Very little satisfies more completely than closing the cover on a well-told tale. Breathing out a sigh and gazing into the middle distance while unmade beds and untended gardens begin to re-stake their necessary claims, we linger for a moment at the threshhold of our half-remembered lives, not quite willing to close the door on the vibrant, constructed world we leave behind, happy to have discovered all the pleasures of diversion, insight or beauty it had to offer.
The adventures of Godot, my self-effacing little cactus with the phenomenal blooms, was such a story. As I set aside his chronicle, I was content. The drama of his rescue, his determination against all odds to bloom and the glory of his flowering seemed to have satisfied him as much as they did me. As his blossoms faded and fell, he didn’t fuss or complain but re-dedicated himself to growing quietly in his corner. Life went on, as life does, and all was at peace on the porch.
At peace, that is, until one of Godot’s neighbors, a taller, columnar cactus with a shape resembling a starfruit, began to grow restless. She’d always been a bloomer, putting out pairs or triplets of lovely, small yellow blossoms several times a year. Like Godot, she kept her blooms for only a few hours, but she set flowers with such regularity it was easy to overlook her efforts. Most of the time, I gave her no more than a cursory glance. If I missed one set of blossoms, another arrived soon enough. There wasn’t much surprise with this cactus. Neither dramatic nor spectacular, she was steady and dependable. She could be counted on to produce.
About a month or so after Godot re-entered ordinary life, I noticed a cluster of buds on top of the taller cactus. Since she hadn’t bloomed for a while, I thought little of it, assuming the new cluster of flowers would be very much like the last. The next time I watered, the number of buds seemed to have increased, so I began to count: two, five, nine – thirteen buds in all! I’d never seen such a thing, and told her so. “What?” I asked. “You think you can out-do Godot? Will we be having to name you Godette?” She didn’t say a word, only drank up the water and leaned a little more toward the sun. Turning her around and inching her pot into fuller light as a gesture of encouragement I said, “Ok. You’ve got aspirations? Let’s see what you can do with those thirteen buds.”
As it turned out, she was capable of quite a bit. Over the course of a week the buds filled out, swelling and crowding against one another until it seemed impossible there would be space for the blossoms to open.
In fact, there was space. The buds swelled and struggled and plumped, each competing for its special spot until nature had her way. Eventually, the flowers opened in unison as though choreographed and endlessly practiced for their one shining moment on life’s stage. During that ”moment”, which lasted no more than six hours, they distilled sunlight, shimmering and glowing in the dappled afternoon as though lit from within.
Confronted by this new, extravagant creature blooming next to him, Godot appeared unperturbed, but who could say for certain? Looking at the pair, I recalled long-forgotten lyrics from the musical, Annie, Get Your Gun: ”Anything you can do, I can do better…” The thought of my cacti doing battle like a horticultural version of Betty Hutton and Howard Keel amused me terrifically. It also gave me pause to realize my first, fanciful interpretation of Godette’s blooms had been based on the assumption she felt herself in competition with Godot. Watching the fuss made over Godot’s stunning work, had she felt inadquate? Inept? Envious or jealous? Was she frustrated by her seeming inability to produce a similar, stunning beauty ~ the kind that would bring plant-parazzi running and ensure her a place in the blogosphere as well as on her accustomed balcony?
Perhaps. From Little Leagues to the big leagues of Washington and Wall Street, there’s a lot of competition going on out there, and who’s to say it hasn’t taken root in unexpected places, thriving in soils enriched by generous doses of envy, fearfulness or greed?
On the other hand, everyone who writes knows the same facts can give rise to quite different narratives. As I watched the setting sun wash Godette’s closing blooms with a final sheen of gold, I wondered: what if another story were unfolding in that corner of my balcony? What if a sense of inadequacy or ineptness were not in play at all? What if, instead of envying what Godot had done and expending all her energies in an obsessive attempt to surpass him, Godette simply had thought to herself, “Look at Godot. What he did is astonishing. I wonder if I might do something similar if I stretched myself, just a little?” In short, what if Godette, looking at the beauty produced by her prickly little friend, felt no need to compete? What if she simply were inspired?
