An Ode to the Coffeehouse

If you're paying attention at all, you'll notice that I post a lot of pictures on my people blogs from Gray Owl Coffee, a local place here in Norman. That's because I'm there all the time. 

Ironically, I'm not a huge coffee drinker.  I've never have been, but I love all the rituals that surround coffee and its consumers.  I love seeing my Facebook friends post about not having had their morning cup.  Part of me feels almost jealous that I can't gripe about the same thing. Not having had your morning swig of Diet Coke just doesn't have the same ring to it.* I love the smell of it, I love the feel of a warm mug in your hands, I love the variety of mugs people use to drink it, I love all the accoutrements that accompany the coffee: the cinnamon shakers, the raw sugar canisters, the little stir sticks.  I love all the pretentious kinds of coffee out there: latte, macchiato, espresso, iced coffee, Irish coffee, Turkish coffee, frappuccino, coffee milk (that was a favorite of mine when I was a kid, which is probably why, even though I don't drink real coffee, I can certainly stomach a latte with no issues whatsoever), cappuccino, mocha...the list is endless. Coffee drinkers are automatically elevated to Wordly Knowledgeable Individuals in my mind when they order anything other than say, coffee.  

Which brings me back to Gray Owl Coffee. Not only do I love the way it smells in there, but I love the groovy people that go there, the groovy music that is always going in the background**, the groovy furniture the use to decorate the place. I love the sound of the barista banging the used coffee grounds into the garbage and I love to hear the steamer heating up milk. I love that I can bring my daughter there to hang out and play backgammon and I love that my son has met girls there on first dates. I love that everyone from a 7-year-old to a retiree feels comfortable there. I don't love that I almost feel like a fraud, frequenting the place as I do and not being a real coffee drinker, but that's another entry for another day.   

It has a roving cast of characters, so I doubt I'll quite frequenting the place anytime soon, fraud status be damned. Here is Jenna, the woman is generally working the counter on Tuesday evenings, the night Libby and I go to hang out. She's in the process of making my low-fat pumpkin latte.  

Well...never mind.  Apparently I've run out of space on the allotted servers and can no longer post pictures unless I a)delete photos or b)fork over money to Picassa.  

Greedy bastards.

*Yes, it's true.  I drink Diet Coke in the morning. But I'm quitting. It's my 2015 New Year's Resolution.

**  

Post Secret Today

The Riley

I ran into him on Sunday--he was headed home from a classic car show. He sorta caught my attention seeing as the steering wheel is ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE CAR.  

I wanted so bad to ask what the thing was worth, but I'm not rude. So I googled it.  It's worth a LOT.  

Put me behind the wheel of that thing, and I would instantly turn into dyslexic driver and be running into fire hydrants within 2 miles. 

He's had this car, a Riley, (BMW now owns the brand) for 40 years and it is pristine condition.  I think because he's only driven it 1 mile a year as evidenced by his odometer:  

What he was most proud of, however, was the way the engine sounds. 

"I wish you could get a picture of the sound". 

"Oh, I can take care of that."  

I cornered him for 15 minutes. There were even costume changes, as I got him wearing three different hats.  

It's really too bad I'm so shy.  -> 

 

Nicole

There's a ceramic artist in Oklahoma City who makes corsets out of clay.  

But that's not what I'm going to show you today. Today I'm going to show you pictures of her bathroom, which is the most spectacular bathroom I've ever seen. There's no way to give that place justice, so you'll just have to make do with some of my paltry photography and go from there.  

First of all, the artist: 

Nicole Moan

Secondly, the method: She designs pictures, oftentimes based on her father's art, and then reconfigures the art in ceramic tile. Not square tiles, mind. This is ceramic tile in all shapes and sizes: everything from swirls to puzzle pieces to stars to squiggles. She first has to make the tile--an extraordinarily time-consuming process as I can fully attest, and then she methodically installs it so that it becomes representational art. Then of course she has to grout it all, which is arguably more of a pain in the ass than the tile work. 

I'm featuring her bathroom here, but her entire living room floor is her own ceramic design (again, based on her father's artwork), as is her main hallway, and of course the the kitchen counters and backdrop are an eye fiesta. 

