through a glass darkly

Paul may have first used the phrase. At least, that is where I would have first heard it.


In church or Sunday school.


But I also know it from the Ingmar Bergman film. And, of course, George Patton's poem.


It is true that we have an imperfect perception of reality.


And it even gets more imperfect when you become a man of a certain age. Deviating from routines can be a bad thing.


Six months ago, I could not imagine myself writing a sentence like that. I was the poster child for postmodernism. Routines were for geezers.


Now, I am quickly become a warning for AARP members.


On Thursday night, I downloaded some photographs from my camera. I was going to tell you how my house rental search was going.


My usual routine is to put the camera in my back pack after I am done downloading. Instead, I put it on the bed on top of my walking shorts. A little voice said: "Don't do that." I ignored it -- as I do most of the voices I hear these days.


I sat down to do some work on the computer. By that time of night, Jiggs is usually settled down. He stopped taking his midnight walks when midnight was no cooler than the late afternoon.


But on Thursday, he was restless. He barked that he wanted to go out. By that point the house was locked up. Getting out of Alcatraz must have been easier.


So, I grabbed my shorts to pull out the keys.


Just as I did it, the little voice said: "See?" Because the camera was now in full flight heading away from me, but not on its way to Capistrano.


We have all had that feeling. You know what is happening -- what is going to happen. And it is all flashing by in slow motion frame by frame.


When the camera hit the tile floor, no plastic pieces flew off. There was no sound of a breaking lens. The battery did not spark off a flash.


But there was that thud. Sometimes you just know by the sound that the result is not going to be good.


Because I often have to prove that I am foolish, I tried to take a photograph. It powered up. The screen worked. I could feel the lens zoom inside its chamber. Hope was actually bubbling through reality.


I tried a flash shot. No result.


Well, there was a result. You can see it at the top of the post.


In just over two weeks, I will be in Oregon. I had planned on buying a new camera while I am there.


But that means until I return, there will be no new photographs. And, of course, between now and then:

• There will be new hatchings of iguana in the back yard.
• The presidents of Latin America will meet at the bungalows across the street.
• The circus will parade its lions and tigers and bears (and unicorns) on my beach.
• The world's best sunsets will occur.

And I will have no camera.


I have a library of photographs I have been meaning to share. This may be the opportunity to do that.


And, if any of you have some suggestions on a good digital point and shoot with a high-powered zoom (at least x15 optical), I would appreciate hearing your suggestions. I would purchase a digital SLR, but this weather is brutal on lenses.

It was a good camera. I will give it a decent burial. Because even the images on Plato's walls are a stranger to it now.