I never expected to be drawing life lessons from cacti, but there’s a lot I never expected when I began to focus on “The Task at Hand”. Now only two entries short of my 100th post, I’ve had my own struggles with competitive impulses and a nagging sense of inadequacy. A great joy of the world-wide web is that it brings exquisite writing, heart-stopping photography and great blooms of creativity directly to us. The danger is that, confronted with so much excellence, we’ll choose to retreat to a shaded corner of the web, allowing flashier blooms to hold center stage while we exhaust ourselves in senseless competition.
Like Godette, each of us has our Godot, the one whose very existence leads us to think, ”I can’t do that”, or “I need to be better than you”. Like Godette, we could profit by learning to accept such thoughts as the silliness they are, and simply allowing inspiration to have its way. After all, if we’ve already produced a tiny blossom or two, who’s to say a whole bouquet isn’t within our reach? By the time we close the cover on that story, it could be a very satisfying tale, indeed.
Oh, my friend! I think you’re selling yourself short if you’re considering yourself a tiny blossom! Indeed, to follow the metaphor, some of the great bouquets of phrasing have landed into my world through visits to The Task. Some are showy, with elaborate blooms and a splash of colors; it nearly takes my breath away. Some are more subtle; soft, gentle edges but with fine detail.
One of the things I’ve discovered about blogging (and you might read that, “have come to terms with…”) is that everyone’s blog, everyone’s style, everyone’s volume (or lack thereof) is unique to them. I tried to have an art blog, but I didn’t have time to create enough art to do it. So then I added family stuff. And then my flea finds. And a recipe or two. And now travelogues. My blog is as schizophrenic as I am and I finally realized that’s OK! I don’t need a million followers and I can’t write to please the ones I have. If they’re pleased, they’ll return when they can and if they aren’t, well, I’m sorry. But that’s OK.
Perhaps as Godette is inspired by Godot, I’m continually inspired by the spots I visit and sometimes I run with something I saw or learned. But like Godette, the flowers I bring to the blog world are mine, and yours are yours, and oh, what a collective garden we share!
Incidentally, lovely photos of the gang, too!
Jeanie,
I think the word you’re searching for is “eclectic” rather than schizophrenic
I do enjoy the freedom here to move from one arena to another without apology – from the Iranian resistance to talking cacti is rather a swing, after all. And it’s one reason I resist the occasional nudge in the direction of giving up blogging for “real writing”. Maybe one day I’ll give it a try, but despite the effort I put into them, these blogs are pure enjoyment. Focusing on a single manuscript for months (or years!) just doesn’t sound like fun! Maybe I’ll just have to wait for the day I have time to do both.
One of the things I enjoy so much about your blog is that it is so truly “yours”. No matter what you post, it gives us a glimpse into your life – your interests, your relationships, your view of life. That’s always worthwhile, and worth reading. Early on, I made the decision that posting for the sake of posting wasn’t going to happen here – no Poll Daddy polls, no Blog Things quizzes, no risque celebrity photos. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with any of that – but anyone can post those things. Not everyone can tell the world about Godot and Godette!
And I’m tickled beyond belief by your comment that you like the photos of “the gang”. That’s a little indication that they’ve taken on identities and come to life for you. What more could I want?
Linda
Bravo!
Linda, as I was reading this entry I felt a warm glow spreading down my spine and a broad grin spreading over my face. It is so cleverly written, words intricately woven, portraying your individual style of painting a picture on the page. I personally feel you have developed your own literary style, which I would recognise from a selection of prose I was asked to read, not knowing which was yours. (I suppose it is the same as you saying you could recognise my style even from a very quick sketch of three rabbits!)
