Here is the last photo from yesterday, the sun, itself, which was the stage lighting manager, in a manner of speaking, heh heh:
Oh, and yesterday I also included allusions to another application of the word “opportunity”, in reference to the land that flies this versatile flag. Oh well.
Yesterday, I also included a photo of the flag furled in a way that sort of folded itself over itself, and with the sun backlighting it, it made a sort of checkered pattern. I remember I captioned it “Stars and Checks”. Oh well. It was fun while it lasted, but evaporated, funwise and WYSI-wise, the moment I clicked “publish”. Too bad. Now it is just sheer determination that makes me bow to the necessity of posting twice in order to post two photos. Here it is, such a rare moment, for me, a newbie photographer. I was glad for the OPPORTUNITY when I had it and glad to share with those who care to look, now:
Hope you enjoy the shot.
I did.
Oh, and the link for Part 1 is here. It sort of explains this post. So sorry it has to be this way, evidently.
Yesterday, I prepared an essay with photos that did not publish right. Well, actually, it morphed, the moment I clicked “publish”, into an unrecognizable monster, even on the “add new post” page! This happens almost every time I try to use more than one photo per post and I can prove it by showing you all my deleted posts, which are all infused with the same trouble: lost photos, all text crammed under a photo as its caption, captions switched from one photo to another. Crazy stuff. I wish I knew why. I have changed themes. I have upgraded my everything. To no avail.
So, here we are, me trying again, and you thinking I never post. A few caught yesterday’s, kind souls who will “like” almost anything, but I know what I typed and I know what posted instead. What you see is not always what you get: WYSINAWYG!!!
Ahem. I digress.
Here is the first photo:
I am not bothering with the darling captions I thought up yesterday. Can’t remember them, anyway, nor can I remember the text. The gist of it was that I always try to carry my camera and this was an unusual photo OPPORTUNITY because it was a gusty day for wind and the sun was setting at the same time. I also inserted a photo of that actual sunset and another of the flag in an interesting furl. Not going there today. Will have to make three posts to show three photos, until the day comes when . . .
Anyway, it is usual for the wind to die down during sunset, but since it kicked up on this day, instead, I found the flag backlit and unfurled for brief moments. Had to take about 20 shots to get one straight-lined like this.
It was fun. I was having fun sharing it, too. Now I am just determined not to let the machines in the sky beat me.
Sighs.
Is this “feeling” of being under outside control more than just a feeling?
You may be starting to wonder, “Am I being controlled? Is this something I should begin taking more seriously? Could this problem person in my life be a bigger problem than I am realizing?”
Read the following list and wonder no more. Fine tune your manipulation radar and live free!
There you have it. Do you feel more certain now? You may be a marionette, but you still can cut at least a few of the strings that lead you around and at least tone down the level of outside control over your life. Read the previous posts to learn more, here, here, and here.
And live free.
(*Image via Wikipedia.)
If you and a manipulative person are thrown in together in a way where you cannot escape, what can you do?
Hope this is beginning to make sense. More coming tomorrow!
Do you “count” you kids down?
You know, you tell them to do something and they don’t do it.
So you say, “One . . . ”
The implication is that you have told them once and you are keeping track, so you must really mean it. Or something.
Then you tell them again, and you say, “That’s two,” a bit more firmly.
Then you tell them again, and you say, “Don’t make me get out of this chair!” They yawn.
And the countdown begins again.
The children learn they do not have to do anything you say because what you say does not really mean anything at all, and your frustration level escalates.
Well, I was at a craft show this weekend and met a lady who “counts” her grandsons and it is all different. I liked it.
She has taught these two boys to repeat a chant with her. It goes like this:
–Grandmother: One.
–Grandsons: One–I am going a wrong way.
—Grandmother: Two.
—Grandsons: Two–I need to find a different way.
You may wonder where the expected “three” is. On “three” she gets out of her chair. That’s one reason this method works.
(However, as a child, I am sure I would have been saying inside myself, “Three–I need to get OUT of the way!”)
As I observed these boys I marvelled. They had been without Mom for a week and were at a boring craft fair where it was not appropriate for them to do anything. They shared one toy truck and played on the ground with it.
When one boy decided to drive the truck on the sidewalk, Grandmother perceived he was causing a tripping hazard for the shoppers. So she told him to stop and return to the grassy places where her tent was.
He did this only briefly, then strayed to the sidewalk again.
Then she said, “One.”
He replied, “One–I am going a wrong way,” and he sighed, returning to the grass.
In less than a minute his toy truck had strayed again. And Grandmother said, “Two.”
He answered, “Two–I need to find a different way.” Then my jaw dropped, I am sure, as he calmly walked over to his brother, handed him the toy, and wryly said, “See if you can keep this thing off the sidewalk. I can’t.”
I imagine these two little guys, someday at age 35 or so, filling out a tax form or zipping down a highway, temped to “forget” some benefit or accelerate too much, and hearing Grandmother say to them, through the ages, “One . . . “
It was our first time there.
It was big.
We had to park a block away and climb a long flight of stairs just to get in.
But it was good. Really good preaching.
Then the baby needed whatever babies seem always to need when you really want to stay seated in church.
And I made the trek to the nursery, aided by the aides in the hallways. You see, this church really was big. Several stories high and took up a whole block. Just the building.
However, after going down two hallways, down the elevator, and down two more hallways, nursing the baby, and changing the baby, with my geographically challenged mind–I could not find my way back to the sanctuary.
Could. Not.
I also could not find any of the illustrious hallway aides I had used to get so far away from my family. Although I knew not where I was, nor where I needed to go, I could sort of tell where I was going: in circles.
Finally I spied an aide and gave him that sad-puppy look. He asked me if I needed help.
“I’m lost,” I told him.
He raised one eyebrow and shifted his posture.
Oh, no. I didn’t mean that. Not in a Baptist church. Not that kind of lost!
“I mean–I’m saved!–but I can’t find my way back from the nursery to the sanctuary.”
Practically a slide show of faces slid over his face: relief, disappointment, trying-not-to-laugh, sureness.
And he led me, personally, to the place I needed to be, which I was very much farther from than I thought.
And we decided that although it was an extremely pleasant church, we really were more the little church type.
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