Muscle Memory
Last week, during a visit to my father’s gorgeous new home of Bend, Oregon, my eight-year-old daughter asked me to join her in the front yard so that we could photograph toys together. (I am a lucky father).
I barely bothered with the toys; it was more fun to watch Maitea.
Here’s one of the three or four toy photos I captured:
The next day, Dad took me to a majestic waterfall that surely has a name, though true to form I’ve forgotten it:
Months earlier, back in the heady days when I had a job, Dad agreed to store all the toys I’d ordered until we could return to the States from Pakistan. It was exciting to finally get my hands on these delightful treasures when we got to Dad’s place, but when we’re not overstaying our welcome with friends and family, my wife and daughter and I are living in a 1990 Toyota Dolphin, so I’m mostly just placing any new toys in storage. Still, I managed to bring Luke Skywalker to our waterfall hike.
Now we’re in Shoshone, Idaho, at the home of our long-suffering, generous-to-a-fault friends, Jeni and Dan. There were lots of toys awaiting me at their house, too, and more will be arriving later this week because I turned off the Pile of Loot feature on my Big Bad Toy Store orders from, again, several months ago when I was gainfully employed.
Point being, I got sick of leaving all these toys in boxes and such, and so tonight I said the hell with it and walked to the outskirts of Shoshone and spent a rewarding hour or so photographing a dozen figures.
Owing to the stalled nature of my hobby stemming from our unemployment and imminent homelessness, I have more or less forgotten how to be a toy blogger, and as such, with a sigh of relief and a dim glimmer of hope, I will simply post highlights from this evening’s shoot, with no further commentary or self-pitying hand-wringing.
Two-Fisted Toy Talk! 