Saturday. Lights out at the usual time, waking up at least once for longer than I'd like to think about before getting back to sleep. Frustrating. Awake at six - good - up and out the door carrying the small Nikon 1 camera instead of the larger D4. I suspect we'll get to the D4 and the backpack at some point, but who knows? Another half decent picture of the pandorea vine on the way home.
The Oakland Chinatown StreetFest runs both today and tomorrow and we will, of course, take photographs. It will be interesting to see how it plays, inside my head anyway. Traveling to and from the event with the long lens camera out of sight in the backpack and no second camera in hand. I don't shoot many pictures with other than the long lens camera at an event so maybe it won't be a problem.
Still thinking about things I've been putting off now that they seem to have been put into the forefront by the camera theft. Interesting it would do that. A sudden change in the routine makes you stop and look? And listen?
I've read that people who decide to do something - and then follow through and do it - tend to keep their decisions to themselves. People who say they're going to something and talk about it with others don't tend to follow through. Saying it out loud evidently gives you an immediate warm and cuddly endocrine rush that then aids in allowing you to put it off. So no more talking about making changes. He said, right here, breaking the rule.
Later. An eleven-thirty bus to Washington Street at 10th (the end of the line) to walk the short distance to the StreetFest, open the backpack and start taking pictures for better than an hour. Looking at them now my heart wasn't in it. Ah, well. More chances tomorrow.
Back home thinking maybe I won't replace the D4s, maybe go with a mirrorless model. Have my interests changed and has the loss of the camera brought these thoughts into focus? We'll cool our jets and let all this simmer. Could be. We'll think about this for a while, put off any hasty decisions Today's photographs have made me wonder.
Evening. A slow rest of an afternoon and now into the evening. Didn't touch todays’ photographs (well, I actually processed three of them after writing this) and otherwise spent the time watching stuff on the tablet. Treading water.
I've been watching the George Gently detective series on Netflix. I've stated quite firmly I haven't liked the Gently series in the past and skipped them when they've come up on public television, mostly because I haven't liked the young detective side kick character, now realizing probably because the writers and the actor nailed him so well.
Starting the series from the beginning, however, has shown me how well it's written and acted. Makes you uncomfortable for good reason, good reason in putting the questions the series faces in an accurate and well presented fashion. The junior detective is bigoted, has cheated on his wife and, as the chapters have evolved through these first (rather short) seasons, is now going through a divorce without recognizing how he's contributed to the breakup. It's not a morality play in the sense the character tugs at his forelock in the end and apologizes, but ducks his head and carries on as one might to see in real life.
His saving grace is he is smart and he does see, uncomfortably sees, eventually sees, other peoples' perspectives. As we do in our own reactions. (How do we answer some of these questions?) A well written and well acted program. So we admit to our error, perhaps a bit in the fashion of the younger detective. Certainty about something I haven't really examined, certainty through sloth and error.
You think you get a bye in saying that? A gold star for your admitting to fallibility?
Of course. There are many advantages to being clueless.