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It's always difficult to comprehend such devastation as Katrina
has left along 200 miles of the Gulf Coast. When reports of
widespread looting in New Orleans began appearing in the media,
I was struck with how fragile a civilization really is.
It's hard to fault the people breaking into stores to get food
and water. I would do that if I was in their situation,
hungry and thirsty, with no way to get out - desperate. I
suspect most people would do the same. The ones looting jewelry,
guns and electronics are operating on a different level though.
I had to wonder if later on, they would wish they had taken food
instead. I'm sure there is some Aesop's fable to cover that one,
where someone realizes too late what is really valuable.
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I gave another talk to my Unitarian Fellowship this morning,
this one called: "The Truth, the
Whole Truth, and Nothing but the Truth". The group is
growing steadily now that they have been in a permanent building
for six months. I remember how we had fretted about taking on
the burden of ownership with an average attendance of 25 or 30,
but it turned out to be the right thing to do. It would be safe
to say that we provide a "different" spiritual experience for
the natives.
This evening, I'm watching the weather maps as yet another
Hurricane churns through the Gulf of Mexico, this one, Katrina,
headed for New Orleans, after it swept across south Florida. As
if she was not satisfied with one hard punch, she's apparently
going for the knockout now. Anyone who has been to New Orleans
knows how bad this could be. You actually have to climb up a
hill from street level to see the mighty Mississippi River
rolling by. It is only the levees and pumps that keep the city
from being a giant lake, just like the Netherlands. It appears
we are safe this time across the border in Texas, but the season
isn't nearly over yet. It usually hits its stride around Labor
Day. I have my fingers crossed, and I'm hoping that it weakens
or moves further east or west than predicted.
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With gas prices so high and lots of things to catch up on at the
house, M stayed home this weekend and I stayed put in the city.
Two weekends ago, we saw an IMAX movie at the museum, went to a
mixer for patrons there, watched a stage performance of
Shakespeare's "As You Like It" at the outdoor theater in the
park downtown, and saw March of the Penguins at the Cineplex in
the mall. Usually there is always something fun to do here, but
there wasn't much happening this weekend, unless you have
football tickets.
The dog days of August are definitely upon us, with high
humidity and temperatures, so on weekends in the city, I like to
do a long bike ride, then lounge for an hour out by the pool,
all before lunch. There are usually children splashing around in
the water, delighted and delightful in their play, making me
smile as I remember our children at similar ages. In the
afternoon, it's best to stay inside and avoid
the heat.
After quite a few morning rides, I've begun to categorize the
other people I meet on the trail. I have puzzled over why some
days most people exchange a greeting, and other days almost
nobody does. The earlier I start my ride, the more people on the
trails seem to be friendly, cheerful, and fit. This is when the
joggers and more serious riders are usually out. Later on, there
tend to be more dog walkers, and they tend to be older and
slower. Many of these folks are not in very good physical
condition. A majority of people in this group don't smile,
if they even look you in the eye at all. It is as if contact
with other humans offends them. Needless to say, these people
usually don't speak either. I wonder if they feel disconnected,
or a bit resentful of the more active, better conditioned people
they see passing by them? Is their mood a reflection of their
lost youth? I just hope I never get that way,
since it seems like a sad way to spend your "golden" years.
To be fair, the occasional older person on the trail who does
speak tends to be among the friendliest of all the trail users.
Perhaps they have found a secret the others have missed.
I've been spending a lot of time scanning my old slides and
negatives, and it has brought back a lot of old memories. When I
see how many adventures there have been over those years, with
no slowing down, it also gives me confidence that I'll never
turn into one of those aloof, sedentary, non-greeters on the
trail, either. As long as the body holds out, I'll be out there
looking for new fun and adventures.
Since I've reached five decades of consciousness on the planet
as of this past July, I know that body parts will begin to
occasionally wear out, in spite of my efforts to keep them from
doing so. In fact, I had a "floater" appear in my right eye last
weekend, sort of like a coiled dark thread just to the right of
my central focal point. I have been told by my ophthalmologists
all my life to seek immediate attention when this happens, but I
hadn't set up a regular doctor here in the city. I had, however,
been to see a renowned retinal specialist here once before,
about 15 years ago, when I had another problem (central serous
retinopathy) develop in that eye. Even though that doctor was no
longer in the group, and they had merged their practice with the
Baylor College of Medicine, they agreed to see me immediately on
Monday morning.
Having immediate access to top notch medical care is one of the
benefits of living in a large city. It isn't cheap though, and I
was very surprised that this specialist group was included in my
insurance provider's network. You know you're in the big leagues
when it costs $9.00 just to park for a couple of hours.
