This spring, I seem to be setting some kind of record for meeting up with internet friends. I stayed a recluse for years, and now all of a sudden, I’m becoming a social butterfly. Today, I met up with the lovely and talented Gertie and her very nice sisters (and their plus-one, also very nice.)

Man, I’m three for three on meeting fantabulous people off the internet. I wish the dating part could be as easy, because my girlfriends are setting a high standard for great people. I really got a kick out of Gertie, and my only regret is that I didn’t have more time to spend with her.

She and her family were down doing a whirlwind weekend tour of the Bay Area, and had picked the Winchester Mystery House as one of their stops. Well, hello friend! That’s only a couple of hours from my house, and the kids were off partying it up, so I was free for some frivolous travel.

 

 

This place was a kick. I’d been there before, but I think I was about eight and on a school trip, so really, not a lot had sunk in. It’s a bizarro-world mansion, with all sorts of neat architecture and bad design choices. You know, if you’re poor and batshit crazy, you go live under a bridge. If you’re loaded, people call you “eccentric” and make your house into a monument.

 

 

It was fun walking through there with other crazy photographers. I wasn’t the only one hanging back or squatting down to take pictures, for once!

 

 

My favorite parts were the details; sure, the house as a whole was interesting, but what I really like is plumbing and plaster, and other infrastructure-type things. Doors to nowhere and cupboards of nothingness are mildly interesting, but nothing beats a good old half-restored iron tub. On that end, we didn’t just take the regular tour, but we took the behind-the-scenes tour as well, which took us into the basement and the stables, and places like that. You know, my favorite stuff.

But the best part, by far, was meeting Gertie. I wish we lived closer together; I will totally come crash on you if I ever find myself wandering around Scotland!

Among other awesomeness today, I paid for a helicopter ride.

I was at the Castle Air Museum’s Open Cockpit Day, snapping pictures like a madwoman (they’re all on Flickr if you’re interested.) I’m not much of a plane person, no, but I am a Castle person. Ten years this August that I’ve worked there, and I’ve never seen it from the air. A little crazy, considering that it’s an airport, no?

But I’d heard of rides at this event, so I kept my eyes open. If it was one of the jets, there was no way I’d be able to afford it, so I didn’t even bring money with me.

When I got to the back of the grounds though, and spotted the helicopter booth, my eyes must have lit up like crazy, because the lady there said, “That woman wants a ride!” And she was right. I totally did. It was well within my budget, so I trekked back to the truck and got some money.

They were offering two loops around Castle, which might have seemed a little boring to some people, especially out-of-towners, but couldn’t have been planned more perfectly for me. Photographing Castle is what I do, and the chance to do it from a new angle had me squealing just a little.

We all got a window seat; I was dreading the ride with the four-year-old who had earlier demonstrated his ability to shriek in a register that would shatter glass, but he was good. The pilot may or may not have heard me (I didn’t have my mic close enough to my mouth) and he buzzed the water tower for me; sadly, I was on the wrong side of the plane, and didn’t get a very good picture of my favorite plumbing fixture.

 

 

But look! My office!

 

 

And the former landfill where I walk the dogs!

 

 

And if you look closely and squint just a little, I think you can see my house from here.

I just kept snapping and snapping, taking about a hundred photos in five or ten minutes, but I figured I could always delete them. I’m not an airsick sort of person, but man, looking through the viewfinder with one eye and straight out with the other, while not remaining exactly vertical, now, that’ll get your queasy on.

Totally worth it.

My friend Geoff is hiking the Pacific Crest Trail at the moment, intending to do it all, from the Mexico border clear into Canada, in one season. If there was a pool for when he’d drop out, I’d put my money on “not at all,” as I have complete faith in him making it the entire way. It’s thousands of miles!

The story is his to tell, and he does, here. My little part in his adventure started and ended today, when I took him some things that he’d left with me which were a little too heavy and unneccesary to pack through the long desert. Bears aren’t typically a problem in the Mohave, but now that he’s crossing into the Sierras, he’s going to want his fishing pole and bear canister.

 

 

So I brought his things to him today, in Tehachapi. Road trip! That’s my kind of adventure most of the time anyway; one in which I can easily get to things like a shower and drinking water. Even when I hunt, I’m rarely more than a couple of days away from a shower (I bring my own with me these days.)

 

 

He looks good. He was slim to start with, and seems to have pared down into a lean, mean, walking machine. Hearing the stories was fascinating, and it was interesting to meet a few of the other hikers. I have an enormous amount of respect for them, for following their dream and working so hard at it. My passions run in different directions, but I recognize the kindred spirit of a fellow fanatic when I meet one.

I really look forward to seeing his photos, but I suspect that most of this journey he’s taking is an internal one, and very private. Which is absolutely fine with me; I just want to see a view or two without having to ::shudder:: hike to get there.

