We’re Not In Kansas Anymore

A combo of G’s health and the local temperatures mean his woodworking subsided on a similar trajectory to the garage sales. Which is to say, they’re nonexistant for at least the next couple of months. He still keeps an eye out for deals, though. And since woodworking is becoming problematic for him regardless of the season, we agreed he should shift his creative focus to photography. We both enjoy it and it’s less likely to get him killed.

See my previous entry on his foray out in the storm to fix the roof. (I guess I finally made a dent in his brain, because he hired a buddy to replace the rest of the missing shingles.)

We have all the photog basics. We currently own three Nikon DSLR camera bodies – my older D3200 (bought used a few years back); his D3400 (bought new and his Christmas gift from me before I got mine); and his D7200 (also bought used, though much more recently.) We have an assortment of interchangeable lenses compatible with all three cameras, along with the lens hoods to fit each lens (necessary to cut down on glare).

One night last week, G yelled at me from the other room that he bought a tripod. Given we already had three good tripods, I was a little surprised, but G’s wheelings and dealings never bother me. My days off are Fridays and Saturdays, and we had to drive in to the Phoenix metro over the weekend anyway, so I figured he found something worth a detour.

I didn’t realize how much worth it until we got home.

This is the tripod he bought — picture at left.

This page tells you how much it costs new. The one he bought was like new, other than missing the quick-release plate.(the piece that connects to the camera). He paid $15 for a quick-release plate, including shipping. He paid $10 for the tripod itself.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…

The troubled grandson is back home from the inpatient psych facility. He’s angry, sullen, and safe.

In other words, a preteen who’s gone through some shit. He’s got a lot of issues — we suspect he might be high-functioning on the spectrum. Not Aspie I don’t think, at least none of the typical expressions along that vein.  But while he’s intellectually brilliant, he’s got some significant emotional problems, predating his most recent traumas. He has the meltdowns and issues with impulse-control, among other things.

I love the kid to pieces, like all the other grands. But I feel for my daughter – she’s got her hands full with him and it’s not likely to change for a while.

Oh… and just for shits and giggles, he also contracted strep throat somewhere during the last few days. It never rains but it pours.

Pho-Toto

The picture up at the top is one I took in Marysville, Kansas. Seeing it is a reminder of how lovely so much of the Midwestern USA is.

I really, really want to drive back to the Midwest again. Relocating there will be even better.

This photo was also taken in the rural Midwest. G and I were debating if it were also taken in Kansas – I think so, but we’re not positive.

We both belong to a photography site called Vero – I’m at vero.co/ldholland, where I’ve posted a few photos that aren’t anywhere else online. Other photographers comment and like your images, and occasionally you’re asked to connect and share. I’m generally happy to do so.

Unfortunately one person who asked for me to connect and share… Umm…

I honestly wouldn’t mind sharing, but I don’t have any interest in his subject matter, which is 100% female nudes. Nudity as art doesn’t offend me, for the record. However, if ALL you do is nudes, all female, and in poses straight outta Playboy, I’d categorize those less as art and more as objectification. I simply didn’t feel comfortable claiming the person as a connection, or even following his feed. I wasn’t impressed with his prowess behind the camera, either. There’s no subtlety or artistry, no curated angles, no management of light and shadows. There’s nothing professional in the imagery he posts. It’s just some random guy taking pictures of naked women.

That’s a nope from me.

The Grind

The move to the Midwest is inching closer to the top of my to-do list.

G is balking at the prospect, naturally, as he does.

Meanwhile, stick a fork in me because I’m done. Much as I appreciate our little house, and the quiet neighborhood, my job is running me into the ground. The last layer of added responsibility pushed me into “Oh HELL no” territory and I said so. So did my weekend person. And we kept saying so. When we pushed back, we got told “there’s nobody else to do it/no backup.” My weekend person is leaving, in no small part due to unrealistic and snowballing workload. I’ll be following suit, it’s just a matter of time. I’m not naive enough to think I’m irreplaceable, but I do know I’ve been the consistent person doing the job for the past few years. My weekend person has been people in a rotating door, because the hours and the insanity of it simply beat you down. This last straw was more like the whole barn’s worth of hay dumped over our collective heads.

I’ll be 66 in a couple of months. I couldn’t keep up a 70-hour work week even in my thirties and forties. I don’t think I’m physically able to go through another summer like this one.

G’s concerns about moving are perfectly valid, for the record. Social Security won’t pay the bills (assuming the GQP doen’t outright abolish it before I get there) and so far our other avenues for making money have been inconsistent trickles. My 401K and IRA aren’t enough to make up the difference. Furthermore, G (understandably) wants to go look at places in person before we buy. Which means more time off work and more travel expense. It’s not a three-hour round trip like when we bought this place, and we don’t have friends and family members who are realtors in Iowa.

But my sister pointed out I can either retire on my terms or my body will force the issue. She found out the hard way. I’d prefer to have a say in the matter, thankyouverymuch.