hadn’t thought about cutting out flannelgraph books for years, but thinking about it makes me nostalgic. Looking back, I see that cutting out my mother’s flannelgraph figures was my introduction to paper crafts. I still find cutting paper to be a very relaxing activity. I just wish I could hear my mother’s voice again, even if it was her “Flannelgraph Voice.”

Picture comes from the blog Stuff Fundies Like.

Shoulder surgery

I have endured arm pain for at least six weeks. I finally saw the orthopedist Monday. As I expected, he said that I need surgery. I’ve torn one of my bicep tendons, arthritis has greatly narrowed the space between my clavicle and acromion (part of the scapula) and I have a spur sticking down from clavicle into bursa between clavicle and scapula. Orthopedist will clean all of that up, plus anything else the MRI does not show.

Surgery is scheduled for 8:45 a.m. Thursday, April 23. I’m looking forward to getting this over with.

Shoulder drawing came from OurHealthNetwork.com.

RedBrickRoad.com

I have been quite remiss in sharing my photo website with you. All the pictures from my show are available for order on RedBrickRoad.com.

Self-promotion is not the easiest thing for me to do, but it is necessary, especially in the overcrowded online world. So, please go check out my online photo gallery.

All orders are greatly appreciated!

Grandma's house never looked so good

Add darkness to this scene plus less visibility and you’ll have a pretty good idea of what we were driving in.

Hubby is today’s guest blogger.

Over the icy highway and through a blinding blizzard to Grandmother’s house we went…

For the first 38 years of my 42-year life, Grandma's farmhouse, located in the center of my home county, was associated with great food and good times. My paternal grandmother lived on the farm from 1946 until her death in March 1991. Then in 1994 — the year of our marriage — my Aunt Eloyce returned to the farm from Portland, Ore.

Both women were excellent bakers and cooks. Grandma Lila specialized in oatmeal cookies, while Aunt Eloyce ran a commercial baked good company and later a bakery in the county seat town just five highway miles west. Eloyce, Roxie and I often enjoyed cooking bistro-style dishes. After Eloyce’s death from cancer almost five years ago, her husband, Uncle Rick, spent another 18 months on the farm, until moving to his son’s farm. He also died too young in his middle 50s.

Since late 2005, no one has lived in the once-glorious, two-story farmhouse with four gables built circa 1908 that features a couple stained or frosted glass windows. The house is in need of exterior paint and a tremendous amount of interior work.

Uncle Gary, a wheat, corn, sunflower and feed grain farmer and cattle rancher, uses the house daily to prepare lunches, conduct farm business or take an occassional nap. Guests are rare. The house occasionally serves as a weekend shelter for the family members.

Let’s say that “Farmer Gary’s Bed and Breakfast” just ain’t frou-frou.

Last Saturday Roxie and I joined our friend Tonya for supper and concert in a town located 60 miles to our northeast. For two days the weather service had forecasted a winter storm. Even so, Tonya and I decided mid-afternoon to keep our supper plans.

Roxie and I drove though some light snow and heavy winds to our intermediate destination, Tonya’s house.

Roxie said, “You are nuts to be traveling today. Tonight is supposed to be worse.”

Perhaps I should have listened to her wisdom. About a third of the way back from the concert, we hit the snowstorm, marked by light-to-moderate snow and 35 to 55 mph northwesterly winds.

We dropped Tonya off at her hometown nine miles east of the farmhouse. Those nine miles to the highway junction and farm were some of the longest nine miles I’ve ever driven. Increasing snow accumulation blinded us. The snow was falling horizontally, whipped by the strong winds.

In the first two miles we decided we would not travel the 27 miles south at the junction, but instead take refuge at the farm or my parents’ house in the county seat town another five miles west. Often, I had to slow to a crawl in the zero visibility. Once we finally arrived at the corner where the farm’s driveway is, we could barely make out the driveway’s entrance.

Even though we could hardly see a thing, Grandma’s house had never looked so good! I believe the spirits of Grandma Lila and Aunt Eloyce and the heavenly angels were watching over us, guiding us to a shelter in a time of storm! When we entered the enclosed back porch, we found the house locked.

We called Uncle Gary at 11:30 p.m. on our cell and he came out into the storm to let us in. He had a difficult time finding the farm driveway, even though he makes the short drive every day from his current home to the only other home in which he’s ever lived.

Uncle Gary told us we were nuts to be traveling and weather conditions weren’t fit for man or beast.

