A Hoola Hoop Girl, a Ghost Pirate, and a Bird Named Oscar

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The Tall Ships were in Philly last week for a weekend-long festival. The festival itself was a huge mess with long lines to get on the boats, boats closing early because the crowds were too great, and really poor crowd control.

I went there with dreams of gorgeous shots of gorgeous ships but I don’t have the wide angle lens required for that and the crowd was way too messy to really have a space to stand back and get a decent shot so I focused on photographing people instead. This first photo is probably one of the best I’ve even taken of a person.

Hoola Hoop Girl

Hoola Hoop Girl at Tall Ships Festival at Penn’s Landiing

The following photos are also a few of my favorites from the day. Props to the living statue ghost pirate for posing for me.

 

 

living statue ghost pirate

living statue ghost pirate

 

 

Oscar's person really didn't want his picture taken

Oscar’s person really didn’t want his picture taken

 

 

Of Raccoons and a Big Storm

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Robert Burns once wrote, “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”

Murphy’s Law dictates, anything that can go wrong, will.

raccoon in a trap

You’re adorable, but you can’t live in my attic

Apparently Burns and Murphy are wise and prophetic men, I took the month of June off from Facebook and Twitter because I believe Social Media stifles creativity and long-form writing. I took the month of June off from social media because I wanted to work on restoring my concentration, and to work on updating and reviving Soapboxville.

I was doing just that through the Blogging 101 course on WordPress, when Cupcake Kitty woke us at 4am Monday morning to alert us to sounds in the ceiling. What was making the unsettling sounds coming from the attic? Ghost? Vampire? Zombies? Raccoons? Ding! Ding! Ding! Give the gal in the flowered hat a prize. You guessed it, raccoons. There are raccoons living in our attic. At this point I’d take the ghosts over the raccoons, exorcists are probably cheaper than exterminators.

It took until Tuesday afternoon to even get anyone out here, and because as an infant I was cursed by the bad weather gods (I always bring the bad weather, plan a vacation with me, you’ll see.) four hours after the trap was placed on our roof, what was first thought to be a tornado but has now been identified as straight-line winds of 70mph tore through the area bringing down our back and side fences, a tree in our backyard, and some branches in the side yard. Blessedly the trap stayed on the roof and Wednesday morning we awoke to one trapped raccoon on the roof; we rejoiced, we danced, we waved our hands in the air like we just don’t care. We thought, “This nightmare is quickly on its way to being over.” Oh, if only we knew.

back fence down
What’s Left of our Back Fence

 

I awoke at 5:30am Thursday morning to find a second raccoon in the trap on the roof. Because I didn’t want to wake the neighbors I quietly rejoiced, went back inside, back to bed and slept the sleep of someone with delusions of anything ever being easy and on the right track. I slept two peaceful hours (the sleep of a fool) until it was food o’clock and time to feed Snowball and Cupcake Kitty. I was on my way outside to take a photo of the second trapped raccoon when the hubs came in to tell me the trap was empty and broken. That’s right, the second raccoon escaped. Have you ever seen National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation? Here is where I had a full-on Clark W. Griswold tantrum/meltdown.

So on day four of the raccoons in the attic fiasco and day two of the great trapping fiasco (Sensing a pattern here?) one raccoon was trapped and taken away and two were still on the loose in our attic. The Orkin guy arrived and said he’d talk to his supervisor about what to do about the defective trap putting the whole process a day behind. The process being, us paying an upfront fee for them to come out, put traps on the roof, check the traps each day and take away and release the captured raccoons for five days; after those five days they charge $95 a day to come out to fill and check the traps and hopefully remove the trapped raccoons in them.  (We really need this to be completed in the 5 days, REALLY.)

Friday morning dawned with now two empty traps. Our daily visit with our friendly Orkin man brought about the information that they don’t work on weekends so the two traps on our roof will remain baited with food and open until Monday morning when our friendly Orkin man will come back and once again set them to spring closed if a raccoon goes in them. Monday is day five; a supervisor will be out to speak to us on Monday or Tuesday about an additional day based on the defective trap. I’m skeptical that at least one of them will never get back in a trap after being caught in the defective one for a few hours.

