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I keep thinking, that although it's sad that the flowers are dying at least it'll force me out of my comfort zone and make me take photos of something else. Like dead flowers, I guess.
“No matter where i go, i still end up me. What's missing never changes. The scenery may change, but i'm still the same incomplete person. The same missing elements torture me with a hunger that i can never satisfy. I think that lack itself is as close as i'll come to defining myself.”
― Haruki Murakami
It's totally complete. But the front assembly looks to me, like it's missing some white fairing.
Also shown is a very rare minifig, ultra secret Classic Space Beige prototype from the early eighties, for sale, only $50,000
The beauty of things imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete.
Is wabi-sabi an aesthetic, a philosophy? For me, it is an opportunity to look within... however flawed and imperfect we may be - sitting quietly drinking my matcha from this beautiful Raku chawan, contemplating life, the universe, I catch a glimpse of the beauty of this short and imperfect time that we have.
Raku-yaki is a very unique ceramic technique that was developed only for matcha bowls in Kyoto about 400 years ago. The same techniques are used to this day. The most unique feature of Raku-yaki is that it feels very soft and warm to the touch by the hands or mouth. Though Raku-yaki appears very thick, it is in fact very light and beautiful to touch.
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Taken in crossed polarized reflected light, this columnar capped dendrite exhibits a faux pleochroic effect, a result of incomplete extinction of the polarizers.
The last several years I have bought a jigsaw puzzle as a Christmas gift for my wife and myself. We are just about finished with this one. When searching for a particular piece, and not finding it right away, the thought crosses my mind that it is a piece that never made it into the box... a missing piece of the puzzle. Unless the puzzle is truly defective, we eventually find that piece, either through perseverance or by chance. I have come to believe that life is like that but that nothing happens by chance. In several books I have read over the years by several authors ( Ravi Zacharias, Donald Miller, John Eldredge, to name a few) they speak about God's work on an epic, a tapestry, a weaving of which each of us and our lives are an integral part of the whole. Eventually, soon (for some) our part in that weaving is finished, although our contribution affects the rest of the weaving (and other lives) after we are gone.
"My Life is but a weaving
between my Lord and me;
I cannot choose the colors
He worketh steadily.
Oft times He weaveth sorrow
And I, in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper,
And I the under side.
Not til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly,
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
In the Weaver’s skillful hand,
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.
He knows, He loves, He cares,
Nothing this truth can dim.
He gives His very best to those
Who leave the choice with Him." - Corrie Ten boom
My father's note in the family scrapbook said, "Ed was always first to make friends with the natives." I assume the reference to "natives" here was the dog -- which was not ours, and which I have no memory of at all. The girl on the right is Patrice, the older of the two sisters I grew up with; at this point, she was a few months shy of her third birthday.
This was taken shortly after we arrived in Roswell, before we had found a house to live in.
I know that my younger sister Aleda celebrated her first several birthdays (on Mar 17th) in a motel as we moved around the country, and I think this might well have been the first such occasion. That being the case, I'm assuming that this photo was taken a few days later...
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This may have been photographed near the house where I lived with my parents and two of my five sisters in 1953-4. The photo was taken nearly 40 years after we first moved into the house, as part of some research that I was doing for a novel called Do-Overs, the beginning of which can be found here on my website
www.yourdon.com/personal/fiction/doovers/index.html
and the relevant chapter (concerning Roswell) can be found here:
www.yourdon.com/personal/fiction/doovers/chapters/ch7.html
Before I get into the details, let me make a strong request — if you’re looking at these photos, and if you are getting any enjoyment at all of this brief look at some mundane Americana from 60+ years ago: find a similar episode in your own life, and write it down. Gather the pictures, clean them up, and upload them somewhere on the Internet where they can be found. Trust me: there will come a day when the only person on the planet who actually experienced those events is you. Your own memories may be fuzzy and incomplete; but they will be invaluable to your friends and family members, and to many generations of your descendants.
So, what do I remember about the year that I spent in Roswell? Not much at the moment, though I’m sure more details will occur to me in the days to come — and I’ll add them to these notes, along with additional photos that I’m tweaking and editing now (including some of the drive from Roswell to Riverside, CA where our family moved next), as well as some “real” contemporaneous photos I’ve found in family scrapbooks.
For now, here is a random list of things I remember:
I discovered roller skates while I lived here — perhaps aided by the presence of nice, smooth, wide sidewalks throughout this whole area of town. Sometimes my mother sent me on a small shopping expedition to the local grocery store, about two blocks away, to buy a quart of milk or a couple of other minor things. The shorts that I wore had no pockets (I have no idea why), so I put the coins that my mother gave me into my mouth, for safekeeping. That way, I had both hands free in case I tripped and fell … but if I had done so, I probably would have swallowed the coins.
For Christmas that year (i.e., Christmas of 1953), I was given a .22-caliber rifle. Even today, it would cause only a shrug in many rural parts of the U.S.; and it was certainly unremarkable in the 1950s. My dad felt that every boy should have a rifle, and should learn how to shoot it, clean it, and take care of it in a responsible fashion. I think his intention was to take me out into the open area outside of Roswell, to shoot at rabbits or gophers; but we ended up shooting at cans and bottles in the local dump.
In 1953, Roswell had not acquired any fame or attention for its proximity to the alleged alien landing in 1947. Trust me: if there had been even a hint of a rumor, the young kids in that town would have heard about it. Whatever may (or may not) have happened there . If you have no idea what this is all about, take a look at en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roswell_UFO_incident
For young boys, it was great sport to shoot at moving creatures. Dogs and cats were considered off-limits; and as implied above, we were not allowed to wander the streets with a .22 rifle. But we all had slingshots, and there were an infinite number of lizards in the area. Unfortunately, lizard were far too quick to hit with a relatively inaccurate slingshot (especially if shot with an unevenly-shaped rock; and it was only a year later, in California, that I began shooting marbles). Our greatest success was actually with slower creatures: horned toads, usually referred to as “horny toads,” or just “horns.” Indeed, they were slow enough that you could capture them with bare hands. You probably have no idea what I’m talking about, so take a look at this National Geographic article: animals.nationalgeographic.com/animals/reptiles/horned-toad/
Olive with a different wig (still not her's) and showing another tattoo.
Slowly I'll work on her untill she's complete!
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Olivia is a Limhwa Half elf and she belongs to me.
Her faceup, tattoos and photo by me.
...è sempre con noi. L'invisibile è solo quello che scegliamo di non vedere.
What's missing....is always with us. Invisible is just what we choose not to see.
With this Lallaguda WAP4 22237, my collection of various livery of WAP4 is complete. LGD WAP4 decelerates and enters Coimbatore Junction at the helm of 12522 ERS BJU "Raptisagar" Express.
An Intober 2025 drawing, but I do not want to finish it now.
So, I will leave it incomplete
for 52 in 2025!
Es ist nur ein einzelnes Kronenblatt einer Rosenblüte . Macroarbeit
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Der Kelch ( Rosenkronenblätter ) hat die Funktion, die Blüte im Knospenzustand zu schützen, während sie in der Knospenentwicklung wachsen .
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It is just a single petal of a rose petal. Macro Work ---- The chalice (rose petals) has the function of protecting the flower in the bud state while growing in the bud development.
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© All Rights Reserved by Galib Emon.
Thank You For Watching My Photograph.
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Vous faite pas ça avec le dos de la cuillère
Danseuse : Camille Denizon
Assistante Shooting: Carole Elorac Tran
Photographe : Jerry Art Motion
Lieu: Montmartre
Strobist : 430 ii 1/8