On the subject at hand. 

Her bathroom, floor to ceiling, is decorated in this wonderful "Under the Sea" motif. And when I say floor, I don't mean she has blue 4-inch ceramic tiles on the floor so she could concentrate on the walls and ceiling. I mean the floor is a canvas in-and-of* itself. 

Naturally I didn't take pictures of the floor.  

But you can see pictures of it here, along with her wonderful bathtub and toilet. I would frankly be scared to do my business on that throne for fear of insulting the thing. 

Here are some detail pics. These are just little treats that are around her (several) mirrors: 

Sometimes I feel like somebody's watching me. 

One. By. One. she installed these details. This is OCD at its best. 

This is the sink. Complete with a bug in a bottle. Which no bathroom should be without. 

The counter top is designed to look like water is flowing onto the floor, so the floor (Yeah, I'm back to the floor. What of it?) by the counter is textured in such a manner to emulate water. 

Stay with me.  

You can see from the sink picture that her hand-made, costume counter top is configured of some plastic-y, resin-y substance that can be only be summed up as witchcraft. Add to this the knowledge that there are multiple layers of goodness to look at on the counter alone, including glitter (!), and I swear to Poseidon you'll feel like you're on an acid trip after being in there for three minutes.** 

Here's a glimpse of the ceiling: 

  

Who has the patience for this? I would be a drunk by now. Seriously.  

You see those pieces on the bottom section? Those are actually mirror shards reflecting the ceiling pattern. 

I'll give you a minute.  

.......

Check this out: She even had the nerve to put WINE BOTTLES in the opening where her window was. Here's a snippet of her window...you can get a feel for the concept here. 

Takes going green to whole new level.  This is destined to happen in my home somewhere. 

The entire installation took three months of almost constant work to complete.

She says sometimes her friends will call her and ask her to come over to take a bath. I personally maintain she's at risk every time she allows someone who doesn't live in the house to cross the threshold. Because if it were me, I would padlock myself in there and never leave.  -> 

*Do you hyphenate "in and of"?
**I assume. I've never actually done acid, but that bathroom can't be a far-off depiction of the kaleidoscope+ I understand goes on in the brain after ingestion. 
     +Of course I didn't spell that correctly the first time.   

Laundry Day

It was 8:15 on a Saturday morning. I had been awake since before 7:00. 

Let's be clear here: I don't do before-seven-o'clock on a Saturday morning. Life circumstances that forces anyone out of bed before, say, 9:45 on Saturday morning is simply sadism engineered by The Man. But there I was, up, out and about because my kid has the nerve to want to improve his chances for a better future by taking the SAT. What's worse is it was completely overcast so I couldn't even head downtown for some nice urban shots in the dewy early morning light.  

Therefore I was meandering as I had some time to kill before photography class--driving around a part of town that used to be my stomping ground; the school sponsoring the SAT is my high school alma mater. I get up to that part of town periodically and always drive around a bit to check out the lay of the land. It's amazing, isn't it, the changes that can happen to a major street over the years? The building I'm always most nostalgic about, other than the high school itself, is the one that used to be a bowling alley. We actually learned to bowl during the winter months of PE my freshman year and we walked to that bowling alley, where Coach Burtschi expected us to keep score by hand. The bowling alley also had a snack bar, and oftentimes after school my friends and I would go hang out there. They served Mr. Pibb. Plus they had a Pac Man machine. 

The building, amazingly, is still there but the business is long gone. Tucked in next door these days is a laundry mat.  

Which is where I met Elizabeth.  

She had gotten behind on the chore over the past week because one of her daughters was in the hospital. The little girl has an immune-deficiency disorder and bites, scrapes, abrasions, etc. can turn into impetigo in short order. Her body has a hard time fighting the infection and she requires IV antibiotics to get rid of them.  Summertime is worse.   

Elizabeth, her father calls her "Beth", married her high-school sweetheart; he's now active duty in the Marines. He just signed on for another tour of duty.  

"So you're going to have to move around a lot, I guess?" 

"We just bought a house, so I'm staying here."

