Photography

Baking Muffins in Broad Daylight

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What a shocking idea. Now this may not be so for some of you reading this, but baking for myself has been a rarely-indulged-in luxury for quite some time. And on the occasions when I do bake, it’s usually to bring to someone else’s house for a gathering. Well, not today. I felt like baking muffins, and bake I did. I went through my recipe stash with something apple in mind, and found it … Apple Buttermilk Muffins.

In broad daylight … the audacity. An accusing voice from somewhere within nagged me to get going on my taxes, complete another drawing, go food shopping, and please! Clean!

I’ve really got to get a better grip on that no-fun, party-pooper. And baking just for me was a step in the right direction. Perhaps I gave in a wee bit when I cleaned the whole top and hood of the stove, but really, we have to start out in a clean spot, right?

I popped in the Breaking Dawn CD – such a great album – gathered ingredients, and happily chopped, measured and whisked. Although many muffin recipes have you making 12 muffins, I always make 6 bigger ones. They came out gorgeous, and then I had the audacity to have more fun – yup, in broad daylight – photographing them. And then eating one. (OK, actually not in that order.) Mmmmm, mmmm, mmmm.

You can make these truly chock-full-of-apple Apple Buttermilk Muffins, too. They’re from the Mr. Breakfast web site which has way more than muffins; it’s got everything you could ever think of in the way of breakfast, which is my favorite meal of the day. Enjoy!

Light Snow at Dusk

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Let me say, as I post this, that I am well aware that this is not a brilliant photograph. Why I wandered outside to take a few shots was because of the magical, blue-cast light. We haven’t had much snow lately, and they’d predicted a dusting to an inch. But it was more than just these light, airy snowflakes at dusk that drew me outside; they were illuminated by a rising full moon. What part did my flash going off have to do with it? Something, no doubt, and that is most evident on the white porch elements at left, but the rest is what it looked like … a theme in blue, lightly speckled with snow.

I was awakened this morning about 4 by that beautiful full-moonlight streaming in my window. A part of me wanted to throw on my robe, climb out the window, and range the back porch roof for fabulous shots. Now that would have been foolish for oh-so-many reasons. So I bathed in her light for awhile and went back to bed, happy that I had taken a few photos of the moon dreaming herself skyward hours earlier, if only indirectly.

 

Calendars As Rotating Art

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To look in my home, especially my office, you might think I had a touch of what the white rabbit had in Alice, except I don’t have a watch; I have calendars. In my office there are four, in the kitchen, one, in my drawing room, one, and in the back/TV room, one.

Where do they come from? Two are calendars for which I’ve done the graphic design, another is a gift from a friend, another an annual gift from a sibling, another a gift from a supplier, and the others came to me as fundraising appeals, some because I donate to them, others hoping I will be inspired to do so.

Why do I have so many up? Because I love great photography and inspiring art. In fact, I have even more that don’t have their own regular space, but must rotate and share with another one. But what is so wonderful is that the art changes every month. So I have gorgeous horses, wildlife, nature photography, ocean photography, American Indian art, wolves, and more. It’s a constant procession of images I love looking at. It just makes me happy. As each month comes to an end, I get excited about the surprise to come when all the calendar art throughout my home changes.

The only calendar that I seriously look at for the days of the month is whatever I have hanging in the kitchen in any given year because that’s where I write everything. (Yeah, still kind of analog in that regard, but I do have a few things in my Entourage calendar.) The rest just please and inspire me all year long. It’s a good thing.

Sad Places

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OK, I give. I find in checking the stats on my blog that someone or multiple “someones” are regularly using the search term sad place, sometimes sad places. Each time I see it, I wonder if they have come specifically to my site searching for it, or if something in my site is drawing them to me. Either way, I would love that person or persons to let me know what they are looking for.

I believe a sad place can be as much a state of mind as a physical location. I started searching for photos that said sad place to me. I realized that even that could change on any given day in any given hour, plus I suspect that the response to that phrase would vary enormously from person to person. But I selected this photo of the Eastern State Penitentiary in center city Philadelphia by Mike Munchel. The prison was built in 1920 and housed prisoners until 1970. Regardless of whether or how people should be punished or not – that’s not the issue – I found this building, this facility, an extremely sad place. That any human being was kept in such utterly primitive circumstances is indeed sad in my book. I also find that many derelict buildings, once beautiful and filled with life, are often sad places for me.

I found a few other places that I – at this exact moment in time – feel were described by that phrase, but I wonder what you have in mind … what are you looking for when you search for sad place?

Always A Bright Spot

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They say every cloud has a silver lining, that even in our darkest moments there is always a bright spot. Having recently lost an animal so very dear to my heart, I wasn’t seeing too many bright spots just yet. Some unanticipated glimmers here and there, but that was about it.

Who would have thought that my bright spot would truly BE a bright spot? I happened to glance out my side door earlier this morning, and there he was … a veritable bright spot of red among the drab winter bushes. I grabbed my camera and, figuring the male Cardinal would fly away if I opened the door, took him through my window, but with a screen, I knew I was kidding myself. Ever so slowly, I opened the inner door and then the storm door, and eased out on the porch. There he stayed while I photographed him. Again and again.

I felt as if he knew I needed a bright spot in my day and had decided to indulge me until I got the shot I wanted. I believe animals communicate with us and are far more in tune than we give them credit for, and today, he had a small, joyful message to bring. Above you see him, not nearly as vibrant as he looked in reality, but brilliant nonetheless. A small blessing, a reminder, of how many bright spots we have in our lives. Even if we don’t always see them.