I had two dreams last night.
In the first, I was a reporter working in Paris doing a story on two British musicians. The three of us, one a young red-headed woman, the other a slightly older man dressed like Oliver Twist, and I, sat on a deserted street outside a tiny bar in a desolate corner of the city. We talked and played guitar and I told them that my camera was specially programmed to fill every photo with love and happiness.
In the second, I and everyone I knew was years older, but it took place in the past. I still had all the old stuff I have now, but it was all new. There was no microwave and no computer. I was either 28 or 47, and my uncle Hugh had organized a photography competition for my entire family. He gave each of us an original Leica 1 and a bunch of Kodachrome film that he’d won in a raffle at his job. The only rule was that we could not leave the property. Uncle Hugh, my mother, and my aunt Nancy were all old and frail so they sat on the front step while my cousins and brothers and I ran around taking pictures. At the end there was an awards ceremony but I don’t remember who won. After the ceremony my Uncle got mad at my Aunt and told her she didn’t take good pictures.
How bad is it that I actually dream about Leicas and Kodachrome.
Does anyone want to do yoga with me? Or aikido?
13 days of class. Then summer.