Droopy Drawers

I took this year's ago in Florida. Obviously, we couldn't run this photo in the newspaper. I don't think it's going to get so much play on the blog.

Progress?

I am spent. I am exhausted. I am using two words to say the same thing. My eyes have mild pain behind them after so much staring at my computer.

I woke this morning at 2:30. WTF? 2:30? Wide awake, wondering, suddenly, why I have not gotten a call from my old high school about any substitute teaching. Then I remember that I was given paperwork to bring back with me on the day of my first sub job. It occurs to me that perhaps I was misinformed. Maybe I have to bring that paperwork back, completed, in order to get on the sub list?

Now I am up and out of bed, looking for the paperwork.

Next thing I know, I am at my computer, contacting a local school who's adult education curriculum did not include photography. Did they want me to teach it? I ask in my proposal to them.

I manage to fall asleep after about an hour and a half of wandering the computer and tossing in my bed, which really consists of me laying on my stomach, then switching to my right side because I'm still to much of a wimp to attempt to sleep on my left side, even though the doctor told my my shoulder should be OK with it.

I wake later in the morning with a few emails. The school that is lacking in adult ed photography has emailed me back to tell me they already have photo teachers. Then why are you not teaching photo? I have a rate request from a possible wedding client, a very inarticulate email from a guy looking for a 'cheap photographer' to do some pictures for some health organization. I ask him to elaborate. What is it he's looking for? Do you have a website? He does, he emails me, and send me the link to a site which has something to do with discount cards and has no mention of health care workers at all. I decide to just end the annoying game of email tennis and send him my rates. I am relieved when I stop hearing from him.

Then I went for a walk in the freezing rain because I just need to do that. Period.

I returned, soggy, with an idea on how to tweak my future photo classes, and I sent an email out to my first photo class, my guinea pigs, to get their thoughts on my idea. They were very receptive.

Then, I got an email from a guy looking for a photo lesson. I am meeting him tomorrow.

I was doing some work for Dad, organizing his office by labelling some manuals and files when Dad and I got to talking about selling prints. "Can you link on your website to a place where people can buy prints?" Great, Now, I had a bee in my bonnet about that and spend a crazy amount of time figuring out how I would do that if I wanted to do it. I haven't figured it out yet.

I do have to say that I feel like there's a light at the end of the tunnel. I feel a spark of "Maybe I can make a living doing this!" And then I do the math and realize there's no way. What I need to do is find some kind of part-time job. But, I'm afraid. I don't want to do some receptionist job because Excel scares me. It just does. I don't want to go work at some ice cream shop because I'll just shove my face in the tubs when no one's looking. Very unprofessional. Other jobs I think of are unimaginable to me because my shoulder still isn't ship-shape. Now there was something I wasn't expecting - that this shoulder thing would screw things up as much as they have. Hello, I'm a nuisance. Have we met?

At least I'm 33 on Thursday. Yeehaw.

Oliver has a Chat with GMa

Every morning there is a routine in our home. I am pulled slightly our of my slumber early in the morning when Dad cracks open my door and whispers to his granddoggy, "C'mon, Oliver. It's time to go outside!".

Like a reluctant teenager, Oliver slowly creeks his way out of the bed and tiptoes out to him. The two sit on the stairs heading to the first floor just outside my room, where they whisper sweet nothings to each other to start their day off right. Then, they head downstairs for a morning pee. Well, the dog does, anyway. Not my Dad. I'm guessing Dad peed on his own prior to this routine. Just a guess. Before long, I hear Oliver making his way through the dark of my room to curl back up in a cozy ball on his warm bed, blatter empty.

A few hours later, his GMa, as my Mom has now come to be known with relation to her granddoggy (yes, we're one of those families), sits on the stairs outside my room and calls to Oliver. For the next few minutes they enjoy a mini-love fest during which Oliver rubs his shedding body of white fur all over Mom's usually black pants and groans while Mom talks to him, tells him what a handsome boy he is and how wonderful he is. He loves it.

This video is a sampling of those chats the two have with one another. The difference here is that Jealous Nell, aka Bootise, is a bit in the way. But, you get the idea.


Oliver Has a Chat With G-Ma from C.M. Scott on Vimeo.

Wobbly Doggie

I'm a bit unnerved today. Over the last few days, Oliver has been wobbly on his back legs. It was rare initially, so I didn't think much of it. But since last night, I have seen him stagger on his back legs three times. Kind-of like the back of his body is drunk.

I did some web-searching and it could be vestibular disease, which we are familiar with around here. When Tilly got very old, she got a nasty nasty case of it, poor thing. It could also be something in his spine being pinched.

Dad and I are going for a walk in a few minutes with the dogs so we'll see how Oliver does with it. I'm crossing my fingers that it's not an end-of-life kind of thing. I was telling Nirvi, while I was in Florida recently, that I can handle the poor economic situation and the stress of trying to get work and the stress of a bum shoulder even, but if something happens to Oliver, I'm up a creek as far as handling that well.

I hope I didn't jinx myself.

Babies and Bats

So, Dad's been hinting, or rather, telling me, that he's bored of rereading the entry below this one. It's true, I have been truant from my blog. I apologize. It goes back to the whole got-nothin'-to-say issue.

Today was a busy day. I drove a half hour to The Newton Jewish Community Center to post a small card promoting my photography services there. I'm crossing my fingers that I may get some Bar/Bat Mitzvah clients. I also drove to a Prenatal Yoga Class another half hour away in hopes of them taking my informational postcards and posting them there. Not for Bat/Bar Mitzvahs, but for births. I have to admit, I showed to that a bit unprepared. I have never been a very good self-promoter. Usually, when I show-up somewhere to promote my work, the person I'm talking to just says, "Cool, I'll put your postcard on the wall!" and that's that. But, this time, the instructor asked me, "Well, How do you do it?"

