Posted by: aauntiem | April 22, 2010

My friend the Action Chick

Last night, after a long day of whomp-whomp  job stuff, I went over to Jay’s to help her with her first ever plant-transfer (more about this later).

When I arrived the Jay house was in a whirl-wind Tizzy of  house cleaning and dinner cooking. See, more so than even myself, my best friend is a schedule organizational freak. She is the only person I know (possibly anyone knows) that actually follows the Martha Stuart monthly house detail cleaning schedule. Her planner is SIC people. SIC. It has an entire list of very important grown-up things for each week, broken down by day.

Do you know how many times a year to change your fridge filter? To dust above the counter? To flush out the air system? To clean behind the fridge?

She does. She does.

She, in essence, is a fearsome thing to behold.

I, outside observer, had unsuspectingly walked into the kind of action the videographers of LIFE had traveled to the far ends of the earth to capture.

After catching my bearings, I decided to photograph Jay making dinner – these are crucial documentary moments people—and the camera was there, so…

But. I am not a LIFE photog. They spent 31 days in a box just to catch 30 seconds of a bird mating scene. They prepared. They had people to hump in equipment. They were professionals.

Ladies and gentlemen, if you did not already know, I hate to break it to you but I am not a professional photographer. I write emails for a living folks.

And, my armature arse was trying to capture the rare Tasmanian devil in a sand storm of cooking activity.

Every single time I focused

she moved.

Literally

See

What

I

Mean?

It was so funny to me that I started laughing out loud, which made her self-conscious that I was laughing at her, in turn speeding her up.

Here, she literally moved her hand right in front of my shot.

Now, as all this freeze-frame activity was going on, her only I instructions were: DO NOT PHOTOGRAPH MY THUMBS. See, she is self conscious about her skin and nails—in particular on her hands (I love them, they are my favorite part. She has had wise woman’s hands since before we turned 20. Aren’t they beautiful and surprising on someone so young. Like a grey streak in a young man’s hair.)

So, wouldn’t you know that this is the only picture that was in focus in the entire photography/cooking session.

As compared to…say… this:

When we were waiting for the shrimp to cook, and she slowed down long enough to come into focus, I laughed and remarked on the phenomena.

Isn’t that just like life, to spin the world up so tight that everything important becomes so blurry we can no longer focus on anything but the one thing we would love not to see.

This phenomena causes marriages to unravel, love to disappear, causes people to lose faith in their god, causes women to hate the bodies that give them life, causes some people to eat tonka trucks. Serious Business, blurred focus.

Yesterday, Jay fretted over her hands—hands that have always done so much good in my life— and yesterday I could only see how out of control I was, how unqualified for new work, how horrible it was to lose, as I perceived, it all.

But, today. Today, I see that if I just let some of it unravel around me, I can begin to make out some much need light on the horizon.

I guess that means I can stop eating the furniture.

AuntieM

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