“…Look at Godot. What he did is astonishing. I wonder if I might do something similar if I stretched myself, just a little?” In short, what if Godette, looking at the beauty produced by her prickly little friend, felt no need to compete? What if she simply were inspired?”
Reading this passage I found I changed the names in my head. To what, I wonder?
Linda, thank you for being my inspiration.
Sandi,
I did something interesting last night. Since I’m almost at post #100, I went back and re-read my entries here, from the beginning and in order. I see more clearly now the reason for retrospectives in art galleries. The perspective, the style, the “voice” were there from the beginning, but they clearly have developed over time. Even more interesting is the fact that many early posts focused on the writing process itself. As I gained confidence, those became less frequent. And those early posts were significantly shorter. I suppose learning to write’s like learning to ride a bicycle – every time out, you can go a little farther before you crash!
You know, of course, that we have a mutual inspiration society going on here. As I mentioned elsewhere, your words from the classroom are framed and on my desk:
Enter this room with an open mind
Discipline yourself to listen carefully
Structure your work to show your thinking clearly
Remember it requires effort to learn and make progress.
Yes. And thank YOU.
Linda
It never ceases to amaze me how the most humble little cactus can suddenly explode into breathtaking beauty. In the blink of an eye, it returns to it’s normal unassuming self, leaving the passerby to wonder if they imagined it.
The story of Godot and Godette just shows us that anyone can have their moment in the sun, given the right circumstances.
Bug,
Isn’t that just the truth? If you walked by G & G now, you’d not have a clue of what’s inside those two. As I used to hear people say more frequently, “You can’t judge a book by its cover”, and we can’t assume a thing about what people are capable of by just looking at them.
Do you happen to remember GardenGrrl’s story of the security guard at the art museum who said to himself, after years of walking the hallways among the masters, “I think maybe I’ll give painting a try”? A year later, at age 80 or some such, he was painting up a storm and had his own exhibition. It’s a wonderful example of exposure to beauty breathing inspiration into someone.
What I keep thinking about is the importance of those “right circumstances”. Constant criticism, ridicule, negativity and thoughtlessness are human equivalents of shoving G &G into the dark, denying them the sunlight, water and soil they need to bloom. The more of that we can eliminate, the more blossoming we’re going to see!
Linda
Thanks for this blog! Well-put! I’m working, over time, to focus on what wants to come up to expression in me, and to appreciate and applaud what I read (what I have time to read, because there’s so much more).
Hi, Mary Ellen,
Thanks so much for the comment ~ all of us have limited time, and I so appreciate it when someone comments.
I’ve been following the discussion on your blog about the wealth of inspiration that surrounds us, and the need to pick and choose where and how we respond. It reminds me of a saying that’s shaped me in some important ways ~ “Be careful which voices you listen to, because you’ll begin to sound like them”. I suppose the trick is learning to listen to our internal voice as well as to those which surround us, and to be unapologetic about turning away from the unhelpful voices.
Thanks for the kind words – glad you enjoyed the story.
Linda
Well there is a lot here to think about, as always.
Yes, we were thinking along the same lines in our posts. This human need to compare and compete poisons me at times, and although I’ve never been into sports, it does it in blogging, photography and writing.
Of course it’s our stories that make the world go ’round. So attributing a story to your precious cacti is just good fun, and good writing. You are a terrific wordsmith, and it’s always a joy to come here, put my feet up, and take a few minutes to enter your world.
But what I’ve been dying to respond to the most is your photos here. The cacti are GORGEOUS, and your images are perfect. But the framing you did – wow you had fun with that!! And I got so inspired by your choices. You layered them in such imaginative ways, I just love them.
By the way, I never did see the Audubon images you borrowed. Where are those?
Good morning, Ruth,
Now, of course, I’m ready to slip over to the other side of the argument and put in a good word for competition – not the snarky, win-at-all-costs kind, but the let’s-see-if-we-can-do-better-this-time kind. I’ve been paying attention to marathon runners recently, and see it there. The basic challenge is to better the previous time – by as much as possible! – and if they happen to come in first, or second, or third, so much the better.
