the Magic Camera

10 the Magic Camera Second edit 2/29 11:30 AM

It's good to be home. I never thought, at my age of 70, that I would be living in an apartment. Especially in a senior complex I hadn't lived in an apartment since 1972. Yet here I am. I never thought about it, but even if I did, I never could see myself calling a little one bedroom apartment in a senior complex a home.

My trawler was bigger than this. What was nice about the boat was that it moved. It moved all the way down the east coast, from Albany to Jacksonville. The nice thing about boat living was that if you liked a place, you stayed. If you didn't, or if you had a new neighbor that you didn't like, you would cast off and go somewhere else. You can't do that in an apartment if you have a noisy neighbor. You can't even move out because you have a lease to contend with.

Home. Just a few years ago, it was my wife and me. Plus four dogs, three cats, two goats, two chickens, and one horse. Now it is just me. My wife left me. She never could give me the real reason. She couldn't deal with my accident, she eventually said. She took two dogs, the cats, and the horse. Some animal had killed the chickens. We loaned the goats to a friend to eat back some brush on her property and a Florida Panther killed them. So it was me and my two pit bulls. The best dogs ever. Friendly. I guess too friendly. Someone let my male pit out of our fenced in yard one night while I was tending bar at the AmVets. Probably to play with him. He was hit by a car. Now it was just me and Ruby, my female. My first dog. And my last. She died a year after the male. Pamela said it was cancer. I think it was from a broken heart. Ruby missed her best bud.

Pamela left me. That makes me very sad. It also got me Baker Acted into a mental hospital for awhile. Never tell a 911 operator, when she asks if you might harm yourself, that if you had a bottle of pills you would chug them all. It gets you Baker Acted real good. Being Baker Acted is like going to prison, with barred doors and windows. The difference is you are not charged with a crime, there is no trial, you do not see a judge, and you are only released when they say so.

This little apartment isn't so bad though. It's only me now. It gets lonely sometimes. So I walk to the village. Richie gives me rides to Swayze Acres. Am I going nuts? I should buy a TV. Maybe next month's check. That's what happens when you give everything away. Your houses, your cars, your boats, and even your guitars. A Guild and a Martin acoustic at that. Sometimes I miss my stuff. Like right now I miss my TV. But stuff ties you down. Stuff anchors you. Getting rid of stuff gets rid of sad memories. Oh, they were good memories then, but now they are sad memories. So get rid of your stuff and get rid of your sad memories. I did that twice now, getting rid of all my stuff. For some reason, I still have my sad memories though. Didn't work. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

The one thing I did not, and never will, get rid of is my camera. People say I'm pretty good with it. Looking at my photos, I can sure see some nice ones. I get lucky sometimes. I probably should have gotten rid of the camera too. My daughter Becky could have used it. She likes photography too. I even told Pamela that when I die, make sure Becky gets my Nikon and all the stuff that goes with it. But I didn't die, and Becky got herself a nice Nikon anyway. What will I do with this camera when I die? I guess I won't care, at that point. I'll be dead. But I should bring my camera with me to the village. It's a little bulky but it takes much nicer photos than my phone. I use my phone for snapshots. I use my camera for photographs. I need to take more photographs.

I also need to take a nap. The exercise and beer made me tired. But I think I need to take photographs more than nap. I put on my jacket, hung my camera bag over my shoulder, grabbed my cane, and went out the door and shuffled down the hall.

“Good afternoon again, Miss Clara.”

Miss Clara smiled and said something.

I got to the front door. I checked my pocket to make sure I had my keys. Yup. Phone? Yup. Wallet? Yup. I pushed open the door and went out. And there was Richie. Sitting out front with his window down.

“I thought you left?” I asked.

“I did,” said Richie. “But then I came back. Want a ride?”

“Sure,” I said.

As I slid into his '60 Chevy I said “Richie, I really appreciate all these rides you're giving me. How about if I give you some money for gas?”

“No way, man,” replied Richie. “I've got this. It's my job.”

Richie pulled to the end of the driveway. “Which way?”

“Can you give me a lift to Swayze Acres? If it isn't out of your way?”

“Can do, man. I'm headed that way anyhow.”

As we drove along Middletown Road, I looked at things. Many things were exactly the same. The cemeteries never changed. All of the new dead people were planted in the back. Many of the houses were exactly the same. You would think something would have changed, but I didn't see it. Oh wait. 1960 Chevrolet. Right. Don't say a word of this. Nothing had changed here.