I was a bit stumped by the question, but decided what she was asking would be answered with, "Well, I show up, shoot with available light and stay out of the way."
What do I charge? Well how does it work (when hospitals are involved)? She went on.

I was a bit thrown. After playing email tag with a potential wedding client (woot!) and setting-up my rates for the Bat/Bar Mitzvahs, I couldn't for the life of me remember how I charge for the birth coverage. I assured her that I would go straight home and email her my (very detailed) rate sheet for that service. I went on to tell her that the easiest clients are those giving birth at home, but should someone giving birth elsewhere be interested in having me take pictures, I would have them inquire about a photographer (because most hospitals don't allow them).

She then told me she takes pictures all the time at births because she's a doula, "Why don't you be a doula?" she asked me.
To my horror, I answered without thinking, very flatly, very matter-of-factly, "Because I'm a photographer". She told me she thought I would just be killing two birds with one stone (by being both). I guess. If I was into killing birds.

Ferocious Guard Dog

When I'm alone in the house, I often bring both my dog and Bootise upstairs to hang out with me when I'm in my room on the second floor. It requires a bit of effort on my part because if I don't block the stairs, both the ascending and descending, and close the doors to the other four rooms on the floor, Boostie is liable to wander off and get into trouble undetected (she quite like a ninja). At least undetected until the smell lets us know.

Today, I set all this up so we could be in my room and the option to wander into the hall was real and existent. It wasn't long before Oliver disappeared, stepping around my filing box obstacle to go downstairs. This surprised me because usually he likes to be around me. I went downstairs and found him in the side doorway, which in our house is the main entrance. I believe he has taken on the responsibility of guarding the house. It's the first time that he's taken a post however. I could be wrong, but everyone who lives here knows how completely he throws himself into the responsibility of B-lining it to the door and taking charge when that evil toxin known as mail attempts to enter.

I just hope nobody tries to come into the house without knocking, 'cause he may looks sweet, but he can be extremely territorial.

Come to think of it, I think I'll go get him.

Baby Announcements

Had fun designing these for my friend Amanda.


Plus a fictitious one for fun (he'll be thrilled to be referred to as a girl). I'm thinking of maybe designing them for a small fee.

Car and Baby and Camera, Oh My!

I am slowly starting to feel more and more like myself. Reconnecting with things I identified with, in a way. At the end of my class this week, a student came to me with a technical problem with her camera. I held it in my hands. I am now just about able to bring my left hand, which is attached to the arm that's attached to the broken collar bone, up to my face. Which meant I was able to bring the camera up to my eye. Carefully. I didn't expect to feel how it made me feel - as though I just covered myself in a nice cushy blanket.

Something similar though not as strong happened when Dad jump-started my car this morning so I could drive to Amanda's and spend the day with her and her newborn son, Noah. I haven't driven my car for four and a half weeks now. I wasn't sure I would be able to drive it, but actually, it was more comfortable than driving my Dad's van, even though my car is a stick and Dad's Sweet Pickles Bus is automatic. It felt great to know I have that independence now. And that my car is up and running.

Spending time with Amanda was replenishing too. My shoulder's a bit sore now, since I couldn't help but hold and feed and change cute little Noah all day. And Amanda and I had fun together as always. We were scrolling through the pictures I took of Noah when we came across one where he was scowling. Amanda and I captioned the photo out loud by both saying, simultaneously, "Whatchou talkin' 'bout, Willis!"

Obviously not the "Whatchou talkin' 'bout, Willis?" shot.

Groomer

Today is my Dad's birthday and for his birthday, he decided to take Oliver to the groomer when he took Bootsie for her monthly destinking. Oliver is very much in need of it. I don't have full use of arm yet, so I can't bathe him. I've never taken his to the groomer before, so it was very exciting.

When he returned from the groomer, I was in my room, laying on my bed, watching TV. I heard him from downstairs, running full speed in all his fluffy glory. He jetted around the corner of the door frame and into the room and took a flying leap into the bed an on top of me, at which point he nailed me with a kiss right on my kisser. Cute, but kinda gross.

I made a big deal, "oh how handsome! Oh how nice you smell! What a handsome puppy! Oh, what a lucky boy! Did you thank grampy?!"
The groomer had trimmed around his big brown eyes. He looked like a very proper dog all clean and shiny. Dad and I agreed that we almost didn't like it. (We like our dogs a little salty and crusty looking). Still, here are some make-over shots I took...

All bed-heady. I took this one a few weeks ago first thing in the morning.


Post-grooming. I love the smirk.


With Bootsie, who's all "This is my best side."


Then suddenly, "I'm layin' down. Tell me when it's over. Hurumph."

March Masthead

What's This Crazy Thing With the Sticking Keys on It?

I was at Anthropologie with Mom yesterday. I wandered around and checked-out all their grossly over-priced but fun stuff and took in the generally lovely ambiance of the place before heading out the door to find a bench to wait for Mom to finish her shopping. I was hesitant at Anthropologie when I was making money, and now that I am being frugal, it's barely fun to wander there. Shopping is kinda like going to a museum for me now. And I'm not much of a museum person.

As I was leaving though, there were a few fourteen-year-oldish girls gathered around a display which included a typewriter. This wasn't the kind of antique typewriter that someone my age would look at and appreciate for it's beauty. It was just kind of old. Like, the '80s maybe. The girls looked at it as though they were witnessing history. An artifact. One of them drummed a key with her index finger and let her hand retract back to her with a titter. "I think my parents have one of these!" One of them claimed.

I have no words.