So here we are, Saturday afternoon, six days into the raccoons in the attic fiasco with at two or more raccoons living in our attic until at least Monday night. And; that peaceful month to focus, write, create, and update Soapboxville? Gone. With any luck I’ll pull myself together next week or the week after and get back down to the business at hand.

The Sounds of My City & Suburban Silence

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The Schuylkill Expressway

Long Exposure of the Schuylkill Expressway at night

Day 9 of Blogging 101 asked us to expound upon a comment we left on a blog on day 8; during which I’d commented on a post by Karen from Up the Country Lane; she wrote about the sounds of her country silence. In response, I wrote that I wasn’t sure what I would do with that depth of quiet and that although I have days when I long for a deep abiding silence and stillness I’m not sure I would ever be able to get used to that level of silence after a lifetime of the cacophony of sirens, incoming planes, and the traffic of city and suburban life. She wrote, even in the deep silence of the country there is noise, fluorescent lights, the hum of the fridge, and noisy Blue Jays manage to break the quiet calm of the bucolic hamlet. (I actually kind of love my backyard Blue Jays, but they are definitely the noisiest of the backyard bunch.)

Blue Jay with an Attitude

Hey where are those peanuts you promised?

I was ruminating on these thoughts when I remembered how silent the city is when heavy snow is falling. I lived my first 24 years of life in a house on the flight path to Philadelphia International Airport; the 3am plane flying so low the shelves in my bedroom shook. But whenever really big snowstorms closed the airport entirely and cleared the streets of traffic there was a fantastic silence; allowing the distant far off sounds of traffic lights changing color, train whistles from the 25th Street bridge, and the whirring of plane engines warming up to filter in to our consciousness. Now, I’m not a big fan of run of the mill snowstorms (talk to me when I’ve had to shovel 4-5 inches of snow off of the driveway), but there’s something poetic about big snowstorms bringing a whole city to a complete stop. It’s a peace and quiet calm that only those who’ve lived in places like Philadelphia understand.

Brrrrrr

Iced tea on the patio anyone?

But yet, as I sit here reminiscing about the quiet calm of Philadelphia during big snowstorms I can’t discount or overlook the truth that in the days following 9/11 I longed for the comfort of the familiar din of the constantly overhead planes and helicopters that provide the soundtrack of my daily life, it was eerie and uncomfortable without them. When I pray for peace, and silence, and stillness I forget to give the comfort of familiar sounds their due weight. It’s 6am and the helicopter is landing at the hospital across the street, the air conditioning just clicked on, the refrigerator is running, in the distance a dog is barking, and in an hour my cat will be meowing for her breakfast; I can hear the traffic from the main road getting started for the day. On most days I don’t even notice these sounds, they are my white noise and surprisingly my comfort; they are the sounds of my daily life and more beautiful and comforting than I understood before reading and ruminating on Karen’s own ruminations about her country silence.

Stepping Out of my Photographic Comfort Zone

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Okay class, today we’re going to play show and tell. Since starting this Blogging 101 exercise I’ve told you I love taking photos, hell it’s even in my About Soapboxville page, but I haven’t shown you any of my photos.

Make no mistake about it; these are not, by any means, the best of my bunch. Practice makes perfect and I almost never get to take portrait photos, my normal photographic focus is landscapes, and oceans, and the occasional city skyline when I get the chance.

The following photos represent me being brave and stepping out of my comfort zone, they represent what is now becoming a passion. Shooting portraits is hard; people expect things of you, landscapes do not. People expect things like well-composed, bright, and clear photos they can use for things like engagement announcements, their yearly photos with the Easter Bunny, and beautiful photos of their beautiful newborn baby girl. You don’t have to worry about disappointing oceans, there is nothing I’d rather not do than disappoint anyone.