“You can drop me off right on the corner,” I said.

“By the Gooders' house?” asked Richie.

“Yes. Do you know them?”

“Only through a mutual friend,” said Richie with a slight smile as he pulled over.

“Ah,” I said as I slid out the door. Easily, I might add.

“If you want, I'd be glad to pick you up later,” said Richie. “I've got the day off. Just give me a time.”

“Richie, you're too kind. I'll be fine. Besides, I have no idea what I'm doing or how long I'll be.”

“OK man, be safe,” said Richie as he pulled away.

“Thank you!” I hollered after him.

I pulled my camera out of the bag. I took off my 300mm zoom lens and put on the 105. I use my 300 mainly for shooting wildlife, or portraits when I don't want people see me taking their photos. I don't bother with things like model or property releases because I don't publish or sell any photos. I just take them. I enjoy it. It exercises my so called brain. It helps me see better when I have a camera. I see things that most would not. It is a form of mental illness, I surmised. I chuckled to myself. Just like buying all that stuff throughout my life. Like sailboats. I must be crazy. You'd have to be nuts to buy a big, expensive sailboat in a place like upstate New York. I got rid of the stuff but I'm still crazy. So maybe I should have kept the stuff.

I hung my camera like a sling. That way it couldn't slide off my shoulder and break. If I broke it, I couldn't afford to buy another one. This has to last. I must be a sight to see. An old man... I looked at my sleeve... wearing a 1960s vintage maroon CPO jacket... shuffling along with a cane, and with a camera bag and camera slung around my neck. Sure, I'll fit right in. No one will notice me. Heck, I look like a tourist. Well, Gibson, it a way you are a tourist. You don't live here anymore. Not in fifty years.

“Hey mister!” someone yelled.

I looked up from my feet. I do that so I don't trip and fall over something, like a crack in the pavement. I dunno. I squinted a bit to get my right eye to focus. It was Russell. I met him the last time I was here.

“Watcha doin'?” asked Russ as he pulled his bike to a stop.

“Just out for a walk, Russ,” I answered. “All alone?”

“Yeah, but everyone will be out soon. They're eatin' dinner. What's that?” he asked, pointing.

“It's a camera,” I said. “Can I take your photo?”

“Sure,” said Russ.

“OK. Turn your bike towards Ferg's house so the sun isn't on your face,” I said as I walked towards Ferg's house myself.

I positioned myself so that I could get all of Russ and his bike in the photo, the sun hitting only the left side of his face. Good. That will give the photo some depth. I set the ISO to 100, the speed to 500, and the aperture to 5.6. I always shoot in manual mode, although the camera will also act like a point and shoot. That's for novices. We experienced photographers do things the old way. The way it should be done. Set the camera in automatic mode and you might as well be using your phone. We didn't have autofocus DSLRs in my day. We had to learn how to set everything. And then we couldn't see the results until we got the film developed. Shooting film makes you a better photographer. And we walked to take photos. Uphill. Both ways.

As I started to press the shutter, Russell grinned.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“What?” asked Russ.

“Don't grin.”

“I'm not. I'm smiling. You're supposed to smile in pictures,” stated Russell emphatically.

“Not when I take photos,” I said. “You can smile a little, but no grinning. Act natural.”

“This is how I smile!”

I gave up and started shooting. As I shot photo after photo, I zoomed in a bit each time. My camera was set to autofocus so I didn't have to mess with that. That's the one concession I made to technology. That, and being a DSLR I could snap as many pics as my heart desired. It didn't cost anything. The only waiting was going home to download them. After a couple of dozen, I lowered the camera and put the lens cap on.

“That sure is a fancy camera,” said Russell. “It's nothing like mine.”

“What kind of camera do you have, Russ?” I asked.

“I have a Brownie,” said Russell. “It's brown. And it's square shaped. What kid of camera is that?”

“Well, it's a Nikon. That's the brand,” I answered. “Have you heard the term SLR?”

Russell shook his head no.

“It means single lens reflex. It's a fancy dancy term for the mirror and prism in the camera body that swings up out of the way of the sensor so light will come through the lens and hit it. With the mirror down, I look right through the lens so I can see what the camera sees.”

Russell looked at me blankly.

“tt's a magic camera,” I said.

“Oh OK!” said Russ.