teh photos we failed to take

[zero]

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in this photo that i failed to take for you there is a satsuma, fallen from an indian fruit and vegetable stall in the middle of southampton market rolling down a newly paved area of the square as if it had ideas of its own about the way it wanted to spend its afternoon - brilliant orangeness trundling along on black, exactly between two pristine yellow "no-parking" lines, and then beneath and between the wheels of a boy's chrome bicycle to the surprise and delight of four west-indian women waiting for their bus with their shopping bags as i strode up the hill.

[lapietra]

This humongous picture that I was unable to capture is of the San Francisco Bay yesterday morning on the way to work (me on the way to work, not it) - a diamondpointillistic sea of dark greenbluegrey and grey white - the sky: huge soft lashings of grey, blue-grey and grey-white with a surprising splash of softly neon melon revealing the sun somewhere behind - ships off to the right in perfect asymmetrical opposition to it, bearing down on us from far far off but of course the bus was *much* too fast.

[Coffee]

This ellegant composition that I failed to record on film speaks for itself, and requires no caption whatsoever.

[lapietra]

Gazing out the window of the overpriced Monterey Bay Fisherman's Wharf restaurant, the evening after visiting the Aquarium (exhausting my camera's small card capacity with no computer to dump the pics on in sight) while eating mediocre obviously pre-packaged gnocchi and ravioli dinners we could have made ourselves in the microwave at the Quality Inn for a fraction of the cost (and yet wasn't it worth it to reward one of the desperate general managers trying to lure us in with things like small cups of delicious creamy clam chower with our small portion of hard-earned cash we'd set aside for the occasion, just that once?) we were unable to take a picture of this scene: a glowing full moon, sending thick broken silver shards over the water moving gently beside a small wooden dock holding three lolling cocoa-brown, cream and grey sea otters alternately dozing, waking, and barking their despair at the unattainable, delicious scent of sustainable seafood being prepared at the various other overpriced Monterey Bay Fisherman's Wharf restaurants; a just-white late-adolescent seagull standing on one leg on a post to the front and left of this, and just beyond and almost opposite, a middle-aged couple huddled and hugging for warmth, possibly saying the same thing as we were to each other - 'This is sort of romantic, isn't it, even if it's a little bourgeois...'

[Marcus Bales]

Below is the picture I missed of Zero's birthday party. Note the truculent stance and the obdurate facial expression, connoting sulky disapproval just before it dissolves into angry tears.

[trisherina]

I failed to take this photo after letting Katie out and then, wondering why she hadn't appeared at the door yet, peeked out the window through the blinds and saw her sitting quietly at the topmost part of the property, on a little hill that the Maus used to sled and wagon-ride and roll on relentlessly, staring out at the water, shoulders square, ears up. Just watching her domain, taking in the clouds and the grass and the birds and the climbing sun, doyenne of the household, contemplating.

[Brynn]

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This is just a blurry snapshot that I couldn't take of Christopher's face the moment he realized that not only had his computer hard drive crashed, but that he'd lost our entire beautifully-shot, edited and produced short film project with it.

[funkytuba]

Yesterday because I was driving and I didn't want to endanger myself, my passenger or other drivers, I did not take this picture with my cameraphone of the back of the Toyota Highlander:

It had a cutesey stick-figure daddy and a cutesey stick-figure mommy.

Where the cutesey baby and kitty should have been were two outlines in dried glue shaped like a cutesey baby and a cutesey kitty.

Not sure if there were unused baby shoes for sale from the same people.

[Brynn]

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Here is a furtive night time snap not taken through the dining room window of a once-handsome man who lives alone, staring intently at the computer screen trying to find just the right words to indirectly woo his ex-wife back on his blog. A cat sits contentedly in his lap, a hot toddy is at his elbow, and he wishes that after all these years, he could just get this pain over with.

[funkytuba]

X





This micrograph I didn't take of the bread dough I just made doesn't show the yeast eating starches and sugars and burping out carbon dioxide thereby inflating the little bubbles of gluten formed by the kneading my Kitchen Aid 6 qt mixer did. It also does not expose the fragility of life implicit in the fact that these wee sleekit cowrin tim'rous yeasties will be Burns'd at 350˚F and will indeed die in the name of deliciousness.