Foot

This first photo is from my very first portrait shoot, which was an assignment for the digital photography 101 class I was taking two years ago. One of our last assignments was to shoot portrait photos, so using Annie Leibovitz’s Disney Dream portraits as my inspiration I enlisted my best friend, headed out to a local park and spend a wonderful afternoon shooting photos of my beautiful best friend in a beautiful gown.

Engaged Love Hands

This second photo is from an engagement photo shoot I did for my then soon-to-be sister-in-law and brother-in-law at Love Park in Philadelphia. Not wanting to disappoint them with mediocre photos I bought a new camera and learned to do spot color in Gimp to add color back in to this photo.

Lunch with the Easter Bunny

This next photo (above) is probably one of my most proudest achievements. With two weeks to go I was asked to be the photographer at a fundraiser Lunch with the Easter Bunny benefit for a local girl suffering from Leukemia. The professional photographer wasn’t available to shoot the photos so I was asked to pitch in and take the photos. People were paying for these photos, this was a first for me so I freaked out, bought my first speedlight, and read, read, read, and read some more, then practiced, practiced, and practiced some more. I was so worried about disappointing the families paying to have their children’s picture taken with the Easter Bunny or hurting the fundraising effort by providing substandard photos. As it turns out, buying that speedlight was a great idea because as it turned out the photos with the Easter Bunny station was set up way in the back corner of the room with no lights at all.

Love Makes a Family

And this last photo is of my very beautiful newborn baby cousin’s feet being cradled in her mommy’s and daddy’s hands. I could have done a better job with this one; I accidentally cut off some of her daddy’s hands.

So, there you have it class, my new but not often indulged passion, portrait photography.

Blogging 101 Task #4 — Identify My Audience

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Are you my audience?

*looks up with big, pitiful, pleading eyes*

Did that just evoke a small pitiful orphan in rags asking, “Are you my daddy?” Yeah? You too? You’re probably my audience because we share similar sensibilities and senses of humor.

Now then, getting down to business. This exercise asks us to identify our audience; to really reach for the stars and identify just who we really, REALLYwant to read our blogs.

Well…


If I’m pipe dreaming and REALLY reaching for the stars, I’d very much like the editor of the New York Times op-ed page and whomever it is at Random House that gives book deals to new writers to read my ramblings and recognize my incredible (I’m a legend in my own mind, don’t’ you know?) talent and give me my own column and a book deal. Seriously, call me I’m ready, willing, and able.

But… All that said


I want you to be my reader. There was a question I forgot to answer in my introduction post, why I publish a public blog rather than keeping a private journal. I write a public blog because I want to be part of the public discourse. I want you to read along and say, “Me too!” Or, “OMG! What the hell is she thinking? Is she sniffing glue? She couldn’t be more wrong.” In my mind I’m a sit down with a cup of coffee and read along blogger.

Is your 81-year-old father sick and slowly dying of heart and kidney failure? Are you sad and scared? Did you just watch CNN’s amazing look at the television programs of the 1970s? Are you all choked up because these wonderfully written and colorful characters were real parts of your childhood? Did you have a brief obsession with reality TV until you realized reality TV is just people yelling at one another? Do you think the Democrats have no real contenders for the 2016 presidential race? Do you wonder with a sick fascination how many more Republicans will pile in to the 2016 primary race clown car? Did you wipe the kitchen counter down tonight with a Christmas dishtowel and realize that you haven’t bought new dishtowels since they were given to you in your wedding shower wishing well 19 years ago?

Yeah, I want you. You, the one with the leaky eyes, sentimental heart, and weird sense of humor; listening to an iTunes playlist that includes Bill Haley and the Comets, Kid Rock, The Sundays, Janis Joplin, the Blue Man Group, and The Killers? Yeah, you, you’re my people (bonus points if that brings to mind the little brother in Varsity Blues). You’re the people I want to read along with, laugh along with, question the sanity of society along with, and yes, even sometimes cry along with me. You, you’re my audience.

Now, if anyone knows the guy at Random house I won’t be angry with you if you tell him to give me a call. I’m just sayin’.