Photography Places


I made a vow to myself yesterday that I wasn’t going to drive at night again. Kicking around town is fine, and I like getting up in the pre-dawn for a trip; but long trips that end later in the night, when your windshield is covered with bugs, and your eyes are blurred with the lights of a thousand SUVs shining directly into them–no.

Especially driving into St. Louis along that miserable mess that is I-55, I-70, and I-64 from the East. All three freeways combine, and then split suddenly apart into two bridges and then combine again. I know that both routes end up in the same place, but late at night when I’m tired, I forget and when they start to split, I panic, and then screech over to the left.

Then once they combine, you have to immediately get into the one and only lane that leads to I-44, which happens to leave the freeway at a 20MPH curve, slowing traffic going 60 MPH to 5 MPH instantly. But this lane is in the middle of these other lanes, that split into differen roads. You look into the mirror and tap your break like mad, hoping that whoever is behind you sees that the lane has slowed suddenly and drastically.

I didn’t get many pictures yesterday or today. I did find some corn for Scott. Unfortunately, it was behind bars. Good corn gone bad, I suppose.

Good corn gone bad

And I found this odd tree with odd seeds and odder leaves.

Odd tree

I have the balloon race at Forest Park tomorrow, and should do better. The Glow was tonight, but I was too tired.

Dad is safely tucked away in a nursing home. Temporarily we all say, as he gets the therapy and care he needs to be able to use a walker. His roommate is a man who looks much younger than Dad– probably 60’s or 70’s. A handsome man, with hair that is darker brown with some gray at the sides. He sat, very nicely dressed, in a chair and just looked out the window the entire time we were there. Didn’t stop looking out the window. Didn’t acknowledge the activity associated with Dad. Didn’t once turn around.

Next to his small TV on his dressar is a cardboard figure of a car – an old convertible, a chevy I think. Behind it is a older photo of a young man and woman sitting in a car that looks much like the cardboard figure. Above the TV is a corkboard just filled with notes and photos, and an old Navaho blanket covers his bed.

I am burning with desire to take his photo.

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