tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5116244842474389507.post229779618012883845..comments2023-03-21T21:55:49.236-05:00Comments on write away every day: cycleUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5116244842474389507.post-92052994896381231162011-03-31T15:51:08.236-05:002011-03-31T15:51:08.236-05:00I was four, watching my brother having his picture...I was four, watching my brother having his picture taken by a photography student from the college. He as six... my big brother. It looked so important and fun to have someone take pictures of you. I really really wanted to do it too. <br /><br />With my kids, I take bazillions of pictures of each of them and/or together. Posing. Laughing. Playing soccer. Anything. I don't think many of the pictures are in and of themselves important... not for a school project... not the musings of a photographer... but my kids, they are always interested in being photographed. You can see it in their eyes, on their faces... I love that look, back at me through the lens.<br /><br />So why is it that it seems we love the attention? The focus. The desire to be preserved in image.. capturing otherwise fleeting moments. To be loved. And perhaps that desire of the subject to share who we are... to be noticed as individuals, picked out...<br /><br />Or, perhaps cause we are such big camera hogs.FilmGuyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09374765133223959198noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5116244842474389507.post-12683755643112570462011-03-25T08:11:27.452-05:002011-03-25T08:11:27.452-05:00Sorry to have been so absent - terrible busy combi...Sorry to have been so absent - terrible busy combined with knee problem requiring a couple hours agonizing therapy exercises have slowed me down. But this morning the muse dropped by:<br /><br /><br />Morning daughter call<br />All the spokes are spinning now<br />Cycle is complete.Chuck Gallehttp://chuckgalle.comnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5116244842474389507.post-44655511990955742902011-03-23T16:35:59.374-05:002011-03-23T16:35:59.374-05:00It was spring at last, and the first thing Bobby w...It was spring at last, and the first thing Bobby wanted for the new season was to get his bike out! after days of begging, his mother finally gave in. She smiled and followed the prancing boy round the house to the shed. She was in no rush, as a matter of fact, she was taking as much time as she could, much to the annoyance of her son. She didn't what to do this, though now that it was the first day of spring she knew she could deny her son no longer. The truth was the had hoped the boys father would be here for this. But there was no telling when he would be back. <br />Finally she reached the garage. "Will i still fit it? will the tiers be good?Will i have fun? Will we lose it? Oh i can't wait etc." cried Bobby, jumping up and down, while his mother fumbled at the lock until it gave way. <br />Bobby shrieked with excitement as the great old door was pushed open, and together they looked for the bike under boxes and crates of old toys and tools. At last it was found beneath an old dusty table that was once used to saw wood for the toys Bobby's father used to make. <br />Outside they hosed the bike down and screamed when they themselves were sprayed. The tiers were pumped and before long it was ready to be tried out. <br />Bobby proudly lead it to the road and then kicked off. He zoomed up and down the road screaming and making faces of delight as he passed his smiling mother who stood by, watching him. As she looked at him she laughed and a single tear rushed down her bright cheek as he ran to her and leaped into her ams. And there they stood on out block: the first day of spring.Bodohttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15372782272090855627noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5116244842474389507.post-79064624711736616052011-03-22T07:16:54.090-05:002011-03-22T07:16:54.090-05:00That's a beautiful take on the picture. My fat...That's a beautiful take on the picture. My father-in-law had open heart surgery last fall, so the reference to the pillow was evocative. He couldn't wait to get rid of his, either. :)Linda G.https://www.blogger.com/profile/04576828490765434497noreply@blogger.com