Tuesday, November 20, 2018

Taking Pictures

When I was in rehab I’d look out the window of my private room and think about the things I missed. 

I knew what I would miss about being in the institution but I was trying to think about what there had been in my life before rehab  that I wanted to enjoy again. My life at home was obvious. Beyond that I wanted to be able to go outdoors at will and even now in my second week back in Key West I take a keen interest in how the sky looks.

I thought about how I missed my big camera. That’s been a great joy to me especially as I waited a long time before I bought it. I like to feel the absence before I buy stuff on a whim and my Panasonic LUMIX 300 offered me depth of field (“3D portrait mode” in iPhone jargon) and a massive telephoto lense in one compact package along with a lot of other filters and features I might enjoy. And it has indeed worked out.  There’s a fly in the ointment though! 

It’s not the camera that is at fault, it’s me. I have come to realize suddenly that I no longer have the ability to adjust the angle of my shots by much. I can’t always stand or squat or lean. These days I can’t even drive myself anywhere or stop as the whim takes me. I can’t stroll or lean unobtrusively against a light pole. I have to make do. Obviously this isn’t the end of the world but it is another unexpected consequence of not having the use of my legs. I would never have thought of this little problem. 

I am lucky inasmuch as I can stand for a little while without support but I can’t easily go off-road for a picture.  I was hunting a butterfly two days ago but I couldn’t move my walker and juggle the camera in pursuit of the fluttering and darting wings. As it was a little patience got me there. 

Most of my around town pictures are from the passenger seat of the car as I am swept from doctor’s appointment to home and back by my ever patient wife/caregiver/driver. 

And by keeping my eyes open there’s no telling what I’ll spot here and there as she fills a prescription or orders a drive through coffee.

A wheelchair perspective on a newspaper box or  a gnarled  buttonwood trunk.