As it turns out, Elizabeth works at the laundry mat on the weekends. She doesn't usually bring her clothes to wash with her, but right now the dryer at home is broken. She has to pay to do her laundry, but she gets reimbursed the expense in her paycheck. A small perk.  

She's also bi-lingual, English and Spanish, and helped me purchase chicken tamales from a man who came in peddling his wife's cooking for some extra money. I bought a baker's dozen for dinner that night which set me back $12. They were still warm. -> 

Derek

It is without question the tackiest thing in the world to take your camera to a memorial service.  

That being said, I took my camera to a memorial service last week.  

I didn't bring it out during the service--God, give me some credit. Afterwards at the reception though, I spotted this man from across the room talking with my friend. Not doubt he was offering his sincerest sympathies to her as she just lost her father, an inevitable loss I've yet to face and one I hope I don't have to encounter for some time. At any rate, I couldn't help but notice his dark and mysterious good looks coupled with a long, lush ponytail earrings and matching necklace.

He's sorta dashing, amiright? 

He just happened to be talking to her when I approached her to bid my farewells. She told me he's an artist and described his process. Check this out: He puts a pen to paper and says "what do you want me to draw?"  And you say something like "a shoe." Then, without ever letting the pen leave the paper and with one continuous line he produces art!

My friend has one of his pieces displayed in her living room. It's gorgeous and I know it well. I said in jest* I would get him a napkin so he could draw me something too. 

To his grand credit he was willing to produce and actually tried, but it didn't work--there was too much texture on said napkin. Then he said "OK, now I'm on a mission. Let's find some paper." In short order, after some quick thinking, I was able to produce a canvas so he could work his magic:     

This may or may not be drawn on the back of the memorial pamphlet. 

I really didn't have any intention of taking his picture until he drew this. As I was setting up to shoot him in action (I got too engrossed watching the picture appear and missed my opportunity) he said, pointing, "the light is better from over there."  

I die. 

There's more! Not only is he talented and knows about photography, he's also a consultant to the Oklahoma Supreme Court for Native American issues.

And a DJ on The Spy.

And charming. 

Did I mention the matching earrings and necklace? -> 

PS: RIP Edward Hardy Summers, OK Supreme Court Justice. This blog entry vetted and approved by my dear friend Julia. I'm so sorry for your loss. 

*mostly  

Beverly and Maria

These photos were two weeks in the making because I'm a highly skilled professional who pays the utmost attention to detail. 

Let me break it down for you:  

I attended my first yoga class in at least 3 years two weeks ago and met a woman who I'll tell you about in a minute. I asked if it was OK to take her photo. She acquiesced. I pulled out the camera, focused, clicked and...

...realized I didn't have a memory card in the camera. At which point I stammered and begged forgiveness and asked if I could try again the following Friday. "I'll be here," she told me.

The following Friday before I left the house, I ensured the camera absolutely, positively had a memory card so I could capture Beverly. Yup! It was there. After yoga I approached her again, went to take a photo and nothing--NOTHING!--was on any of my screens.  

Because I'd forgotten to put the blasted battery, which was recharging at my house, back in the camera.  

Today she didn't believe me when I told her I was really, truly prepared to capture her photo.  

But I showed her.  

Beverly

was born with a heart defect that eventually led to two open-heart surgeries in 2009. The second one left her with a condition called pulmonary hypertension, which resulted in her needing an oxygen tank permanently. This, in addition to recovering from having her chest cracked open, is the hand life dealt her. It's a lot for anyone to take.  

She was depressed for a year following the diagnosis and subsequent rehab--a year in which she didn't get out much and felt a bit sorry for her lot in life. The need for the oxygen embarrassed her. It's through no fault of her own, of course, but that didn't make the reality of walking around in public with medical equipment in tow any easier to swallow. 

Enter Maria...

who was relentless with her friend. She told Beverly to get up, get moving, get back to the YMCA. The ladies met there and Beverly was attending Maria's fitness classes (she teaches several a week) before all her health problems took their toll.

