I was busy yesterday trying to learn new things. Here is an Aero Ektar photo with the Speed Graphic taken yesterday afternoon with the last box of Polaroid 55 film I have. It is selling for $10/sheet on eBay, but I wanted to make sure I was doing everything right. His eyes are in focus but his chin and ears are not. That is the f2.5 of the Ektar--the magic. That is what you work for with this lens.
I tried some film and the new one-shot bath that the "New55Project" has promoted in their search for an alternative to the Polaroid 55 film that is gone but so adored. They are swell guys, too. But my experiment with the film didn't work out. I will try again tomorrow. Crossed fingers.
* * * * *
I had pain pills, which was good because I had plenty of pain. I wanted to sink into the big velvet. I had had to look at my toe eventually, and somehow the pain pills helped me do that. It was awful. It looked like a giant plum. The nurse told me that I was lucky I didn't lose my toe, but it was broken into a hundred pieces. Or so. The good thing was that it had not damaged the joint. That is what they told me. That was the good thing I kept repeating. I just had to wait for all the broken parts to gel again. I would heal well, I said, sure and quick. For now, though, I was stranded on the couch with the toe elevated by pillows. I'd learned long ago to stretch out the pain pills with alcohol. A deadly combo, they say, but If you are good and know what you are doing. . . . A couple glasses of wine and a Percocet will take you further than the Percocet alone. I was lucky. I had a good constitution.
I settled into the blur. My mother came over to walk the dog. I called my mother in law to get in touch with my wife at the hotel in Seattle. Night came. I heard nothing.
The next day, my mother in law said that she got the message to my wife, but I didn't hear from her until that night.
I was glad for the pain pills. They numb the emotions, too.
Two days later, my wife came home. My feelings were in a washing machine, sinking, hoping. She looked at my toe impassively as I told her the story. She was home now and could take care of the dog, help me clean and wrap my toe. This didn't seem to give her much pleasure. She drove me to the doctor for my appointment without saying much in the car. That night, she went out with her girlfriend. When she came home, she stood in the doorway between rooms and looked at me for a minute. Then she said, "I'm not happy." I didn't say anything. What was there to say? You can't talk someone into or out of an emotion. They operate outside the boundaries of the rational. People lose sight of that. I have been guilty of that myself.
A day later, she said she wanted a divorce. Everything was reeling. I'd been on the couch all week. It could take me anywhere. I could feel it floating. "Let's go away from here," I dreamed. But it was she who went away. She moved in with her mother. She already had an attorney.
It was Monday and I had to go back to work. I was not supposed to be up, they said. The pressure of the blood in the toe would keep the broken vessels from reforming. I needed the circulation to heal properly. I had missed a week, however, and could not afford to miss more. So on crutches, I hobbled into classes, propped my foot up on the desk, and did my performances. Between classes, I lay on the couch in my office with my toe up and packed in ice. As Hemingway said, you can get through the daytime. Night, however, is another thing. With everyone around, my mind was kept from thinking about what was happening to me. But it was always there, even while I lectured. I was forty-seven. Broken. Alone.
I hadn't been to the film class for two weeks. The first was cancelled because of Memorial Day, the second because of the impending hurricane. It would be odd, like starting over again. I felt a mess.
The first thing I noticed when I walked in was that the prettiest girl in the room was absent. There was no reason for it, but I felt it like a blow. Perhaps she wouldn't be back. Maybe she had dropped the class after the first night. It was probably better this way I told myself. I had enough trouble.
Then, halfway through roll, she walked in the door past my desk where my foot sat elevated in a white sock. She had a baseball cap pulled down low over her eyes, one of which was bandaged with white gauze. She sat down.
"It is nice that you can join us," I said. "What happened to your eye?"
"I was in an accident. What happened to you?"
"Me too."
"What did you do?"
And so I told the class the story of the giant glass table top putting in as much irony as I could. I left out the other part.
"Now it is your turn," I said.
