Okay, it's like this...
I'll be attending a photography workshop later this month and I'm trying to get organized for that. I'm spending more time than usual in the darkroom, developing rolls of film I haven't been able to get to, making better prints of some of my favorites, and playing around with some new materials. I'm also trying to figure out a self-portrait. I'll need to give them one for the class roster, so it should be fairly conservative. There's nothing worse than a glaringly artsy attempt amid a cast of straight poses, so I think I'll stick with a medium close black and white howdy with no gimmicks, props, or clever backgrounds.
Meanwhile, I'm deciding whether or not to resuscitate the lawn in the backyard or simply trash it and start over. Starting over means some serious care and that's hard to do in the middle of summer with kids and cats and barbecues. So I guess I've just made up my mind -- make the thing as lush and green and soft and supple as possible until school starts, then it's slash and burn.
As I've let the lawn grow fallow, I've also been remiss in my spider patrol. Webs are plentiful, often at face-level. And my regular sweeping is non-existant. Twigs and leaves haven't been cleared from the patios in weeks. The sand on the play area needs sifting and cleaning. There are monster weeds near the hot tub. My springtime annihilation of the weeds on the western slope is but a memory now as new growth has taken over.
There's a good five days' worth of work back there and I don't have five days.
Also looming on the horizon are a couple of days spent on medical appointments, booster shots for the cat, summer school transportation, a camping trip, and a couple of other meetings... suddenly I have to have myself a good lie-down.
So this is why the entries lately have been few and far between.
I promise that after I get back into town after this photo thing I'll be a better journal-keeper.
No, really. Honest. Stop laughing.
"Outa Space" -- Billy Preston -- The Best
Wisdom of the Day:
Time is a circus always packing up and moving away.
-- Ben Hecht