D-Day

I pick up my mother today from the rehab center.  I won't be home again for. . . .  My last night spent at home was not celebratory.  Nope.  There was much to do.  I was anxious.  Frenetic.

But the entire day was bad.  I had much to do but couldn't get going.  Catatonia was setting in.  Has been.  I was supposed to meet the Brazilian girl at the ju-jitsu gym.  Time was getting close.  I decided to make a few photos with the 4x5 camera before I went just to see, so I put together the whole tamale and went outside.  There was nothing to photograph, so I just carried the camera, tripod, dark cloth, film holder, light meter, and magnifier around the yard.  I set up, put my head under the dark cloth, focussed the image, metered the scene for exposure, then started to set the values on the lens.  WTF?  I couldn't find the aperture ring or the exposure time.  It had been so long since I have used the camera, I forgot that the lens I had chosen was an old, old lens that I could only use for long exposures.

"One thousand one, one thousand two. . . ."

I went back to the house to get another lens.  Mounted it.  Set the exposure.  Put in the film holder.  Removed the dark slide.  Cocked the shutter. . . . 

But the shutter wouldn't release. WTF?

I went inside again to try to find a release cable.  I have several, but I couldn't find any of them.  I looked and looked and looked.  Nope.  

I got a toothpick and futzed around trying to release the shutter.  Nope.  Nope.  

Yes.  

My fault.  

Did it all again and took a photo.  Then I narrowed the aperture and did it again.  

I took two more photos, then took the whole shebang back inside.  I looked up development times for the film.  I thought I knew which film it was, but I wasn't certain, so I got a changing bag and put the film holders in along with a box of the kind of film I thought it was.  I opened the box of film.  It was empty.  Got a new box of film.  Repeat.  There are notches on the film that identify which kind it is.  What I thought I had shot, I had not.  It was a good thing that I checked.  I looked up development times for the film I had actually shot.  O.K.  I got the developer tank for the 4x5 film, put it in the changing bag, and loaded the film.  Then I went to get the beakers, thermometer, jugs, funnels, and chemicals that I needed to mix the "soup."  

Shit piss fuck goddamn--the developer had gone bad. Rock-like crystals had formed in the liquid.  I searched for a new bottle.  Everywhere.  I knew I had one.  Somewhere.  

Nope.  

It was time to meet the ju-jitsu girl.  I got dressed in my gym clothes, for that is where I was going after meeting her, and jumped into the car.  

When I got to the gym, a fellow was locking the door.  He, too, was Brazilian, tall and built like a fighter.  

"Can I help you?"

"I was supposed to meet Marissa here now."

"She's not here.  I can call her."

"Oh, no, that's o.k.  I was just going to look at the gym.  I'm going to make some photos of her here."

He was nice and unlocked the door for me.  The inside of the gym didn't look like what I had hoped for.  Too modern.  I had something else in mind.  I looked around briefly and told him thank you.  

It was one-thirty when I finished my workout.  I still had much to do, but I needed to shower and eat, so I went home.  I needed to get to the photo store, too.  As I ate, I planned out my routes.  First mom.  I would get all her stuff out of the room and take it to her house.  I'd put the things away and clean the refrigerator.  I'd check her mail, email, and texts to see if there was anything important.  Then I'd drive across town to the photo store.  

And that is what I did.  My mother had things packed up--kind of.  I made two trips to the car with bags of clothes and clothes on hangers and boxes shoes she'd had me bring.  She had used none of it.  Then we sat in the t.v. room.  When the nurse came by, I asked her about mom's meds and about how to check out the next day.  It was clear my mother is completely dependent on me for this stuff.  Then we sat and talked for awhile before I said I needed to go.  

"There's a whole lot to do and I am not doing it," I said.  "I need to get busy."

At her house, I put away her things and checked her correspondences.  Oh, man. . . her car insurance was past due.  So was the extended warranty on her car if she wanted to renew.  There were notices of upcoming medical appointments.  

I cleaned out the fridge and swept out the garage.  Then I headed to the photo store. 

It was the traffic hour.  Cross town is horrible.  By the time I got to the store, bought what I needed, and was headed home, I didn't want to cook a dinner, so I stopped at the good bbq place and got a sandwich to go.  

But first, a Negroni.  

After dinner, I mixed the chemicals, developed the film and hung the negatives to dry.  I put some laundry in the washer.  

I poured a scotch.  

And, of course, I slept poorly.  I had the jitters and the jags all night about the next day.  

I woke up before six.  It was the next day.  I put on the coffee, did ablutions, then I took down the four negatives that I would scan.  And, of course, I couldn't find the 4x5 holder for the scanner.  I looked through all the drawers--lots and lots of them in an old, tall lawers cabinet holding my art supplies.  Looked twice.  

Shit piss fuck goddamn.  

Then I spied it on top of the cabinet.  Right.  

I scanned the negatives.  

How many hours had I put in to make this dumbass picture?  I decided what I had decided before.  I am going to sell all my large format equipment.  It sounds fun and intriguing, but it just isn't worth it.  It just isn't.  

As I sat at the computer, I got a text.  A bunch of them.  They were from my Miami friend.  She is in Edinburgh and was sending me pics.  Lots and lots of them.  

Well hey now. . . that was a treat.  I wrote her a nice note back, then remembered it was Tennessee's birthday.  I knew it would be a family day, so I said.  For both of us.  I would see him next week for a birthday drink.  

"Oh. . . and Miami is in Edinburgh.  Just sent these."

He's always curious if I've heard from her lately and I'm always pleased when I can tell him yes.  She makes me look cool.  Sort of.  Maybe not so much.  Maybe pathetic.  It is a downward spiral.  

And so now we are all caught up.  Are you still here?  Have you been fascinated by the report of a life frustrated?  

Ha!

I pick my mother up around noon.  I will clean my house before then and do some outside work, too.  And then I will return to the life of Gunsmoke and pain management.  I need to make a liquor store run.  

Oh. . . here's something fun.  It began when I ran a photo of Q through AI asking for a painting by Botticelli or maybe a Botticelli/Ingres fusion.  

By the time I'd run it through the gamut and got to Goya, he looked like this.  

The original photo was taken after he'd been up partying for three days celebrating his birthday.  He gave me pop eyes.  I made the photo years later into a hand colored crazy thing and sent it to him.  

Now we know what he would look like with a beard.  

I heard this yesterday when driving. . . somewhere.  Driving, driving, driving.  I laughed.  All I have is gasoline.  

I thought this might be a Tom Waits cover.  I can imagine him doing this one.  

Yea, yea, yea. . . it would sound like this.