The good doctor was very efficient, and he used me as a teaching
demonstration for the young intern who also looked into my eyes.
They discussed different medical terms to use for my unusual
retinal condition, and in the end he decided to do nothing, pending
another visit in two weeks. It appears that my aging vitreous
has shrunk, as it does in everyone, but since my retinae are
thin and latticed, and my myopic eyeballs are elongated, it pulled a chunk out. This is the dark
thing I see. When I go back, we will decide if they need to use
a laser to weld anything in there to keep more from tearing or
coming loose.
It's funny, but when I have a medical event like this thing with
my eyes, rather than feel sad, I think of all the people who
can't see at all, or have much worse things to deal with, and I
feel so fortunate to have had so many years with everything
working well enough. Maybe that's the secret to remaining
cheerful and positive as we inevitably age, and not becoming an
old grump.
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My favorite aunt was diagnosed with lung cancer a couple of
weeks ago. Two of her siblings have already succumbed to
this malady, with a third likely destined for that fate until a
failed liver took her first. The next generation has even begun
to succumb, as an older cousin, son of my aunt, passed away with
diseased lungs a couple of years ago. Every one of these family
members was a heavy cigarette smoker. It seems reasonable to
theorize that this branch of the family tree has some genetic
code which heightens our risk of disease from exposure to toxic
substances like tobacco smoke compared to the average. Some
families seem to be predisposed to other sorts of fatal
ailments, like heart disease or breast cancer, but lung cancer
is our special curse.
For people descended from bloodlines like these, the end result
of engaging in a known causal activity like smoking is an almost
guaranteed shortened life ending in some very unpleasant final
days. Even the naive feelings of near immortality so common to
young people should be tempered by such observations.
When one of my uncles became the first lung cancer casualty of
that family generation, I was still young enough to be mostly
unconcerned about my own mortality. But I clearly recall going
to visit him now and then as he lay on the couch, now his
deathbed, in the living room of their small frame house. His
pain showed in his labored breathing and occasional grimaces in
spite of the morphine.
My uncle had worked road construction most of his life, and when
the rain started coming regularly in November as winter
approached, there were lots of unpaid days off, if there was any
work at all. For years, when I would run across the intervening
woods to my cousin's house in winter, the air would be
thick and blue as my uncle sat there on that same old couch,
watching some random television program. Somewhere along the
way, he had lost the fingers on one hand in an unplanned
encounter with some heavy machinery. Now, he would grip a
cigarette between the thumb and remnant of a hand, smoking one
after another. Ironically, now that he was dying, the air
in the house was finally clear.
I blame those unsanitized glimpses of impending death at an
impressionable age for the great difficulty I've had ever since
in mustering the courage to visit people who are approaching
their own death. In
fact, I've simply been unable to visit some of the more recent
relatives with lung cancer when their days on earth were nearly
over. I'm going to try harder this time though, with a goal of
visiting every two weeks when I travel home from the city.
M and I visited my aunt yesterday afternoon, and though her
cough sounds pretty bad as she is just recovering from
pneumonia, she still enjoys talking about the old times, some
good, some less so, but all memorable. After so many years of
family get-togethers like fish fries, Christmas Eve gift
exchanges, Easter egg hunts, and countless less organized visits
to her house throughout my life, yesterday she told me things
about my ancestors I had never known before. She said she
had written many letters to her California grandmother to
inquire about family history when she was a young girl, and she always
got answers back.
I knew that this cancer-prone branch of the family, bearing our
surname, came from
California, but I had never been able to find out how they came
to be there. It turns out my great great grandmother made the
trip from New Jersey to California in one of the many wagon
trains headed west as a young girl. She met my great great
grandfather out there in the San Francisco Bay area. He
was apparently a well regarded mining engineer, associated with
the gold rush of 1849. When the Comstock Lode was discovered in
Nevada, he headed across the border to seek his fortune there,
apparently making and losing a fair amount of money, like so
many others. He ultimately died there one winter of pneumonia.
It probably didn't help that he had been breathing too much mine
dust and had those genetically sensitive lungs.
I just love the idea that my ancestors were adventurous types
who weren't afraid to journey into the wilderness. Maybe my love
of hiking into the wilderness is something we
share in our genes as well.
My grandfather came to Texas to serve in the Army Air Corps at
Ellington Field in Houston during WW I, and he and my
grandmother settled in northeast Texas, where she had grown up.
My father lived for a time with my great grandmother in Santa Rosa during WW II, working in a shipyard until he
also joined the service. When my great grandmother passed
away, it seemed the California connection was lost. But two of my children are currently
living in the Bay Area, having traveled west by
more modern means in recent years to seek their own fame and
fortune, just like their great, great, great grandmother and
grandfather did so many years ago. Maybe they were simply going
home.