Aren’t the photos great? Of course it helps to have such wonderful subjects. But you’re right about the framing being fun. I just love it – choosing the colors and style that will highlight the photos themselves is pure pleasure. I use a combination of picnik and photofiltre – and now I’ve downloaded the other program you mentioned that allows you to do the “ragged” frames. I’m especially fond of that effect.
The Audubon images are neatly tucked into a post temporarily titled “A Plethora of Plates”. And, the post is tucked into my files, just waiting….
Like another non-time-sensitive post, I have it in reserve for the day when a real emergency hits, like my 91 year-old Mom going into the hospital. Lack of inspiration isn’t an emergency, but I can envision some events that would be. When one arrives, I’ll be able to keep posting while I cope with real life! My goal is to have three in reserve. Once I get four, I’ll post the Audubons even without an emergency!
Linda
Ah, projection is a fascinating and revealing thing. Your anthropomorphism (dunno if is applies to plants, but why not?) of G and G tells us all about Linda – and the rest of us. The struggle to be bigger, more generous people, to dampen that instinctive competitiveness and wish others well. I love how you have once again woven a big tale from a wonderful little happening.
The line . . . and all was at peace on the porch.. . just made me laugh. I want to stitch it onto a cushion or something!!
Jeannine,
Talk about laughing – I just realized I’ve written my first “sequel”. That, or the second chapter of “The Cactus Chronicles”. Fun, anyhow.
There is a certain kind of peacefulness I love: the post-bloom porch, sunsets, sleeping creatures (human and otherwise), the boats bobbing in your lagoon. Part of what makes it so wonderful is that nothing needs to be added or subtracted for happiness to blossom. Quite different from the babble of voices around us insisting we need to add this or subtract that if we’re to have even the slimmest chance at happiness.
Now that I think about it, stitching’s a rather peaceful occupation in itself!
Linda
Hey ‘Shores’ – well, you’ve gone an’ done it again
Thanks for this inspiring essay, n’ for the brains-up
on the Picnik n’ Photofiltre tools – got me motivated
to charge the battery for my lil’ lightly-used Canon Elph.
If ya got the spare time, I daresay ya could have a good
sideline as a ‘plant-parazzi’ – beautiful images !!!
‘Write on’ … mike
Hi, Mike,
Nice to see you! And thanks for the kind words on the photos. It’s a new world for me, and so enjoyable. Picnik and photofiltre are easy to use, and it’s fun to enhance images with framing. I know you’d enjoy working with the programs as much as I’ve enjoyed weaving photos and words together in a single tale.
I hope you’ve got that battery in its charger by now!
Linda
Hey Shores, the battery is a done deal – now its time to git
into the tedious chore of re-programmin the lil’ dear.
Thankfully Canon provides a PDF download for the printed
manual so it can be read it print that don’t need more
magnification than my bi-focals offer. I’m keepin your friend
Sandi’s words – ‘Remember it takes effort…’ in mind.
mike
Mike,
Sandi’s a wise woman, for sure. Have fun with your new endeavors!
Linda
“Nothing needs to be added or subtracted for happiness to blossom.” Your own words best sum up the impact of this post, Linda! You are truly gifted…and are inspiring….
Ginnie,
Since you’ve begun reading more recently, you probably don’t know that the title of my blog comes from the first poem I wrote: The Task at Hand. You never would have found it, even searching, probably, because I desperately need to clean up my tags and categories!
In any event, the first line is, “Even the right word takes effort….” And that’s the goal – to write in such a way that in the end not a single word needs to be added or subtracted. I came very close with this one – thank you so much for your very kind words!
Linda
Ah! I wondered about that possibility, as I do the same with posts in the wings.
Good morning, Ruth,
I might even imagine one or two being made use of by you in these next weeks. Even happy occasions can put a crimp in the posting schedule, and you have a pile of happiness headed straight toward you!