"I got rear-ended downtown on the interstate. Traffic had stopped and a guy didn't see until too late and just plowed into my car. The air bag exploded and damaged my eye."
"Really? You gonna be O.K."?
"I have to go back to the doctor tomorrow for some tests," she said looking at me with her one good eye.
"I guess the break wasn't too kind to us, was it? But there is a difference."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"The accident was the other driver's fault, right?"
"Yes."
"Well, make sure you get a good lawyer. I think you are going to have a lot of money. I'm not."
She just looked at me and gave a sideways grin I would come to see often.
"If you get a lot of money, will you marry me?" I asked, knowing I shouldn't, not in front of the class, anyway, but it was only a joke. Still, I knew better. She just looked at me for a moment. . . then nodded her head slowly and up and down.
I settled into the blur. My mother came over to walk the dog. I called my mother in law to get in touch with my wife at the hotel in Seattle. Night came. I heard nothing.
The next day, my mother in law said that she got the message to my wife, but I didn't hear from her until that night.
I was glad for the pain pills. They numb the emotions, too.
Two days later, my wife came home. My feelings were in a washing machine, sinking, hoping. She looked at my toe impassively as I told her the story. She was home now and could take care of the dog, help me clean and wrap my toe. This didn't seem to give her much pleasure. She drove me to the doctor for my appointment without saying much in the car. That night, she went out with her girlfriend. When she came home, she stood in the doorway between rooms and looked at me for a minute. Then she said, "I'm not happy." I didn't say anything. What was there to say? You can't talk someone into or out of an emotion. They operate outside the boundaries of the rational. People lose sight of that. I have been guilty of that myself.
A day later, she said she wanted a divorce. Everything was reeling. I'd been on the couch all week. It could take me anywhere. I could feel it floating. "Let's go away from here," I dreamed. But it was she who went away. She moved in with her mother. She already had an attorney.
It was Monday and I had to go back to work. I was not supposed to be up, they said. The pressure of the blood in the toe would keep the broken vessels from reforming. I needed the circulation to heal properly. I had missed a week, however, and could not afford to miss more. So on crutches, I hobbled into classes, propped my foot up on the desk, and did my performances. Between classes, I lay on the couch in my office with my toe up and packed in ice. As Hemingway said, you can get through the daytime. Night, however, is another thing. With everyone around, my mind was kept from thinking about what was happening to me. But it was always there, even while I lectured. I was forty-seven. Broken. Alone.
I hadn't been to the film class for two weeks. The first was cancelled because of Memorial Day, the second because of the impending hurricane. It would be odd, like starting over again. I felt a mess.
The first thing I noticed when I walked in was that the prettiest girl in the room was absent. There was no reason for it, but I felt it like a blow. Perhaps she wouldn't be back. Maybe she had dropped the class after the first night. It was probably better this way I told myself. I had enough trouble.
Then, halfway through roll, she walked in the door past my desk where my foot sat elevated in a white sock. She had a baseball cap pulled down low over her eyes, one of which was bandaged with white gauze. She sat down.
"It is nice that you can join us," I said. "What happened to your eye?"
"I was in an accident. What happened to you?"
"Me too."
"What did you do?"
And so I told the class the story of the giant glass table top putting in as much irony as I could. I left out the other part.
"Now it is your turn," I said.
"I got rear-ended downtown on the interstate. Traffic had stopped and a guy didn't see until too late and just plowed into my car. The air bag exploded and damaged my eye."
"Really? You gonna be O.K."?
"I have to go back to the doctor tomorrow for some tests," she said looking at me with her one good eye.
"I guess the break wasn't too kind to us, was it? But there is a difference."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"The accident was the other driver's fault, right?"
"Yes."
"Well, make sure you get a good lawyer. I think you are going to have a lot of money. I'm not."
She just looked at me and gave a sideways grin I would come to see often.
"If you get a lot of money, will you marry me?" I asked, knowing I shouldn't, not in front of the class, anyway, but it was only a joke. Still, I knew better. She just looked at me for a moment. . . then nodded her head slowly and up and down.
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