For the love of photography

For about a year now, I’ve been looking into upgrading my camera. Photography has become my most favorite hobby in the past couple of years (thanks in no small part to a young BOY!) and my point-and-shoot was just not cutting it anymore. When a camera does not do what you want it to do, it is time to cut the strings and move on.

You may have noticed this past spring that for a little while, my photos got quite good. This is because this past spring my good friend, who heard that I was looking into DSLR cameras, loaned me her Nikon D70s for a couple of months. Consequently, this past spring I fell in love with Nikon. I realized after using it that I cannot go back to my old camera for very much longer, and I fervently began doing research on the Digital SLR market.

I now knew that I wanted a Nikon; I just didn’t know which one. (I wanted a D70s until I found out that model is no longer available. OR, it’s available at places like Amazon for oh, almost twice as much as the upgraded, much better version, just because you can’t get it anywhere else any more. No thanks; I don’t want it that badly.) In the meantime, I tried to get myself a new camera for free by entering Nikon’s Moving Pictures Photo Contest with 17 (!) of my photos, hoping to be chosen as one of 60 winners, who receives a Nikon D60 camera. (This was not my camera of first choice, but a fine DSLR, indeed, if it was going to be FREE.) Well, no such luck. YES, YOU CAN BELIEVE YOUR EYES, I DIDN’T WIN IT. So I went back to the drawing board and continued to agonize over which Nikon model would provide the best quality-value ratio. I dropped by several camera stores to hold my chosen contenders in my hands; for I knew that I wanted something similar in size and ergonomics to the D70s.

A few weeks ago, I made my final decision. I chose the semi-professional Nikon D80, which is actually on its way out, so price-wise right now, it’s a good value. It has many of the same features as the prestigious D200 for a substantially lower sticker price. It is touted as perfect for the advanced amateur or enthusiast photographer, both of which categories might be used to describe me.

I still feel like I’ve spent a king’s ransom on this machine. But I also think it was worth it. I got the service plan for 4 years, because having that, they will repair/replace the camera for almost any reason. If in the next 4 years, MY SON SPILLS JUICE ON IT, which the sales clerk helpfully pointed out, or if I’m so clumsy as to DROP IT – the camera will be replaced. The only circumstance that is exempt from this plan is immersion in water. Folks, I will make sure to FIGHT THE URGE TO IMMERSE MY NEW CAMERA IN WATER. But should I forget this crucial little detail, when we are together and I head for water, in order to immerse my new camera in it, please stop me.

If you still can’t tell how awfully excited I am for my new camera, let me just sing it to you:

This Nikon is MINE, MINE, MINE. Yeah, yeah, yeah. La, La, La ...

19 months: The Where is It Gesture, The Pink Flower, Telephone Pretend Play, and Beware Bugs - Here Comes a BOY!

You are 19 months old today and can I just start out by saying: OH MY GOSH, THE CUTENESS! You keep getting cuter all the time! Tell me, how’s that even possible? You are supposed to be adorably cute when you are very young, that’s expected; but as you grow older, you are supposed to gradually lose that cuteness. This seems to be working backwards for you, for you keep getting more and more adorable as you grow. (Even with the screaming.)

This here is currently Cuteness # 1: The Where is It Gesture. Which is also accompanied by an adorable Where is It Sound. (That I cannot insert here.)

You love flowers. Or I should say, the pink flower (whose name I don’t know; although I knew it four years ago, when I planted it) that grows in our front flowerbed. A couple of months ago, at the height of spring, I introduced you to this flower (whose name I still don’t know and don’t feel like looking up right now, so let’s just call it The Pink Flower). So I introduced you to this flower and showed you that “Look, you can smell it!” At which point, you were instantly hooked. Your love for this flower grew and grew, and now every time we leave the house or arrive home, you scrunch up your little nose and make exaggerated sniffing sounds while pointing to The Pink Flower. EVERY TIME. You must go over there and pick one. This has become an integral part of leaving the house and arriving home.

When you pick The Pink Flower, you don’t just smell it and let it go. No, you hold onto it for hours at a time. If we’re going to the store, you hold onto your precious pink flower throughout our entire shopping trip, pressing it to your nose to smell its scent every now and then, and asking for assistance if you’ve accidentally dropped it into the shopping cart. At home, you keep it with you in the house for hours, placing it here and there while you go do something and then going back to it again. These days, I find dried up pink flowers in every nook and cranny, where you’ve placed them for safekeeping. Unfortunately, these flowers don’t bloom through the summer (though I think constantly picking them off has extended their blooming season a bit, cause they’ve never bloomed this long before). I noticed the other day that there are only a few more left. You’re in for some sad disappointment when you’ll soon find that there are no more Pink Flowers. (I’m sure that you’ll give us your Where is It Gesture. Whereupon your father and I will shrug our shoulders and look forlornly at each other.)

Another fascinating toy lately is the telephone. You love that thing. Anytime someone calls our house, you expect to be able to talk to them. Those occasions when we’ve hung up the phone (or tried to) without handing it to you first, you loudly let us know your displeasure. When we hand you the cordless phone, you grab it, hold it to your ear and start walking off. You pace! You pace exactly like you’ve seen your daddy and I do on countless occasions while talking on the phone. It’s hilarious to see my one-year-old pacing and "talking" on the phone, much like a teenager.

