The highly vascularized circulation in the mouth is what makes a cut on the tongue or oral mucosa bleed profusely. Interestingly enough, it's that same highly vascularized circulation that helps the mouth heal quite well if it is cut or if the mucosa is damaged.
I just thought it was curious that the same thing that makes it bleed, is the same thing that makes it heal.
More than one thing works this way in the human experience.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
Portland Head Light
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| Portland Head Light |
If you ever make it to Maine, take the time to visit one of the most photographed Lighthouses is the Portland Head Light, tucked away by the edge of Fort Williams Park in Cape Elizabeth, just outside of South Portland. Lit in 1791 and automated in 1989, I'll let you read the sordid details if you hit the jump on the Blog Title.
There is a nearby Lighthouse Museum and you can walk around the park, and there aren't many ways to better spend a New England afternoon.
I had to rush down after work, and they'll kick you out of the park at sunset, so this was taken just as they lit the Lighthouse. For those of you looking for technical information, it has been recommended by one of my respected readers to make a separate blog just for stuff like that: HERE. I ran out of time, so this was about it for the keepers. When I go back there will be more.
It is not the exotic locale or beauty like this that make the most compelling argument to join a place, but it is the people with which hopes are shared and pain is diffused that makes a place missed when one goes away. After my jaunt, I stopped by the house of a family that has taught me just that. We simply visited in their living room, and if they were ever to be located in the likes of barren Southwest, they would make an oasis of it. I am learning, even at my age, of friendship, and expectations, my own selfishness, living and hoping, what it means to really take something personally, and put one's care into something, because even if it hurts, there is no other way to live or be. Because only in death is there apathy. In life there is hope and disappointment, fear and courage, pain and healing, colors and words. The experiences of life that prompts its own perpetuation and reaching for of Something higher.
Nothing profound today. Just enjoying the sunset and the friendships. Elissa, your people miss you here. We know you're doing what you have to do, but you won't be home soon enough.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Discovery
The difference between honesty and Truth is that honesty is relative to what one can see. Truth is independent of whether we can see it or not. Honesty holds on to Truth, but only can wrap our limited sight around a portion of it. More on this idea later.
And to be honest, I would love to make a living being a portrait photographer. One of my most cherished compliments is a friend of mine exclaiming, "I don't know what you did with that photograph but you made me look beautiful!" But what started long ago, built on ambitious unbridled youth to find visual aesthetics, grew into a wonder at finding honesty, the way one sits on the porch by an elderly sage, listening to history, except seeing with the eyes, the history of the person in their face, not just the features but the expression.
The same goes with an interview. If I had to choose whether I could tell entertaining stories or conduct a meaningful interview, I would choose the interview every single time. Because although a good story makes the hearer see something new, gives a new experience, a good interview makes the person being interviewed tell their own story, no matter how incapable a story-teller they think they are. The interview overturns old cobwebs in the mind's history of a self unexamined for years, and though lived some time ago, now is able to live again, with the added experience of wisdom collected from the time of occurrence to the current time of insight. It gives a chance to see things again, maybe more clearly this time. And the recollection is just as strong in feeling, just as vivid in color, but many times more meaningful.
A good portrait is a visual interview. The same way in which an interview is not just about the one being interviewed but is truly a tango, foxtrot or waltz between them and the interviewer, for the interview is a conversation of exploration, where the asker is the explorer and the interviewee is the guide. Both discovering, unearthing treasures, similar to both, but peculiar to each. The meaningfulness of each discovery is flavored with the honest scrutiny of the interviewer themselves. There is no getting away from it, for the interviewee is not the one asking themselves questions. The interviewer brings some of themselves to the table. And the same is true for the portrait. The photographer puts a little of himself into each portrait, and in a way, they dance together, the subject and the artist. And what everyone sees is not simply an individual but interplay, a cooperation of two people to the music they both hear. And we see the dance.
Epilogue:
Where did all this come from? For my birthday, I shuttled off to Portland, where I, unbeknownst the promptings of my friend, indulged myself in some (vegan) ice cream, turned off my cellphone, and walked around the park and spent some time with myself, drove back to my apartment, I took out a book entitled, 'Visual Poetry' by Chris Orwig, and began, not at the beginning but on the section about portraits. Now I am done with technical books, and for me to pick up another book on photography it had to be special. Engrossed, I became more so over time and spent the final several hours of my birthday looking inside and wondering outside. And I forgot to eat, and I forgot to sleep, but I let my mind wander unbridled for just a bit of time. And it ran away.
