PHOTO SHOOT

ANYTHING UNUSUAL that happens at the Manor draws the attention of residents. "What are they doing out there on the patio?", "What's going on?", "Who are they?".........curiosity runs rampant. All I knew was that I had been asked to report at 2 o'clock so that my picture could be taken holding my iPhone.

Monee (pronounced "Monet", as in the painter's name) had arranged for a photographer to take pictures of comfort food. I missed getting a photo of the glass of milk and the stack of be.cookies because the crew ate the props before I arrived, but I saw them from my place at the dinner table.


When my turn came, I was instructed to "stand over there" and I always think of the time our photographer son, Chris, told me to hold my hips in, and to hold up my iPhone as though I was about to take a picture. I took 16 shots of the photographer and he must have taken a zillion of me. 

I think it had something to do with my Manor blog which has been mentioned in the corporate blog that is read by residents of ten communities in the be group. I'll let you know if I learn anything more.

SMILE!

ALL IN A DAY

OKAY, here's what really happened last Friday. When I fill in with a story from the past, it means one of two things. Either I'm sick and tired of reporting sick-and-tired Humphrey news or I can't figure out the right words for what's happening. My appointment for the bone scan/chest x-ray/blood test was on Thursday and I thought I had it all figured out. Drive to the hospital for the dye injection, giving it three hours to get to my bones and return for the actual scan plus the other procedures.

Time got away from me and I was about six blocks from home when I looked at the clock and realized that in ten minutes I was to be at a committee meeting to choose the next series of films. See Sept. 3's entry, "MOVIE CRITICS"........the Director of Smut couldn't miss a meeting.

I called the hospital, rearranged my schedule, changing it from Thursday to Friday and with three other residents, chose 29 films for the next 7 months. Hopefully, none with foul language or hanky-panky.


Friday dawned and I went first for a CEA test. Three technicians were on hand. I asked which one was going to be drawing blood. They pointed to the girl who looked about eleven years old. "Are you new at this?", I asked. "Yes." "How many times have you done this?" "Five times". Said I, "Well, I really don't want to hurt your feelings, but I'd rather have a more experienced person do this."

So, with that out of the way, off I went to the radiation department, Tim trailing behind, carrying the bag that held everything I might need. What a good sport he is!






I didn't get the x-ray man's name. It seems a very unusual thing for a patient to be documenting a medical experience. Once in a while a person will decline being photographed, but most are cooperative.




Bone scan time........Mr. Tom looked familiar and sure enough he was the one that put me through a machine a year ago for something not related to cancer.

2010

2011

Next came the feeling of "There! That's all finished." I do love that feeling of accomplishment when something dreaded is over.

Tim named me obsessive when I felt the need to tell the admission clerk that there was something under a chair in the waiting area that might be an M&M, but then again it could be a pill. What if a child ingested it?

We left the hospital to find that it had rained in our absence. Tim was so excited that he came close to splashing in the puddles on the way to the car.

When we arrived at the Manor, Mr. Bob greeted us with the news that the surgeon had called to report that the MRI showed more lesions..... this time in both breasts. So much for my feeling of achievement.

Remember the saying that my friend's mother utters during times of stress? "We'll get through this, but we won't ever look the same." I'm afraid that in my case that's all too true. When I was thinking about new clothes, I didn't mean a prosthesis. Be careful what you wish for.

SLEEPYHEADS

LEST YOU THINK Mr. Bob has graduated beyond the need to nap, let me assure you that he still snoozes nearly every day, at least once during what are supposed to be our waking hours. And if he misses those naps, it clouds the domestic climate.

Longtime readers will remember that the reason I've pursued slumber photography so ardently is that I grew up with a father who worked nights; therefore I tiptoed through my childhood.....in response to "Shhh, Daddy's sleeping".

Probably we'd been married a fortnight when I realized I'd married a sleeping man and my unhappiness about it reversed when I realized I could turn his naps into a collection of photographs. If I knew how to use the new printer/scanner, I'd send you some sleeping pictures of our early years, but I don't, so you're spared.

For a long time, I thought I'd turn my collection into "The Insomniac's Bedtime Book", limited edition of one, but that idea has worn itself out through procrastination. My flicker photostream has a set of "The Land of Nod". If you've nothing better to do, look at it one of these days. 108 pictures of people sleeping.

Rest assured that he's used to having his picture taken while he's unconscious  by now and he takes my obsession in stride. So none of this "Poor Bob" stuff, please.

This was a good idea, but didn't last long, as Owen hopped up to go on to the next activity. Not so, Mr. Bob.









Here we are, going somewhere on a bus. Mr. Bob missed some of the scenery.



Eventually, he learned to turn the tables on me and there are a fair amount of photos of yours truly.

I do get drowsy when I read. It wasn't always that way. I suspect that keeping late hours along with a sluggish metabolism is the cause.

I have a feeling we've not seen the end of this series yet. It's too much fun to look for new exposures.

"Consciousness:  that annoying time between naps."  
                                        ~Author Unknown

TRIGGER HAPPY

THE REAL PHOTOGRAPHER in the family is our eldest son, Christopher. In the 70s he was a stringer for the Glendale NewsPress. I remember saying that I'd taught him, as a kid, not to chase fire engines, but I never thought to forbid the practice of following helicopters......police helicopters. He did what he had to do to get a picture worthy of being in the newspaper.



It wasn't long before he was hired by the newspaper and he could write a book about his experiences. He was on the staff when Captain John Orr was doing his dastardly deeds.  I realize that I'm his mother and therefore you might raise an eyebrow when I say that he had/has that special, indefinable something that makes him an outstanding photographer. You can see if you agree by going to this site. Then, if your interest is piqued, click "Gallery" and see what I mean.

Christopher has advanced equipment and I'm almost embarrassed to wield my little point and shoot camera in his presence. It was from observing his newspaper assignments that I learned that taking lots of pictures increases the chance of getting one good one. He covered the city of Glendale by moped, putting 10,000 miles on it before it was stolen and he started using the car he had purchased a year previously.

Now that I'm the family chauffeur, I no longer have the opportunity of taking random shots as we put miles on the car. I think using a camera while driving would be just as law-breaking as texting or using a cell phone. Mr. Bob doesn't have the same proclivity for taking pictures, so I often cry out, "Oh, damn! That would have been a wonderful shot!" as we zip past some scene that begs to be documented. I'll give him credit for taking a lot of pictures at the Manor, though. After all, he bears the title of Historian/Photographer.  Chris is the photographer at his son's pre-school and has taken some really breathtaking shots of the students in their school routines, enough to bring water to my eyes. It's a Humphrey tradition, working in reverse, it seems.

"There are always two people in every picture:  the photographer and the viewer."  

                                                              ~Ansel Adams