My Gramma recently gave my Mom some of Grampa’s old photo albums, and she passed them on to me.

I’m not sure why Gramma was getting rid of them, except that she’s the exact opposite of a packrat, and is probably feeling great relief that she can now go through and get rid of some of Grampa’s piles of stuff. They weren’t junk to him, but really, no one else is ever going to be interested in looking at the accounting books from their ranch management job in Kenya in the forties. No, really. I’ve looked, and they’re line-items only. Not interesting.

 

 

   

The photos are the treasure to me. These albums had a lot from his years as a flying realtor, with unknown people and places, but sprinkled throughout them are a lot of old family photos, and I don’t have many of those. So I’ve scanned in some of the ones that meant the most to me.

 

 

  

It’s funny to watch the growth of a very typical middle-class American family from the early 60s through the 80s. I get the most amusement out of seeing the things that weren’t meant to be the focal point, like the decor in the background, the hair styles, and the clothes. Some of that is, “whoa, what were we thinking?” stuff, and some just brings back happy memories of people and places that I loved.

It’s funny to watch the growth of a very typical middle-class American family from the early 60s through the 80s. I get the most amusement out of seeing the things that weren’t meant to be the focal point, like the decor in the background, the hair styles, and the clothes. Some of that is, “whoa, what were we ?” stuff, and some just brings back happy memories of people and places that I loved. 

 

  

 

  

  

I’ve got them all up on my Flickr page, but here are a few of my favorites. The scan quality isn’t very good, no, but you get the gist of it. We were quite happy people. Still are, really, for the most part. What good lives we’ve had!

I’ve got them all up on my page, but here are a few of my favorites. The scan quality isn’t very good, no, but you get the gist of it. We were quite happy people. Still are, really, for the most part. What good lives we’ve had!

I’ve had a very domestic weekend.

First off, after doing some early jobs on Saturday, I dragged out my newly-refurbished little tiller and finally got my garden redug.

 

 

As long as it took the engine guy to fix, I was seriously kicking myself for not just having Jose do it a month ago when he offered. My tomatoes would have a healthy start by now if I had. But no, I just about outsmarted myself, thinking I’d save a little money and do it myself. A rebuilt carburator and who knows what else later, and I did not save money. But the thing purred like a damn kitten on crack, and tore both ways through my little garden bed on one tank of gas. And it should still work next year, although I’ll have to do it for the next five to make it cheaper than Jose’s prices. My arms finally stopped tingling too.

 

 

I went down to Lowe’s and got me some vegetables. After last year’s heat wave that killed off all but my cherry tomatoes, I went a little crazy and planted six different kinds. If I have too many, so what? I really like tomatoes. And I got a few herbs and a tomatillo and a cucumber tucked in there too; everything I need for a perfect summer salad. No watermelon this year, as it cross-pollinated with my cucumbers last year and made them disgusting.

 

 

Still feeling gardeny, and since I couldn’t shut the garage door until I off-loaded the potting soil and closed the tailgate on the truck, I also repotted (finally!) my poor lime tree. Between January’s freeze and the ant colony living in it, it was in sad shape, but it’s sort of pretty now. Let’s hope I didn’t shock it too much, but I’m beginning to think that it’s the Energizer Bunny of citrus trees. Without actually ever giving me any limes, but I’m an optimist.

Then, on to the cooking!

 

 

Jeff’s mom is having a welcome-home party for him tonight, and I’m bringing cheesecake and a strawberry pie. The cheesecake is just my usual, but the pie’s new to me, as is the concept of making pie crust. I was not very happy with my first effort, so I didn’t take pictures.

 

 

I do have lots of strawberries left over; daiquiris, anyone?

I was on my feet and in the kitchen for several hours all told, and after the tilling, my back was squawking. Makes me seriously wonder if I’m nuts for thinking about switching careers over to one that’s much more physical. I’m hoping that I’ll get into a little better shape with all of the valve-exercising and plumbing that I’ll have to do, but I predict some serious “what have I done” thoughts in the first few weeks of that job. Which I do not have yet. I am, however, about to sign a contract on a pure consulting job for them, which is either an audition or a gateway to being hired without an interview, I’m not sure yet.

 

  

All of that domesticity, and the laundry pile seems bigger than ever. I guess I’ll get to that next. Stupid laundry!

My household became smaller by one Border Collie’s worth today. Jeff came and picked up Ringo, who I’d been fostering since January.

Ringo was slow to warm to me, but by now, he was my buddy. He’d talk to my in his funny growly voice when I went outside. He was always more interested in getting some loving than playing with the ball, and I’d have to maneuver around him to pick it up to throw for Angus. He’s still horribly camera-shy, and looks away if he even sees you point one towards him.