And to be honest, I would love to make a living being a portrait photographer. One of my most cherished compliments is a friend of mine exclaiming, "I don't know what you did with that photograph but you made me look beautiful!" But what started long ago, built on ambitious unbridled youth to find visual aesthetics, grew into a wonder at finding honesty, the way one sits on the porch by an elderly sage, listening to history, except seeing with the eyes, the history of the person in their face, not just the features but the expression.
The same goes with an interview. If I had to choose whether I could tell entertaining stories or conduct a meaningful interview, I would choose the interview every single time. Because although a good story makes the hearer see something new, gives a new experience, a good interview makes the person being interviewed tell their own story, no matter how incapable a story-teller they think they are. The interview overturns old cobwebs in the mind's history of a self unexamined for years, and though lived some time ago, now is able to live again, with the added experience of wisdom collected from the time of occurrence to the current time of insight. It gives a chance to see things again, maybe more clearly this time. And the recollection is just as strong in feeling, just as vivid in color, but many times more meaningful.
A good portrait is a visual interview. The same way in which an interview is not just about the one being interviewed but is truly a tango, foxtrot or waltz between them and the interviewer, for the interview is a conversation of exploration, where the asker is the explorer and the interviewee is the guide. Both discovering, unearthing treasures, similar to both, but peculiar to each. The meaningfulness of each discovery is flavored with the honest scrutiny of the interviewer themselves. There is no getting away from it, for the interviewee is not the one asking themselves questions. The interviewer brings some of themselves to the table. And the same is true for the portrait. The photographer puts a little of himself into each portrait, and in a way, they dance together, the subject and the artist. And what everyone sees is not simply an individual but interplay, a cooperation of two people to the music they both hear. And we see the dance.
 |
| 5D Mark II, 70-200 f/2.8L IS @78mm, 1/200 sec., f/8, ISO 1600, 2x 580EX II (shoot thru, bounce) |
Epilogue:
Where did all this come from? For my birthday, I shuttled off to Portland, where I, unbeknownst the promptings of my friend, indulged myself in some (vegan) ice cream, turned off my cellphone, and walked around the park and spent some time with myself, drove back to my apartment, I took out a book entitled, 'Visual Poetry' by Chris Orwig, and began, not at the beginning but on the section about portraits. Now I am done with technical books, and for me to pick up another book on photography it had to be special. Engrossed, I became more so over time and spent the final several hours of my birthday looking inside and wondering outside. And I forgot to eat, and I forgot to sleep, but I let my mind wander unbridled for just a bit of time. And it ran away.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Two Lights
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| Two Light State Park, Cape Elizabeth, Maine |
Something has to be said for Coastal Maine. Now if I could just find a decent lighthouse to shoot...
Travel Light
Try it some time.
Take a plane trip without a carry-on. Of any kind.
On my recent trip to California, they had me check in my carry-on because it they didn't have any over head room. Reassured that my carry-on and its contents were checked to my final destination, I didn't worry. Until my last leg got canceled in San Francisco, and I was rerouted to Los Angeles. No carry-on on my arrival. But no worries, I didn't need it for weekend, per se.
What it did was give me a little of an experience I've always wanted to do. On my way home from California, I had no carry-on, with nothing in my pockets except my passport, some cash, an debit car, driver's license, and my cellphone (with charger). And my trusty camera.
The mobility was remarkable, which added a new dimension to the trip. Stairs were fun again. I wasn't worried about making it through security check, or hustling to my connecting flight. I had lots of chances to take advantage of this previously unexperienced freedom. Dallas, La Guardia (as of today, officially my most detestable airport ever!), Portland. I was a lighter traveler. It was wonderful! No toting things around, finding overhead compartments, trucking rolling baggage to the restroom. I could eat where I wanted, roam the shops, and I was free to move about the terminal without any baggage (now if that isn't a metaphor, I don't know what is). Although I wasn't sure when I'd see my camera gear, laptop, and car-keys, I wasn't terribly concerned. It wasn't my lack of planning that put me at this fortunate inconvenience, so I had no doubt God's Providence would take care of the details. Besides, even if I did stress, it wasn't going to let me retrieve my things sooner. This bearable lightness of being was such a remarkable experience, I didn't even have a backpack, just whatever I could slip into my pockets! If every travel experience could be like this! I realized that we pack our carry-on for convenience not necessity. If we could only realize that many of our necessities are really conveniences and work towards traveling instead of hauling around those conveniences, we'd be only more efficient travelers, but more able to experience the journey....
