Thursday, February 3, 2011

A Sad Story About Cameras. And About Houses.

I once owned several lenses for my camera. Some (and by some I mean one), were wider lenses that let me take pictures like this:


Others (and again I mean one), were portrait lenses that took closer pictures like this:

Train to Madrid

One day I realized Georgia should actually be called "The Cotton State" and not "The Peach State" because there are no peaches in Georgia and a whole lot of cotton.

That being said, I took my camera to one of the many fluffy cotton fields that seem to grow so liberally in Georgia and managed to take a few poor and uninteresting photos like this:


Unfortunately, when I returned home, I realized I was missing one of my lenses. I searched the house. I searched the car. I searched the camera bag. But all to no avail. Then I had the grim realization that maybe my lens somehow fell out of my bag in the cotton field (sorry about the dangling modifier [can someone rewrite this sentence for me?]). This was particularly depressing considering it was pouring rain and the cotton field was an hour away.

When I returned to the scene of my substandard photos the next day, my suspicions were confirmed. As I trudged out into the field, I saw a small lens cap sticking out of the ground. My lens had been buried in mud. And maybe even ran over by a tractor.

While this story is understandably sad as it relates to a loss of money, it is also inherently teachable as it shows once again, Jack London-style, nature's ability to dominate technology.

The point of this tale is that I have been meaning to post updated pictures of our house, but without my wider lens, I can't seem to fit more than a single chair or vase in the frame.

Additionally, I may not want to take any current pictures of our house right now seeing as most of it is covered in an inch of dust. Apparently the person who built our house didn't grow up watching Bob the Builder because our friendly contractor went ahead and nailed our garage together with a lot of four-inch nails. The problem being that the laundry room is connected to the garage and I guess one can miss the fact that the laundry room contains water hoses -- for laundry. One of his nails managed to puncture a pipe, and, well, life has been a bit harder since then.

The laundry room, as witnessed from my iPhone camera, now looks like this:

blog 3

Hence all the dust.

Andrew has been working daily to fix this unwelcome problem, and for that reason I decided to stop dusting and mopping every day. Why keep doing a job that is just going to have to be done again the next day? Sometimes I try to apply this logic to laundry, usually with poor results.

On a more positive note, I've decided that when Andrew finishes the wall, I'm going to paint it pink. I'm hoping this feminine color will encourage me to do laundry more often than I dust.

And at least I now have an excuse to buy a new camera lens. And to become a better laundress.


Joshua and Mallory said...

Well, this was an extremely sad post. You need to put a little love in your heart (sorry that jingle has been stuck in my head ALL morning). Seriously though, wide angle lenses require lots of dollars so I can only imagine how disheartening it was to see it lying in the mud.

Oh and I am sad for your house.


Karyn said...

I think this post was just another excuse to reference your iPhone. Hmmm?

lyndsey said...

Karyn -- jealousy is unbecoming.

Carmen said...

This is so sad. Maybe some bright pink wallpaper will make you feel better?,r:7,s:24&tx=22&ty=63

Too much?