Life is indeed a circle. |
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People who have known me for a long time are aware that for many
years, I had more than a casual interest in photography. In
fact, I did semi-professional work both in high school and in
college, if selling photos and doing custom shoots fits the
definition. Back then, I didn't have the funds to buy top
quality equipment though, and it eventually caught up with me.
I took on a job to shoot the pictures for a recommitment
ceremony for a nice woman I worked with at Fox Photo. She and
her husband had been poor and had a very small wedding with few
if any photos many years ago. I agreed to shoot this much larger
ceremony in her husband's nightclub more as a favor than for the
fee I charged, though money was always good to get for college
expenses. By now, they knew a lot of people, and she
orchestrated it so that each couple in their fine formal clothes
would promenade by my setup, pausing just long enough for me to
take a couple of shots. Since the club lighting was dim, I had
to use flash. Everything went just fine until we had the
film processed and saw that most of each image was black. The
flash synchronization on my camera had got out of whack, and I
was completely unaware. Of course she was devastated, and
I was horrified that I had botched the assignment. After
that fiasco, I stopped
taking on any contract work for other people,
concentrating instead on art for art's sake.
For many years, my film of choice was that wonderful old Kodachrome 64.
It was slower than Christmas on layaway, but what glorious color
and fine grain it had! There was the occasional roll of TRI-X black and white so I
could fiddle around printing photos in the darkroom, but mostly
I filled lots of trays and boxes with color slides. When I
wanted to make an enlargement to hang on the wall, I would send
the slide off somewhere for a type-R (positive to positive)
print. The walls in the house are covered with these things. But
for the ones that weren't enlarged, to
enjoy reliving old memories through the slides I would have to
drag out the projector and screen and pull all the blinds down.
When I did, those projected images were always so rich and lifelike, it
was worth the effort.
I knew digital photography would be big someday as soon as I
heard of the first crude digital cameras many years ago.
It took longer than I thought it would for them to get good enough to
replace film, but it has finally arrived. Now, you know immediately
if a picture you've just taken is any good or not since it
is immediately displayed on a little LED screen. Wouldn't that
have been nice for that recommitment ceremony? I'm just waiting
for the prices to drop a little more to buy a digital SLR camera
with interchangeable lenses and high resolution. My old faithful
Nikon, which still works just fine after over 25 years of
service, will be officially retired.
For a young person, taking, storing, and viewing photos is
almost effortless now, and their memories should be easily
accessible from now on. But for us baby boomers, what to do with all those
old slides or negatives?
I had tried scanning some of my slides with a Canon flatbed
scanner equipped with a slide adapter, but in spite of a lot of effort
adjusting and enhancing, the results were disappointing to say
the least. There is just too much depth of color and
contrast on a Kodachrome slide for a cheap scanner to deal with. I had about given up on
digitizing my slides until I saw some sample results from a new
Nikon 5000 ED film scanner that sells for about $1,000. After
coveting one of these instruments for awhile, I finally ordered one last week. My plan
was to use it to scan my slides, then eventually auction it off on ebay,
since I wouldn't need it any more.
I've done just enough testing to see that this scanner is going
to deliver the goods. But it may take a lot longer than I
thought, since I'm fussy about trying different adjustments to
get the colors just right. One of the neatest features is a
software algorithm called ICE (image correction and enhancement)
that digitally removes the dust and scratches that always show
up on even the best kept slides and negatives. The other
one, which finally allows my Kodachrome slides to be
successfully digitized, is DEE (dynamic exposure extender).
This allows details in shadows to be automatically emphasized.
Since many of my favorite pictures were taken in unusual lighting or
high contrast situations, I can finally get close to what my eye
saw many years ago transferred to the computer screen, and even
to a new print to replace a fading one.
It is all really amazing. Here are a some examples:
Grounding of the Miss Olimpia (sic) off Padre Island captured at
sunrise one fine morning circa 1978 - raw scan, note
dust specs in sky and complete silhouetting of boat.
Same slide with ICE, DEE. The clouds look right now, and
the boat has just enough detail to convey the eerie feeling of
this deserted ghost ship.
Same slide with ICE, DEE, and ISE "color correction".
Finally a little too much enhancement - you can read the boat's
name in the full scale image, but the bow is now solarized.
Isn't that old Kodachrome film amazing?
And one last test scan - This 400 mm telephoto shot of fishermen
squatting on a jetty at the Corpus Christi bay front looks just
like the framed 11x14 enlargement hanging on my bedroom wall.
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