I’m not tired of taking pictures of sunsets. This one augmented by smoke from a nearby controlled burn. Continue reading “Smoky sunset”
I dug through my photo collections yesterday trying to find a particular shot that I may or may have not taken on a trip to Uzbekistan last year. I was unsuccessful, either because I didn’t take the picture, or I did but it wasn’t as good as I remembered it being.
It doesn’t matter. Once I was in my Photos app there was no reason not to keep looking. (On the contrary, there were lots of reasons to stop what I was doing and address my actual current life.)
I have a huge stack of old photo albums that I still carry with me and lug from house to house and country to country. I used to display them in a low bookshelf that has also been dragged all around the world since my parents gave it to me back in the early 1990s. For a while the pictures shared the shelf with knick-knacks and souvenirs. On the bottom shelf was a shoebox full of unsorted pictures that I promised I would someday put into proper albums. I still have that shoebox, and I still promise myself that I’ll do sort them someday.
Eventually the bookshelf overfilled, and first the knick knacks and then the box of pictures were removed to make room for more albums. (I also made it a point to start buying albums that were slim, because there just wasn’t much space on the shelves.)
At the far western end of Massachusetts—so far west that it’s basically upstate New York, and thus brushes up against my policy of never going above 96th Street if I can help it—lie the Berkshires, a place I’ve heard of but (obviously) have never visited.
My ostensible goal is to visit the Masschusetts Museum of Contemporary Art, or Mass MOCA as it is called by those-in-the-know, but there is a lot to do in the area so I decided to take some of that in, too. First stop was the Hancock Shaker Village, home (former home?) to a religious community best known for its utopian beliefs and fantastic minimalist style, probably not in that order.
At this point a proper writer would give you a meaningful history of the Shakers and their legacy in this part of the United States, but unfortunately it was about to rain and I wanted to make sure I saw everything before it was too late so I skipped the tour and didn’t read any of the signs. I did take a bunch of pictures, though, my favorites of which I am happy to share here. Continue reading “Hancock Shaker Village”
The city of Fall River is home to Battleship Cove, which bills itself as the world’s largest collection of World War II-era battleships.
When I was a kid my school took a field trip to an airplane museum in Colorado and there were (at least in my memory) hundreds of airplanes stretched out on the prairie as far as I could see. So I was a bit disappointed that there weren’t hundreds of ships at Battleship Cove, but I guess it makes sense. Ships are much bigger and more expensive than airplanes, and you probably wouldn’t want an armada sitting so close to Rhode Island. The temptation to overpower such a little state might be too tempting.
I was supposed to meet with relatives there so their kids could run around, but kids being kids after I was on the road they called to say that the kids weren’t going to be going anywhere that day. I never found out if they were sick, in trouble, or just didn’t want to. I was already on my way, though, so I went with my camera and took whatever pictures I could. Here are some of my favorites. Continue reading “Battleship Cove”
I went to Heritage Gardens in Sandwich today. I like it there. I first went a few years ago when there was a lot of family in town and I really needed to spend some time alone. I asked if anybody wanted to join me, and when everyone made a polite excuse I knew I had found my home away from home. (Side note: I should probably talk to someone about my steadily-increasing inability to deal with too many words. It bodes ill for my future, I figure.)
I went today with my new camera hoping to learn some of its settings. The sky was overcast and very few flowers were in bloom. The classic cars exhibit, though, has always appealed to me, and so I was happy to go in there.
I’ve never cared at all for cars. Once, at a party in Queens, a friend of mine offered to show everyone his dad’s Ferrari, and everyone—male, female, young and not-so-young—leaped to their feet and went out to simply stare at this car. I suppose it was a fancy car. Maybe I’m just really unsentimental. I feel like a car should get me from point A to point B with a reasonable amount of comfort, and have air conditioning because I don’t like wind blowing in my face. Everything beyond that is, I don’t know, not interesting. So I really couldn’t understand why everyone was standing around staring at the engine of a car that wasn’t even going anywhere. A car that the owner confessed he almost never drove anywhere because he was worried about it getting damaged. Go figure. Go all the way to Queens to look at a parked car. I slipped away and declared dibs on all the best apps. Continue reading “Heritage Gardens and Museums”