Bad Snapshots

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God only knows I didn’t set out to share with the world first-thing-in-the-morning snapshots from my kitchen window.

God, however, has a wicked sense of humor.

I wonder: have I spent too much time on Facebook?

Playing guitar?

Reading?

Watching movies?

Or of all the above: not enough?

Yesterday, I switched to “off” Bertha, the ink-spitting ink jet.  She was signalling for another fix of matte black and yellow.

The only sales Bertha made were to a charity silent auction where, not surprising, every print I offered, eight of them, I think, sold for cash and left me wondering what would have happened if there had been a live bidding competition for each.

Come to think of it, there was the print of the orchid in the vase too — that one has traveled from Maryland to Texas, up to New York, south to Virginia, and may be home, for a while, somewhere in Pakistan.

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Long story.

Hmm.

Perhaps I’ll change my mind and turn ol’ Bertha back on!

Maybe print up a batch of “American Farm Girl”.

Whether with a print or a short story collection or anything else, one needs to keep one’s inner gambler around plus some drive.

It is rather the end, kitschy though it may be, to peek out a window in the morning, take a picture, and call it art.

Although it is art, even if common and most informally framed, and if not that, at least it’s got mood.

* * *

Probably, I’ll promote for spring and summer weddings (for much needed cash) from here, revisit creative writing (I have something at hand and ready for production for Amazon Kindle), settle back a lot from Facebook, where I feel I’ve changed the world a little bit, rehab the “right hand long finger” with guitar playing and thereby resuscitate my local social life.

And maybe — just maybe — me and Ms. D200 will take a road trip.

Soon.

God willing.

So I can take pictures of similarly common things farther from home.

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