It took some coaxing. Beverly protested that everyone would be looking at her. Yes, said Maria, they probably would be. So what? It was this tough love that eventually led Beverly on the road to emotional recovery. She is now as active as she was before. Pilates, yoga, trekking, riding horses...she does it all. She had to tweak her equipment to accommodate her activities, but she's living her life. She told me this morning that she doesn't breath as deeply as she should when she's working out for fear that the extra noise from the machine would be bothersome to others. But I told her I liked the sound--that rhythmic, pressurized hiss is somehow comforting. She then shared women from her other classes use the sound as well. If they don't hear the hiss, they know Beverly isn't breathing and set her straight.  

It takes a village, doesn't it, to help us navigate this world. I find both these women inspiring: Beverly for not giving in to the depression and Maria for not giving up on her friend. 

What's your excuse for not living your life?  ->  

Blog Changes

I'm sure you've noticed my lack of postings in the past few weeks. My energy hasn't been there for it, and thus I've taken a break and given some thought as to how I'll proceed with it from here. I hate to let this blog go, as it's been around in some form for almost five years. But there is a time and place for everything and as my interests and needs change, so too will my public forum for them.

For the record, I know I'm going about this whole blogging thing ALL wrong.  Blogs should have a specific focus or cohesive theme in order to be successful. So say all the pundits, anyway. Well guess what I say to that? 

Me, to that:  TTTHHHHPPPPTTT   

I've been taking pictures of people for the past several months--to the detriment of my gun pictures, frankly--and I continue to greatly enjoy doing so.  It's a natural progression, I think.  Social worker to "photographer"* to focusing a good portion of my energies on those around me.  

Some people I don't spend much time with at all.  Some, however, are willing to honor me with their stories but I tend to condense these tales for the Facebook audience for a variety of reasons. So for now the more compelling stories I hear I will flesh out over here. I won't put a number on how often I do so or the days I do so, but you'll know when it happens if you're following the people blog over there or on Tumblr. I still may throw in personal observations but it will likely be in the context of profiling other people. 

As for my next photo project? Well, I'm back to a picture a day starting October 1, 2012. I'm not going to force a subject matter this time, though. What I am going to say is I must take at least one photo a day for one year in a thoughtful, deliberate manner. Thus I will enter my third year into photography, my second year into DSLR photography, with purpose. I will post them to Flickr of course, and if I feature any of them here, it will be on Mondays.  

As always, thanks for following along. Have a great Friday!

Say you: Wait!! What about your stated goal of getting The Bloggess to notice you? 

Say me: Didn't you know? I'm a quitter.  


*I had a subject tell me where to stand for better lighting just yesterday, which was sorta humiliating.  I'm hardly an actual photographer.

The End

We got this in the mail over the weekend. Seriously, people, I can't make this shit up. I thought it was a nice bookend for my Gun Show project. 

Which admittedly fizzled out. I just became interested in other subject matter and I feel a bit bad about it, but not really. I'm still taking photos, I'm remain passionate about the craft, I think I'm improving...it's all good. Here are all the photos I took over the past year. I met my goal of posting once a week, but did not meet my goal of 75 total.  

Ah, well.  

Life moves on. -> 

Browning

Diva Ln.

I had a great picture for today that I KNOW I edited but cannot find anywhere.  

So I'll post this one in the hopes that my first choice appears.  If it doesn't, it means I edited it but didn't actually save the edit and I've long since deleted that batch of pictures off my card.  

Brilliant.  

Sugar-Coated Secrets

So I was reading some articles on how to break bad habits because articles are much shorter than books and you can finish them in all of fifteen minutes and there's a whole lot less guilt involved than with buying an e-book after hearing the Fresh Air story about the actual book and vowing to read it immediately and changing your ways immediately and then only getting one-third of the way through the book you paid for and never picking it up again. 

Not to mention not getting started on changing those bad habits because you can't yet because you didn't finish the book. And you want to make sure you do it right.  

Right?  

Which, now that I think about it, may be the underlying reason for not finishing the book--so I don't have to change the bad habits.*  

At any rate, I read articles. Yay for the internet! 

Unfortunately, now I don't have any excuses to not get started. One of the things I'm supposed to do is publicly state what my bad habit is so I can be held accountable for changing it.   