Next time: International travel without a carry-on!!
Take a plane trip without a carry-on. Of any kind.
On my recent trip to California, they had me check in my carry-on because it they didn't have any over head room. Reassured that my carry-on and its contents were checked to my final destination, I didn't worry. Until my last leg got canceled in San Francisco, and I was rerouted to Los Angeles. No carry-on on my arrival. But no worries, I didn't need it for weekend, per se.
What it did was give me a little of an experience I've always wanted to do. On my way home from California, I had no carry-on, with nothing in my pockets except my passport, some cash, an debit car, driver's license, and my cellphone (with charger). And my trusty camera.
The mobility was remarkable, which added a new dimension to the trip. Stairs were fun again. I wasn't worried about making it through security check, or hustling to my connecting flight. I had lots of chances to take advantage of this previously unexperienced freedom. Dallas, La Guardia (as of today, officially my most detestable airport ever!), Portland. I was a lighter traveler. It was wonderful! No toting things around, finding overhead compartments, trucking rolling baggage to the restroom. I could eat where I wanted, roam the shops, and I was free to move about the terminal without any baggage (now if that isn't a metaphor, I don't know what is). Although I wasn't sure when I'd see my camera gear, laptop, and car-keys, I wasn't terribly concerned. It wasn't my lack of planning that put me at this fortunate inconvenience, so I had no doubt God's Providence would take care of the details. Besides, even if I did stress, it wasn't going to let me retrieve my things sooner. This bearable lightness of being was such a remarkable experience, I didn't even have a backpack, just whatever I could slip into my pockets! If every travel experience could be like this! I realized that we pack our carry-on for convenience not necessity. If we could only realize that many of our necessities are really conveniences and work towards traveling instead of hauling around those conveniences, we'd be only more efficient travelers, but more able to experience the journey....
Next time: International travel without a carry-on!!
Friday, September 17, 2010
Mundane Travel Log
So in San Francisco there is this phenomenon of low lying clouds that makes for picturesque photographs of buildings along the bay, but makes for inconvenient travel.
Apparently SFO (San Francisco International Airport) lands incoming aviatory traffic along two parallel runways. But when those otherwise gorgeous clouds line the atmosphere, SFO commonly decides to reduce traffic to a single runway. How this can be maintained in the order of normal business I do not claim to know. I do, however, know first hand of the resulting delay. What would have been a short jaunt across the continental US turned into a collection of delays at SFO that doubled the actual travel time and turned the expected arrival time of 1:21pm at the convenient Ontario International Airport into a major excursion with an arrival into LAX, the gateway to the Far East, at 11:00pm (and is currently being adjust for delays as I write this)!
This excursion included a connecting flight in the obscure town of Bakersfield, California. I don't know the population, but it is large enough to have a single terminal, 6 gate airport.
But small airports are not without their advantages as everything is in really close proximity to one another. The little deli sports non-dairy smoothies that would belittle larger cities. With the man behind the counter pumping out the ethnic East Indian music peculiar to that region, the deli seems more like a hole-in-the-wall Mom & Pop's joint that you might see in rural New England.
A quick run downstairs places you square in the middle of gate 6, and a saunter across the main hall the size of many larger airport's breezeway is a dignified lounge with comfy cloth seats and wooden computer desks. At this hour there is only one other traveler, and there is even the free wireless network, a convenience coveted by those travelers accustomed to larger venues.
All in all a surprise oasis out in the middle of inland California, a region that usually sports dry arid cropland and not much else.
And small airports mean smaller crowds and personal attendance by the airport staff. If that doesn't make you feel like a million bucks, you probably make more than a million bucks.
Oops, did they just announce another flight delay into LA? Sigh, the conveniences of modern travel... Already I miss where I left and I haven't even arrived at where I'm going.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
Apparently SFO (San Francisco International Airport) lands incoming aviatory traffic along two parallel runways. But when those otherwise gorgeous clouds line the atmosphere, SFO commonly decides to reduce traffic to a single runway. How this can be maintained in the order of normal business I do not claim to know. I do, however, know first hand of the resulting delay. What would have been a short jaunt across the continental US turned into a collection of delays at SFO that doubled the actual travel time and turned the expected arrival time of 1:21pm at the convenient Ontario International Airport into a major excursion with an arrival into LAX, the gateway to the Far East, at 11:00pm (and is currently being adjust for delays as I write this)!
