Well, that was something.
Yesterday. More comments than usual. More comments expressing opinion beyond the comments of image praise. It made me smile. It should make you smile. I never intended for Storyteller to be political. But, these are strange days, indeed. John Lennon said that. Forty years ago. I suspect as 2017 rolls on, Storyteller will become political on some days.
Not political exactly. Instead, I’d like to think that I might write something that speaks for, and to, other human beings. I might write about a United States presidential administration that is heading toward something that is totalitarian, at best. Or the plight of refugees stuck in limbo. Like everybody else, I must speak out. I can do nothing less. You can do nothing less. We as a global population, matter. All of us. Uno Mundo.
One guideline. Guideline. Not rule. Please express yourself. Michael and I had a little misunderstanding. Mostly because we’ve been posting kind of snarkily on each others’ blogs for a while now. For most things, that’s fine. Fun. Makes each of us laugh. But, this one topic is serious. For all of us. Everywhere on the planet. After all, one nuclear bomb thrown in the wrong direction can really mess up your day. You don’t have to agree with me. You don’t have to disagree. Speak your mind. I’m not going to take your post down. I’m not going to block you. It’s a free space.
One more thing. About me. I’m a fairly private person. Writing about my grandfather was not easy for me. I’m very glad that you appreciated the post. More than I can say. But, there is another thing to know. That’s about as far as I can go with him. Because, our family never talked about the past. Sometimes our family never talked at all.
You know my father’s sister — my Aunt Olga? I never knew that she existed until I started using Ancestory.com a few years ago and I tried to trace my family. I have no idea what happened to cause bad blood in my family. But, when I was very young, we moved from Brooklyn to Los Angeles, and eventually to Long Beach, where I grew up. We lived at the farthest eastern tip of Long Beach, near the Orange County border. My Aunt Olga lived in Cerritos, just on the other side of the county border. Yet, we never met her. I’m not sure if one sibling’s move generated the other’s move. Or, if it was happenstance. She passed only a few years ago. I wish I had known. One of these days, when we are in Southern California and have a little time, I’ll find her grave and pay my respects. To an aunt whom I’ve never met.
The picture. After all, this is supposed to be a photography blog. Talk about discoveries. I decided to use Apple’s newish photo cataloging and storage service. At least, for everything on my phone and whatever happened to find its way onto my computer’s hard drive. I don’t store much there because I believe you only want working files on the computer. The rest go to externals or clouds. But, it did some very deep digging. It even went to a place where files are trashed but not sliced and diced.
You know how there is always lost music that ends up being released 40 years after it was recorded? I understand that. Musicians are notoriously bad file and record keepers. But, I think I’m pretty disciplined about key wording and filing.
Apple dug out files that were so lost that I’d forgotten about them. Some of the files come under the heading of, “Wow, that’s a pretty good picture. I wonder who took it?”
This picture is one of them. My New Mexico days. The Sandia Mountain Range, east of Albuquerque. I could see it out of my front door. My back window. I always experiment in framing. This is an example. I suppose that it’s also kind of symbolic. I’ll leave that to you.