 

 

The three of us had a little fitness program, as I’d take them both for a walk about four days a week. That was Ringo’s favorite time, ever, each time. He’d fly down the road with absolute joy on his face, and bounce right back up to me when I called. He learned to walk on a leash for me, as he had no recall when we started, and would run for the truck as soon as he could see it, no stopping him. He was just at the point where I could stop him (unless he was chasing a rabbit) and he’d look over his shoulder at me all disgusted. He loves his truck, and doesn’t care which truck it is.

Jeff knows I love him, and actually offered him to me, but I turned him down. I do love the dog, but it would be pretty rotten of me to take his dog away from him right when he got home and was trying to get readjusted to life. I told him that if he ever wanted to get rid of him though, he’d always have a home with me.

I wasn’t this attached the last time, with Cheyenne and the old Dalmation and Sioux the puppy. Mostly because I’d raised a litter and was more than ready to have my house back. But Ringo only added to our family, and wasn’t annoying at all, even with his little digging habit.

 

 

Angus is going to miss his buddy terribly, but if you would please throw the ball for him, he might feel better.

The crud is bound and determined to get to me, even with an early catch with antibiotics, so I’ve been laying low for the last week or so.

But I did manage to drag myself out to the bar on Friday night, to welcome Jeff home, and had a good ol’ time doing it.

 

 

And I made it up to my Mom’s this morning for a laid back Mother’s Day lunch. She knows that I don’t stay long anyway, but I’m afraid I was even worse than usual today. Well, I come by that honestly; Dad never stays at my house for more than two hours either.

 

 

While I can blame traits on my Dad, John has me as an excuse for some of his too. I’ve been realizing lately that the kid is every bit as much of a pill in front of the camera as I am. We simply don’t have a decent photo of me from about ten years old until at least High School graduation. The only one I managed to get of him today involved a blue tongue and lots of drool. No thanks, Calvin!

 

 

Seamus, however, is still a photogenic ham. Good thing, or I’d only have pictures of the dogs (and only one of them, as the other one is shy too.)

Mom did send me home with treasure: some of my Grampa’s photo albums. I plan to scan in some of the more interesting pictures, and post them here so we can laugh about my various goofy haircuts over the years. But not today. Today, I shall nap. Again.

We converged upon the Fresno airport, we friends and families and unit members, holding our signs and flags and flowers.

 

We waited, looking down the hallway past the security checkpoints.

We got all excited to see people walking in, only to realize that they weren’t in uniform.

 

But then they were, and they were ours, and there were tears and hugs and mobs and homecomings. The fathers hadn’t seen their children or wives for eight months, and some hadn’t ever met their babies before. The little ones were excited and the big ones were too.

 

And then he was home, and all was right with our worlds. Welcome home, Jeff.

Baseball season is in full swing, with two games a week. Since I got this fancy new camera, I decided to make a project of it, and take pictures of all of the kids, at all of the games. That didn’t start out too well, as I had the smaller lens on for a while and at the start of the season, it was getting dark too soon to get good action shots as the light faded.

 

 

But it’s getting dark later now, and I’ve got the ‘reach out and touch you’ lens almost permanently on the camera, and I’m watching each game through the viewfinder. I hang over the fence, and swap to the other team’s side when I have to, which earns me some strange looks from those parents.

 

 

I’m getting a feel for the action of it, and I keep my other eye open like a rifle scope, so I can follow the ball and the movement fairly well. I’ve nabbed some shots that I’m extremely happy with, but I don’t feel comfortable posting pictures of other peoples’ kids on here.

 

 

Our team is slowly coming along. We’ve got a coach this year who believes in teaching the fundamentals, whether or not that wins us games. And at first, that lost us a lot of games, and badly, and the kids were getting a little down about it. They’re picking up though, and although they still lost the last game, it was only by three points. They got one homerun, and our crowd went wild, and I got one of the best shots of my life of that kid and the joy on his face. I can’t wait to share that with his parents.

Because that’s the other end of my project. Sure, it’s developing my own photography to take 300 pictures a night, but the end result will be to give all of the parents something cool, and the coaches too. What’s the fun of having all of this expensive equipment if I can’t share it? When the season’s over, each parent will have a whole bunch of photos of their own kid; action shots, like you see on baseball cards, that they can print up and frame if they want, or toss in the trash if they want. I get a good 50 a night that are frameable to my eyes.

It’s a good way to get me out and talking to the other parents too. Typically, I’m all alone at these games, and they’re not, and it doesn’t make me a lot of friends. But they’re starting to catch on to what I’m doing, and they’re interested in it, and ask me if I caught that good play. And usually, I did. So I’m easily having as much fun as Seamus is (who, by the way, is doing very well and has got some nice hits this year, and this his first year at AAA ball!)