This excursion included a connecting flight in the obscure town of Bakersfield, California. I don't know the population, but it is large enough to have a single terminal, 6 gate airport.
But small airports are not without their advantages as everything is in really close proximity to one another. The little deli sports non-dairy smoothies that would belittle larger cities. With the man behind the counter pumping out the ethnic East Indian music peculiar to that region, the deli seems more like a hole-in-the-wall Mom & Pop's joint that you might see in rural New England.
A quick run downstairs places you square in the middle of gate 6, and a saunter across the main hall the size of many larger airport's breezeway is a dignified lounge with comfy cloth seats and wooden computer desks. At this hour there is only one other traveler, and there is even the free wireless network, a convenience coveted by those travelers accustomed to larger venues.
All in all a surprise oasis out in the middle of inland California, a region that usually sports dry arid cropland and not much else.
And small airports mean smaller crowds and personal attendance by the airport staff. If that doesn't make you feel like a million bucks, you probably make more than a million bucks.
Oops, did they just announce another flight delay into LA? Sigh, the conveniences of modern travel... Already I miss where I left and I haven't even arrived at where I'm going.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Charming at any age
Where does it go when they get older? You see it when they're little and wish they'd just hold on to it forever.
What I'm talking about is that innocent charm that is just so winning. I'm talking about that easy trust and how quickly it turned from suspicion. I'm talking about the fact that I didn't have to perform any song and dance to earn it.
What I'm talking about is an ordinary 2 year old little girl who, when I entered, looked at me with initial wonder and a glance to her mom let me know that she needed at least some reassurance. I wasn't about to win this girl's affection any time soon. Or so I thought.
I spoke to girl in a smaller voice, but like an adult. I don't believe in baby talk for ANYONE, no matter if you were just born today. So I spoke with her and talked her through some of the exam of her tender ears, delicate nose and sore throat. She didn't seem to mind being reassured by my words at least. But things got worse when we had to test her throat. She fought and turned and loudly vocalized her pain. But it was at the end of the test confirmation and discussing diagnosis and treatment with the mom, I made my salutation to leave, giving a wide birth and waving bye after that troublesome throat swab.
But when her mom asked her to give me a high-five, she reached out and said, "a hug, a hug!" What a pleasent child! I leaned over and a gave this little child a hug, and was greeted with, "no, a kiss!" How could you not be charmed by that! I leaned over and showed my cheek, on which she planted what felt like a butterfly's delicate caress. I can still feel it now!
And I wondered where all this goes when they grow up. Beat down with cynicism, and heart ache, and cares of growing up, no doubt. Maybe I'm simple like that. Because I wasn't charmed by cleverness and wit, and humor, and adventure, nor by a well-baked dessert or entree.
The seduction was by her unaffected tenderness, warmth and affection ...without an agenda. Just because she had it to give. And she wanted to give it to me.
Boy I love my job.
What I'm talking about is that innocent charm that is just so winning. I'm talking about that easy trust and how quickly it turned from suspicion. I'm talking about the fact that I didn't have to perform any song and dance to earn it.
What I'm talking about is an ordinary 2 year old little girl who, when I entered, looked at me with initial wonder and a glance to her mom let me know that she needed at least some reassurance. I wasn't about to win this girl's affection any time soon. Or so I thought.
I spoke to girl in a smaller voice, but like an adult. I don't believe in baby talk for ANYONE, no matter if you were just born today. So I spoke with her and talked her through some of the exam of her tender ears, delicate nose and sore throat. She didn't seem to mind being reassured by my words at least. But things got worse when we had to test her throat. She fought and turned and loudly vocalized her pain. But it was at the end of the test confirmation and discussing diagnosis and treatment with the mom, I made my salutation to leave, giving a wide birth and waving bye after that troublesome throat swab.
But when her mom asked her to give me a high-five, she reached out and said, "a hug, a hug!" What a pleasent child! I leaned over and a gave this little child a hug, and was greeted with, "no, a kiss!" How could you not be charmed by that! I leaned over and showed my cheek, on which she planted what felt like a butterfly's delicate caress. I can still feel it now!
And I wondered where all this goes when they grow up. Beat down with cynicism, and heart ache, and cares of growing up, no doubt. Maybe I'm simple like that. Because I wasn't charmed by cleverness and wit, and humor, and adventure, nor by a well-baked dessert or entree.
The seduction was by her unaffected tenderness, warmth and affection ...without an agenda. Just because she had it to give. And she wanted to give it to me.
Boy I love my job.
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