I've finished culling the old Lonesomeville Polaroids for my forthcoming website (maybe). I have whittled the massive collection (I have thousands more that have never been scanned and maybe never will be unless I get famous) to just a couple hundred. Now I must make my final selection of--how many images?--and then rework them with my new knowledge.
But that will be anxiety producing, so I have put it off while I go through the digital files. That should take forever, if only because there are so many images that interest me that I have never touched, Yesterday, going through the earliest files, I began to "touch" them. I was experimenting with "new ways." Here is the first one. I made a mistake, though, that I know how to fix. This image will take reworking, but it will be much better. I was just infatuated with this woman's strong and wonderful face. Mid-thirties, Eastern European, a lovely accent. She had a lovely fashion portfolio, and she was brave enough to try Lonesomeville with me, as with everyone, because she liked the work. I did some "fashion" stuff for her, but it is not what I was prepared to do and the rest of her photos from other photographers put my paltry attempt to shame. But that isn't what I set out or was prepared to do. She was a lovely person who I made purposefully dull and unfashionable. Having finished with that Lonesomeville project now, I wish I had her and a studio to shoot with and in again.
The morning began with a message. It was a photo of a coffee cup on bare legs. It was amazing! Same coffee cup I have.
I took a photo of mine and sent it back--sans legs. I didn't want to embarrass her.
It was a nice start to a day that was already gorgeous, and I was determined to get out into it. But I have become slow and enjoy bumping around my house in the morning, reading, writing, listening to music, and now working on a few pictures, so it was almost noon by the time I got my workout clothes on and got out to the park to "work out." I have decided to change my workouts to better suit my goal of losing poundage. To wit, less lifting and more movement. The park is where mountain boy and I used to go on Sundays to do our version of a Pars Course routine. He was younger and fitter than I, and it was brutal, but he kept me fit. Now? Well now, it is much less so. But it felt good to be outside on the wooded trail making myself breathe and sweat and not think about anything except the next station. This sort of exercise clears the mind of debris. Yes.
And when I had finished four laps of the exercise course, I headed to the overpass where I would attempt as much speed uphill as was possible. I ripped off my shirt to get the sun, a sweaty fat man hoping to meet no one. Dear God--look away! I'm hideous!!!
But when that was over, I felt myself on the road to Lithe. Yes, the City of Lithe would be my final destination.
It was two o'clock when I got back home. Where had the day gone? I called my mother.
"It's Labor Day. Should we do the usual? Beanies and Weenies? A little picnic reprieve to our work schedules?"
She laughed. Sure, she said.
A plunge in the Epsom tub and a shower. I felt like rubber. It was three. I would work on pictures until it was time to go to the store and get the fixings.
By God. . . she had a lovely face. That nose, those cheekbones. Not a standard beauty but deeply interesting and attractive.
Mother was glad to see me and we had a grand time. I'll confess. The hot dogs were 97% fat free, but I find them delicious and I made up for it by buying brioche hot dog buns that I toasted slightly in the oven. And what the hell--I had a Dale's Pale Ale to boot!
6:30 and back home. Still no cat. The neighbor's cat keeps coming by, though, and lying on the deck. I'm not a spooky person by a long shot, and I don't believe in mysticism, but I think that he is trying to let me know that Scarlet won't be coming back. Animals aren't intellectuals, but they aren't stupid, either, and they definitely communicate. I don't think she "made it," as they say.
But. . . .
And so. . . having already sinned. . . .
"I blame you," I wrote.
"It's a beautiful evening. You had no choice."
Darkness descended, and I went inside and back to work on pictures. Goodness, I think, what passion I had. What a work ethic and dedication. And I swear, if I can whittle the whole project down to just a few photographs. . . but I won't. I can't.
Listening to music while I work. Such good things, my music by algorithms that know what I like. They have me pegged. I'm eclectic. Old jazz, hillbilly music, great standards, and, of course, emo tunes. This one began to play. It starts off like a Jimmy Buffet tune, doesn't it, then quickly evolves into a Jeff Tweedy progression. And then, I play it again. The lyrics.
An anthem for all Tender Hearted Men, Lonesome, Sad, and Blue.