I am reading my new camera instructions. It’s amazing how quickly my eyes glaze over, and how little info. I’m retaining. It makes me wonder how I got through college.
This camera has options, plural. Do-dads galore. I rather prefer fewer choices. Too many, too much and I just walk away. For example, the supermarket toothpaste aisle. I rarely remember what I bought before. Was it extra super-duper white w/fizzy bubble technology? Or All-day fighting action whitening w/baking soda time release. . . . and I know I’m not alone. Just look down that aisle, or pick another: toilet paper–soft, bulky, smooth, powerhouse, fragrant, floral, colorful; or deodorant: womanly, manly, unisex, extra dry, extra fruity, spicy, flowery, w/baby powder, w/anti-persperant. . .
the store is a zombie zone. Poor working sods, 8 o’clock at night, staring blankly at detergent brands, salad dressing. Family size? Store brand? Coupon sale? It’s amazing we make it out alive.
But back to the camera. I’m learning. Right now I treat it like a precious time bomb–my technological gizmo freeze-up: I’m afraid if I press the wrong button it will blow, fizzle, die. The Help Dept. will say, “You pressed THAT button? Oh, god. . . you should never do that–or switch this, or press those two buttons in unison.”
I will get past it, I think. When all else fails, when the battery fizzles, the screen flashes, the whatever counts down to zero, I simply unplug it, go to coffee, take a walk, eat chocolate, ignore it. And sometimes it works.
Yarn and such: I added cherry wood buttons made by my friend and neighbor, H. H. has made me two beautiful wood bowls, a small jewelry box and now some buttons. He loves working with wood and I love what he makes. Thank you, H.
Two man scarves get these buttons; the others get vintage ones. The scarves look clean, urban, simple. No fringe or flapping ends. And I’ve found several good men to model them. I’m very excited.
Oh, and Lost is back on tomorrow night. Life is pretty good.