Linda
Oh, Linda, your “great blooms of creativity” are always right here! The tale of Godot and Godette is perfect from first word to last, and every photo in-between.
It’s funny, I’ve been thinking of last winter’s droopy geranium. Outside since May in the fresh air, rain (!) and occasional sunshine, she has taken on a whole new personality. Just that small shift (similar to the way you moved Godette further along the window)can make such a difference. Powerful lesson there. Thank you.
ds ~
I remember the geranium, and I’m glad she’s doing well! It’s such fun watching plants come back, whether from the natural cycles of the seasons, neglect or injury.
I’m not sure why I’m remembering this, but I had a friend with a unique approach to gardening. She’d go to the store, get one of everything that appealed to her, take it all home and put it in the backyard. Then, she watered everything once a week. If a plant seemed to thrive, she’d go back and buy a pile of the same thing. Her reasoning was, “This is what I’m prepared to do, and any plant that lives here has to be willing to accept my terms”!
It was funny as could be, but she had a beautiful yard and no stress. I know this – I’m ready to look for more cactus!
Linda
First, what wonderful blooms and what excellent characters you’ve invented Linda, Godet and Godette… Who would have thought they are inanimate cacti… ingenious!
Thank you for voicing out this issue, and your candid sharing, Linda. I’ve always felt inadequate when I read other bloggers’ writing, yours of course the prime case in point. But I’m glad to read this parable in your post here. Inspired to excel, rather than shying away from self-expression, or plunging into the torrents of competition.
I’d like to add though, that this phenomenon applies to those who comment as well, especially for blogs who tend to gather longer responses. I’ve had people talk to me that they were intimidated to leave a comment on my blog because they felt inadequate and less eloquent when compared to the comments that are there. Of course this is not the phenomenon we should promote. It would only defeat the whole purpose of eliciting of opinions and ideas, be they spontaneous or well thought-out, short or long.
Any ideas for fixing this problem?
Hi, Arti,
Glad you’ve enjoyed Godot and Godette. There’s an old joke down here about the perfect Texas family – Bubba, Bubette, Bubba Joe and Bubbalina. Who’s to say I wasn’t influenced in my choice of names!?
As for the issue of comments – that’s a complicated one, in several ways. Here are some musings you may find helpful for your own thought process, whether you agree with them or not.
First, I love comments and the dialogue they can initiate. I’m fascinated by the variety of responses to my writing, and I enjoy putting my own response to others’ work into words. I’m often told by readers they enjoy the comments on my blog as much as my initial post, and that never has offended me. I consider the comment section an integral part of the post, and assume that folks will read them together.
Because I consider comments so important, I spend a good bit of time responding to or posting comments – thinking, as well as writing. There are several good reasons to do so, including the fact that a little thought behind our words is never bad. But there’s more – if I struggle to put the best I can produce in my posts, it would be counterproductive to do any less in my comments.
When someone leaves a comment, I’m happy as the proverbial little clam, and do my best to honor their comment with a response specific to their interest or concern.
Now, a thought or two more directly related to your comments.
While I enjoy and appreciate comments, I don’t see it as my primary purpose to elicit comments. My purpose is to write – to entertain, inform, inspire, amuse – and if someone is moved to respond, that’s great. If not, that’s ok, too. I have regular readers who rarely if ever leave a direct comment, but I know they’re there and appreciate them just as much. And I use Boblet’s rule for my own comments as well as for my posts: “If I don’t have anything to say, I won’t say it.”
As for folks who feel inadequate or insufficiently eloquent to post comments ~ that’s a tough one, and I understand the feeling. I often don’t comment on some of the literary/reading blogs because I haven’t a clue what anyone’s talking about! But I think a favorite adage applies to the issue of comments: there are problems, and there are facts of life, and you can’t solve a fact of life. Fear of commenting may be a problem for a reader. For me, the possibility that fearful people aren’t commenting on my blog is more a fact of life, to be lived with. It simply isn’t a problem I can solve.