Don't worry. I'm not going to shock you by admitting to a heroin habit, although my mother was convinced I was on the needle back in the early 90's.** No, this habit is much more mundane and middle-aged and typical and frightfully, dreadfully, unblog-worthy boring. 

I eat at night.

I eat when I'm sorta hungry, not hungry at all, bored, sitting in front of the computer, reading a book, or lying in bed watching Game of Thrones. I eat chocolate and hummus and buttered popcorn and sushi and pretzels and pretzels sandwiched with yummy cheese and right now I want to eat ALL THE CHEDDAR in the house. And all the chocolate. 

So I'm madly typing, intending to go public with my secret and drinking a ton of water (so I feel full. Yes, I know about chewing gum and brushing my teeth too.)  

Because water is absolutely what one wants when a carb craving is hitting you in the psyche like a wreaking ball. 

I was OK on the first night because I got called out right during the witching hour. Obviously I had other stuff on my mind and when I got home, I was exhausted. Never mind that life is a cruel bitch and the ER had pizza and cake, opened and displayed like a centerfold upon my arrival. But it was the first night and my resolve held firm.

Last night wasn't bad because I was with friends late into the evening. 

But tonight has been rough.   

I would like to point out to all of you that should you struggle with this same habit and would like to break said habit, day three of your new and improved lifestyle at approximately 10:45 at night is not the best time to visit Pinterest. Bad, bad, BAD idea.  

*gulping water*  

The action that makes the most sense to me is picking one habit you want to change and concentrating all your efforts on that one goal for thirty days. Thirty days is do-able. It's a relatively short amount of time and when you start there's already a light at the end of the tunnel. It is, after all, only September or April or June or November. 

Unless you're on day three of your new! Improved! lifestyle and really, really, really want something that, once you eat it, releases sugar into your blood at roughly the rate of a failed Hoover Dam. 

Honestly, raw spaghetti sounds good right about now.  

This sucks. ->


*Whoa, insight! Sorry, got carried away there. I'll try not to let that happen again.  


**Really. Maybe I'll tell you about it sometime. 

Randy on the Range

I had the camera on rapid fire, but a gunshot moves a WHOLE lot faster.  I was hoping to catch the discharge flash coming out of the barrel, but I all got was the spent cartridges flying in the air.  See them?  

Wanted: Stray Cat Name

We have a new member of the family: 

Some funky "lens" on Hipstamatic.  This was the only shot in which he didn't move.

  
He's been here less than 15 hours as of this writing, and naturally there's upheaval. 

Upheaval between the the parents and kids: the kids are insisting we name him "Charlie". I'm not sure I'm on board with this name.  

Upheaval with Old Angry Cat: he's not speaking to me AND being passive aggressive by eating the kitten food instead of his own food.  

Upheaval with Kitty-Who's-Not-Named-Charlie: he unceremoniously took a dump on my living room rug despite the fact that I've got his very own litter box set up for him and I've put him in it at least five times since his arrival.  

Upheaval with sleeping habits: Kitty-Who's-Not-Named-Charlie decided it was play time. At 6:45 this morning. He was insistent. 

INSISTENT.  

He pounced my face. ->  

On Nation Under God

Seen in Guymon, OK

And in other news, a gunman unleashes on a Sikh Temple yesterday.  This on the heels of the Colorado shooting two weeks ago.  

One nation. Under God. -> 

Fat Man

We went to the Bradbury Science Museum in Los Alamos, NM a few days ago. 


This is an exact replica of Fat Man, the atomic bomb the United States detonated over Nagasaki, Japan during WWII. 

Santa Fe National Cemetery

Friday Ramblings

1) The fam and I are heading out on vacation tomorrow.  We're going to New Mexico--Santa Fe for six nights and then meandering around the state for another week. Assuming it's not on fire. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, who's been to Santa Fe has told me I'm going to love it there. I've no doubt I will and while I'm looking forward to seeing the town, I'm really looking forward to all the photograph opportunities which I know lie ahead. 


2) I ran across this flickr collection a couple of nights ago and was absolutely captivated. A photographer in New York City takes pictures of the local flavor, as I do, but he has a special place in his heart for drug addicts. He gets to know people, snaps their picture and tells a snippet of their story. The portraits are wonderful and the words behind them are compelling and heartbreaking. This one in particular almost brought me to tears. 


