Lima, Ohio in the Year 2000

I have bittersweet feelings in looking at these photos. I was 27 to 28 years old and lived in a fantasy land that made me bold enough to take the sort of pictures that no one else was taking at that time. My aesthetic for urban photography was born then, and the heart of it hasn’t changed much over the years. I don’t do enough of it now.

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My photo archiving project continues. I decided to make albums of some of the photos on my Facebook page. The images for this blog posts are screen shots of an album that features photos I took in Lima in the year 2000. Back then I used one of the Sony Mavica cameras that recorded images onto floppy discs. I could fit just 10 images per disc, so I had to carry a baggy full of a dozen discs to make it through a photo walk.

Alas, I don’t have the originals files of these photos. All I have now are online copies, and the website where I uploaded them 19 years ago only has 500×375 or smaller versions of the images. I know that some of the photos had an original resolution of 1024×768 (if I felt bold enough to just take five pics per disc!). Lesson learned: back up photos in multiple ways. Burn them on discs or put them on a portable hard drive. Then back the most important ones up online, in more than one place.

I have bittersweet feelings in looking at these photos. I was 27 to 28 years old and lived in a fantasy land that made me bold enough to take the sort of pictures that no one else was taking at that time. My aesthetic for urban photography was born then, and the heart of it hasn’t changed much over the years. I don’t do enough of it now.

By the way, I’d be delighted if you followed me on Facebook. It has unlimited bandwidth for photos, and who knows what photo albums I may make from my archives.

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Wild Honey

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As I’ve been backing up my online photo archives, I’ve been stumbling upon many images that deserve longer lingering than I can offer right here and right now. This week I’ve been doing and thinking of too many different things. The result has been the least sleep I’ve gotten in a while. The photos pull me into moments from the past yet in the present I am torn over where to focus my efforts.

It’s like I’ve fallen into an alternate reality that’s akin to grocery shopping with a bare list that I’ve forgotten to fish out of my pocket until I get home and find that I have nothing to show for the trip but junk food, pop, three pounds of meat and taco fixings (which, unfortunately, happens to be exactly what I bought at the store today). Should I focus more on photography or blogging? Should I start a new blog on my spirituality or continue to incorporate that content here? Are these hobbies worth my time or do they just put distance between me and more immediate concerns, like my family and my job?

I used to live in this scattered mental state all the time. I’ve stress myself out to the point I felt unable to start any of the dozen things I’d thought of doing that day, and then I’d stay up late into the night. Then I’d try to calm myself by listening to loud music on headphones and chain smoking until the birds would start singing outside.

I think the photo archive project collided with PMS to revive a mood I’d rather never returned. That’s one of the unpleasant surprises of perimenopause. Every cycle has the potential for dark variants of PMS. Maybe next month I’ll have a more benign cycle and just become briefly preoccupied with learning more about the rise and fall of avocado-colored appliances.

Anyway, the above picture hails from a more pleasant day, an afternoon in June of 2008 when I met up with my now-husband for a photo walk at a local park. I used a Fuji Finepix S5700 back then. It was a point-and-shoot camera but a real workhouse. I wish I still had it. I think I dropped it and broke the display screen not long after that day.

When I think of that hot June day and the newness of my relationship with my husband, the song “Wild Honey” by U2 comes to mind. From the beginning, he seemed to be someone I’d known for a very long time. On that day in the park, I mentioned for the first time where my family lived during the 80s, and he said to me, “You lived there for a long time, didn’t you?”

I hadn’t yet mentioned to him how long we lived there.

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