You love to play pretend with the telephone. It doesn’t even need to be a real phone; it can be a play phone, a remote control, a Lego or a block. You hold these to your ear as you walk around and talk as if there is someone on the other end. You chatter away and every so often you stop and make an eruptive sound resembling a cough/cry. You fake laugh! It took me a while to realize that you are pretending to talk on the Lego phone, complete with a pretend laughter. The first few times I heard the fake laughter coming from the other room, I was wondering what was the matter? Your execution of this pretend laughter must have improved over time, because now it’s clear to me who you are imitating. It is unbelievable how precisely you are able to imitate your Daddy’s laughter.

You are spending more and more time in make believe. In your world, cherries are cars, a zucchini is an airplane and bugs get unceremoniously flushed down the toilet amidst matter-of-fact waves of bye-bye! Wait! That last one isn’t pretend at all! That’s just something we do when we catch a BUG!

In order to catch a BUG, one needs a very sharp-eyed one-year-old, who will make sure to find every single bug that has ever dared to cross the threshold of the family abode. The BUG may be naively scurrying from one place to another, trying to be inconspicuous as he goes about his day, not knowing that his hours are numbered, because there is a one-year-old by the name of Caleb in the house.

Son, I am very proud of you.

As you have gathered by now, BUGS are not your Mama’s favorite creatures. Whereas last month you’d pick the bug up and squash it into a pulp between your fingers (forcing me to clean BUG GUT off of you – NOT COOL), this month you understand that “Yes, the BUG is there, but I need not pick it up and squash it with my bare hands. We’re not barbarians here. Simply pointing the BUG out will do.”

Thus, you have again applied your talents and have made yourself useful by pointing out every sort of creepy-crawly creature you come across. Which is where I (must) take over by grabbing some toilet paper, gathering up the BUG, and hauling his a** to the toilet. It is a smoothly oiled operation, not hindered by emotion. Afterwards comes the unceremonious flushing, as we send the BUG off to another world with many waves and exclamations of “BYE-BYE, BUG!” (Yes, you now speak in phrases. Unceremoniously.) This is the fate of all BUGS in our house, except for that huge cricket that I couldn’t catch, but was finally able to successfully trap under the plunger and even today, he still awaits his fate there. (What do you think, should we wait one more week before we check on him?)


This is just a heads up, but I may need you to take over this bug-catching chore at some point in the future, if you don’t mind. The only reason I’m doing it now is because I’d rather catch a bug with toilet paper than clean bug gut off your fingers. But if you could learn to catch them yourself with toilet paper... We’ll talk later.

It seems like you’ve suddenly turned into a BOY overnight. If we thought you were a BOY before, we were wrong. It is clear to us after this month that now, NOW YOU’RE A BOY! A rambunctious, adventure-loving, risk-taking, LOUD, BOISTEROUS BOY! A BOY, who likes to run full speed at Daddy and body-slam into him. A BOY whose body-slams are so strong, they actually hurt. A BOY who is constantly seeking opportunities to jump off of high places, who relishes every chance to run at breakneck speed, to throw a ball, and to screech at the top of his lungs. You are not afraid to plop yourself back down into the pool, landing hard on your butt with water splashing all around. Or to have water poured over your head, (you’ll even pour it yourself!) as you laugh loudly at the water running down your face and into your eyes.

Before you were conceived, whenever I thought of having children, I always imagined a daughter. I guess, I thought that there would be a familiarity we’d share just by being of the same gender, and that maybe I could more easily relate to a daughter than to a son. But I must tell you how exceedingly happy I am to have a son, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. In all your boyishness, you have fulfilled my motherly dreams and longings. From the time of your birth, a bond was built between us, and even in this last month, it has only grown stronger. I honestly cannot imagine that it is possible to have any more of a connection, any more of a bond between mother and child than what you and I share.

Love,
Mama


(P.S. The Pink Flower belongs to the genus Dianthus, its full Latin name is Dianthus deltoides and its common name is maiden pink. It is helpful to have little volumes like this one around for those rare occasions when the Internet search engine fails to deliver.)

A Lake called Paradise

We had it ALL TO OURSELVES yesterday, for about 2 hours in the afternoon. It was so tranquil that the lake was teeming with fish. Fish that were biting. Guess who they were biting?

Musings on the 4th of July

Today, we celebrated the holiday quickly, for Daddy had to go into work for the evening. We fired up the grill, made some garlic burgers with all the trimmings, ate some decadent dessert, played in the baby pool, and in the late afternoon as the temperature cooled, Caleb and I took a walk around our neighborhood.

I’m so glad for my decision to walk today, for this is what we saw:

A backyard party with dozens of people under a tent set up on a lush green lawn. Smoke snaking up into the sky from the barbecue grill, a line of parked cars snaking down the cul-de-sac. People talking, children laughing, chasing each other, running out into the street. An old couple, sitting quietly on their front porch together. A family with two dogs eating dinner, amidst lively conversation. Male members of families messing with grills on decks. Festive-looking neighbors leaving the house. A cheerful young boy tossing water balloons, careful not to hit us. A toddler wandering out into a driveway, his mother following close behind. People in good spirits, smiling, nodding, waving to us everywhere. This is America. White people, black people, Asians, Latinos, ...Hungarians – they are all represented here in my neighborhood. We all mingle here, and today we’re outdoors celebrating our freedoms and 232 years of independence, over hot barbecue grills. Only in America.

As night fell, the sound of fireworks forced me to the window. Our backyard partying neighbors had a fireworks show and so did our City Stadium. I could see them both from my front window.

It was good to be an American today. (Even though I am, technically, not quite there yet.)

GOD BLESS AMERICA
By Irving Berlin

God Bless America
Land that I love.
Stand beside her, and guide her
Through the night with a light from above.

From the mountains,
To the prairies,
To the oceans white with foam.
God Bless America,
My home, sweet home.

God Bless America
My home, sweet home.