3) It's supposed to be 105 today. One hundred and five degrees. That is just too damned hot.


4) I just learned the news that there was a shooting in a Colorado movie theater last night. Twelve dead. Some guy waltzed into a Batman premier and opened fire. But we shouldn't let this isolated event stop us from owning and sometimes openly carrying guns because it's America and it's our RIGHT as Americans to own weapons specifically designed for killing living things.   


Or this isolated event. 


Or this one.  


Or this one. 


Or this one.  


Or this one....


(Or this one.) 


Sorry--this turned into an early Monday rant. 


Song of the week: 

This Post is a Mess. But it Will Stay. Your Move, Blogger

As you know, we have two cats. One cat is an old, angry, bald man. 


The other one? 

Yolanda Yorgenson.  Yo-Yo for short.  AKA "Da Yo" 

She's the Kim Kardashian of cats. 


Lovely, but worthless.  


You can't pick her up, she won't sit in your lap, she refuses to snuggle, there's no getting her on your bed for that classic walk-in-your-bedroom-find-a-cat-on-your-bed scenario (I love that), she loudly insists on being let outside at 5 in the morning (EVERY morning), she loudly insists on being let back in at 5:10 a.m., she randomly pees in closets and plants and she's not even a bugger, let alone a mouser. To top it all off, she's skittish beyond belief and takes off like a bullet anytime a stranger dares to cross her threshold. 


Case in point: I have a friend who's moving back to Norman and she and her husband stayed with us for a few nights back in May while they were here house hunting. Night one with strangers in her midst and Yo-Yo kitty took off, but she kind of hung out in the yard. Night two with strangers in the house she yelled at the back door for us to let her in. When I opened the door for her however, she took one look in the house, discovered there were still non-Matteks who had the nerve to be in there and took off.  


We didn't see her again. 


For weeks. 


We didn't see her for so long, in fact, that we were convinced she had either died or forced herself upon another family. Probably the latter because seeing as I've diagnosed her with an attachment disorder, it wouldn't be any big deal for her to move right into another human's home. Especially since she's so pretty. No self-respecting cat lover is going to turn her away.  


Which is where my neighbor comes in. 


Him, to us last night: Hey you guys aren't missing your cat are you? 


The Boy: Uh, yeah. We are. Why? 


The neighbor: Because I'm pretty sure she's been living in my attic for the last month.  


You read that correctly, folks. Right next door the ENTIRE time.  


Remember this incident with my dog? 


Same neighbor. 


Who are obviously running a pet Shangri-La on the down low. 


We have yet to be able to confirm our wayward cat is actually inhabiting the attic for a couple of reasons. 


1) The same couple who stayed with us before and initially ran off the cat stayed with us again last night. Plus they had their two kids with them, which had we brought her back, would have sent our cat running into traffic, no doubt. 


2)Now that we know she's there, she refused to even be SEEN today. Libby and Mitch went traipsing around the attic and the cat stayed well out of sight. She may very well be feral at this point. But she was half there already, so that wouldn't be a surprise.  


I'm not even sure why I'm expending this much energy being worried about her. 


In fact, I won't. I'm moving on! In other pet news, we had the The Boston Terror here with us for a week while my parents caroused Canada. Turns out she will turn on a hose like a cock in a fight. MY dog freaks when you turn on the hose too, but he just goes after the water: 

The Terror on the other hand, goes right for the source: 

I had lots of other stuff I was going to say about this damn dog, mostly that in a fit of trying to save us from that wily hose she missed the hose entirely and BIT MY LEG leaving a bruise roughly the size of Nebraska as her mark. But as you can clearly see from this schizophrenic styled post, Blogger is giving me issues. Again. I can't go in and make edits because every time I try to go to the compose screen Blogger crashes. And I can't make changes to the html because every time I try to do so Blogger crashes. I can't cut and paste into a new edit screen because every time I do Blogger crashes. And I simply refuse to lose another entry to Blogger. I WIN THIS ROUND!!

The Bullet Family