What I CAN do is what I mentioned above – be receptive, respectful and attentive to those who do comment, and make it clear in that way that everyone is welcome.
Well, speaking of someone running off at the mouth…! But it’s an important issue, and one I’ve given a good bit of thought. Thanks for raising it – and dare I say, thanks for commenting?
Linda
Linda,
Is it silly for me to express happiness for Godette and her achievement? What an accomplishment.
Have you ever noticed how many of us seem to be attracted to or identify with a few lines in each of your essays? You always strike a chord that speaks to us. There’s something for everyone in your words. This time my favorite was…
“Like Godot, she kept her blooms for only a few hours, but she set flowers with such regularity it was easy to overlook her efforts. Most of the time, I gave her no more than a cursory glance. If I missed one set of blossoms, another arrived soon enough. There wasn’t much surprise with this cactus. Neither dramatic nor spectacular, she was steady and dependable. She could be counted on to produce.”
I’m sure you can guess why this passage speaks to me. A beautifully written piece.
Bella
My new blog: http://culdesacchronicles.wordpress.com/
I hope you will drop in soon.
Bella,
The new blog looks lovely – I’m so glad you’re “up and running” again, and that you brought a link here. I’ve missed reading you!
It’s no more silly for you to be happy for Godette than it is for me to talk to those cacti on a daily basis. Anthropomorphism? Projection? Maybe. On the other hand, I’ve lived in places where the entirety of the natural world is understood to be responsive and in relationship with humans. Maybe we’re the ones who’ve ended the conversation.
Speaking of responsiveness, I have noticed the way different readers pick out one thread or another for their focus. I’m glad you found something here “just for you” – although I won’t be at all surprised to see some phenomenal blooms popping up in the cul-de-sac in coming months
Linda
I think it is a true gift to look for inspiration in the most unexpected of places. I find myself inspired by all kinds of things, things that would be silly to some if I were to write about them, but inspiring nonetheless.
Wonderful story and food for thought.
“we linger for a moment at the threshhold of our half-remembered lives, not quite willing to close the door on the vibrant, constructed world we leave behind, happy to have discovered all the pleasures of diversion, insight or beauty it had to offer.”
I know that feeling so well. Sometimes there are stories that you just hate to close the book on and when you do you feel as if you are coming out of a trance because you were so lost in the story. There are some books and films that I feel that way about every time I experience them and I find myself often agonizing over whether to pick them up again now, knowing that I’m going to feel the same sense of bittersweetness when they are over or just letting the anticipation build. I love it when stories, in whatever form, do that to us.
Carl,
I think “that feeling” is the reason I re-read certain books so often. And it isn’t just a re-creation of a past feeling. Some books are so rich, so layered and evocative that the sense of delight is mediated to us in completely new ways each time we pick up the book.
And there’s just something about the physical act of opening a book for the first time, and closing it at the end, that seems to touch us at a deep level. I don’t remember the first stories my mother read to me, but I can remember as though it was yesterday the feeling of climbing up into the big, white wooden rocker and being allowed to open the book! And, I imagine there are a few folks around here who remember those common childhood words: “Read me another one!”
As for inspiration in unexpected places – sometimes, when I’m in places that are “supposed” to be inspiring, like the US Capitol or the Grand Canyon, I don’t feel anything at all. It’s as though I can’t whomp up whatever feeling I think I’m supposed to have. On the other hand, confronted with a tiny, personal marvel, I’m much more in tune with what I feel and even think about the good Mr. Blake now and then:
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour…
Linda
Linda -
I love the way you went from competition to inspiration with your story. If we all looked at others’ accomplishments (that we envied) with an eye towards inspiration rather than competition, well, I just think that would be a good thing.