After a decent night’s sleep our host returned to assist us in making scrambled farm eggs, ring sausage, toast and grapes. I asked him if he was going to open the farm house full-time as a bed and breakfast and also teach city folks how to farm and ranch. He said no with an expletive. We told him we’d even give him free advertising on this blog. Why, in our master suite we even found a Glamour and a Cosmopolitan magazine (likely left by Eloyce’s daughter who now lives in North Carolina). I asked if they belonged to him. His response: another expletive. Glamour and Cosmopolitan for the guests; now that’s what I call borderline frou-frou!

After breakfast, we left farm to come home. Snowplow had passed through, but we could plainly see that the sections of the road had been impassable.

Grandma’s house had truly never looked so good. A warm bed is much better than a cold pickup stuck in a snowbank.

Picture comes from blog Olla Podrida.

No alibi

My college friend Mila Marie reminded me that we shared many “fun times” when we were in school together.

We went to a very strict conservative Christian college, but we still managed to have lots of fun.

One year, my dorm room looked out to the street. Mila came over one day and we devised a fun pastime. When we saw someone we knew, we yelled out the window “U G L Y: You ain’t got no alibi. You’re ugly, ugly, absolutely ugly!” Once we finished this “cheer” we ducked down as far as we could and still see the person’s reaction.

This went on for awhile. We were hooting with laughter as we watched people craning and turning their necks to see who had yelled at them.

Then disaster hit.

We cheered at someone else we knew, but we didn’t see that the Dean of Women and a friend were right behind that person. The dean was not known for her sense of humor.

She roared, “Who yelled that?”

Of course, we weren’t about to confess. If we had, our hides would likely have adorned her office wall. We valued our skin.

She ordered her minions to discover who had yelled that wicked phrase in her direction. They searched, but when they came to my room, Mila and I were the picture of innocent students hard at work on our studies.

If the searcher had only known us, she would have known much better. Mila and I were rarely innocent. Cooking up pranks was way too much fun!

Graphic borrowed from JunkMailGreetings.com.

Lost her marbles

When I was in high school German, our teacher (Lehrerin) often assigned us skits.

When we reached the unit on medical terms, Mike was a neurologist (ein Neurologe), I was his receptionist-nurse (Arzthelferin- Krankenschwester) and Jackie was our patient (Patientin). When Jackie entered our office, we diagnosed a brain tumor (Gehirntumor) and told her she needed an immediate operation (einer unverzüglich Operation).

She lay down on the operating table (Operationtisch) and we cut an incision (Inzision) in her head. Of course, all this activity was discreetly hidden behind a stage curtain (Theatervorhang).

Then Mike tipped over a box of white marbles. As the marbles poured all over the floor, I exclaimed, “Ach, nein! Sie hatte ihre Marbeln verloren!” (Oh, no! She has lost her marbles!)

The class and teacher howled with laughter and we got an A+.

However, maybe we shouldn’t have gotten graded quite so highly. According to my favorite German-English language dictionary (Wörterbuch), the idiomatic translation would be Sie nicht (mehr) alle Tassen im Schrank haben or “She has no (more) cups in the cupboard!”

Oh, well. I’ll never complain about a perfect grade! Danke, Frau Kreiger!

Photo is borrowed from AntiqueTrader.com.

You know you live on the High Plains when...

The first thing you think upon seeing this view is, “Man, what a perfect wind tunnel! I’ll bet the wind howls through that break in the hills all winter long! Where’s their windbreak?”

When we visited 4 Eagle Ranch in late August 2007, the wind was not howling. In fact, the evening was very pleasant, a wonderful escape from the burning heat of the plains. Only the lightest breeze caressed us.

But I’m sure winter would be a different story. Or even this time of year when we are all plagued by early spring gales.

I’m sick of these gales. Breeze is great. Howling wind isn’t.

PS: Happy Birthday, Deborah Lynn. Prayers are going up for your hubby’s successful recovery.

Dragonflies are free

	Last summer, this dragonfly landed on the wind screen beside our back door. It stayed just long enough for me to snap three pictures, two of which are shown here. I am fascinated by the detail God lavishes on His creatures. This little dragonfly is beautifully designed. I love the honeycomb wings, engineering at its finest.
	I wonder why the dragonfly’s eye has a white spot in this picture. Is it reflecting me and my camera? I wonder what the dragonfly thought of the huge human leaning over it with a machine attached to her face. It must not have appreciated a camera being pointed at it, because it flew away just after I shot this picture. I hope I see more of these insects soon.