About your comment to someone about comments. My daughter had a very wise Kindergarten teacher. My oldest daughter was quite shy and had her very best friend with her in her K class. She was NOT a leader, mostly a follower, didn’t initiate much, but her teacher told me, “she will learn by watching too.” So I backed off and let her come out of her shell on her own terms. This is my daughter that is now a teacher, a leader in technology at her site, and is a very valued employee for her contributions.
Many of your readers might not feel comfortable leaving responses – but when they read, they are observing and learning – and to me – that is the whole point…..yes? (ok, maybe not the whole point, but a point well taken!)
Karen ~
Even my mother would agree your daughter’s Kindergarten teacher was a wise one. I was shy, too – desperately so, actually – but I had teachers and family who thought it was best to push me rather than letting me emerge on my own. It wasn’t until I landed in the middle of Africa, in the middle of a very complex situation with no more guidance than the statement, “Go find something to do”, that I began to get my personal bearings.
Of course, Mom also has been known to say, “For years we couldn’t get you to say a word. Now we can’t get you to shut up!” So it goes
I think you’re exactly on target about readers who may not comment, but who still are observing and learning. I do that myself, daily, at Weather Underground. All of those graphs and charts and computer models? There’s no way I can enter into those discussions, but I’ve learned enough by reading and digesting that I can judge when it’s time to pack the car and head inland ahead of the storm du jour. Not only that, I even know what the marine layer is, now!
Always a pleasure to have you stop by – have fun with all your upcoming activities.
Linda
I love that the multi-bloomer’s name is “Godette.” And my take on her story is that she is happy at last to have a friend/lover cactus nearby and is now singing in unison (or nearly so) with him.
Ah, yes, wouldn’t I put the romantic take on it? But sometimes, two equals far more than one like so many pairings and couples: ham and eggs, George and Gracie, Mom and Dad, the cart and the horse… Animals typically prosper when they have a companion; perhaps it’s true in flora worlds. You go, Godette! Keep singing!
(please give both plants my greetings – I suspect they love having converations with you.)
oh,
So nice to have you back again, although your vacation looked just lovely from the peek I’ve had at it.
I love your take on the story – another narrative, for sure. It never, ever occurred to me plants might like having companions, too – apparently my anthropomorphizing hasn’t gone far enough! My only fear now that I’ve gotten to know them is that I’m not going to be able to evac for a hurricane without the cacti coming along. Telling Mom or Dixie they can’t come because Godot and Godette are taking up a seat? It could be a prickly situation
I’ll give them your greetings when I go out tonight to give them a drink. Even a cactus gets thirsty in this heat!
Linda
Linda–
Luminous prose, luminous photos! But I’m curious, being a photographer and all: what flavor of camera do you use? The photos are gorgeous. It takes a real pro to capture colors, lighting and composition as you did. Not many people can take that good of photos and write as wonderfully as you.
Bravo!
Tom,
That’s pretty high praise for a novice like me to cope with – but motivating, too. I began taking some photos when I began blogging. I used a Canon G1 at that point. I knew nothing about cameras and had purchased it just to use for ebay and family snapshots. Then a Canon S2 1S fell into my hands through the generosity of a friend, and I began to pay more attention to what I’m doing. I’ve finally figured out that ISO and aperture belong together in sentences, but I just haven’t had the time to really begin to explore all that. It’s on the project list….
The photos here were taken with the camera’s auto and macro settings, in natural light and in the same location. It’s been amazing for me to see how much difference the quality of the light can make, and the vast collection of truly terrible, out-of-focus, badly framed and ugly photos I’ve deleted is increasing my respect for photographers daily.
“Luminous” is a word that will make me smile for a long time. Thanks.
Linda
ISO and aperture in the same sentence—can’t wait to see that in a story! If any photographer ever tells you he/she never has to delete images, they’re lying. Your cactus photos are truly wonderful. I’m jealous.
Tom,
I’ve never heard a flat denial, but I have heard, “I do delete an image or two now and then”.
If you’re jealous, we’re even, since your writing dissolves me into envious little puddles of “how does he do that?”
Linda