It Has Been Awhile

Well well well. It certainly has been awhile since the last post on the ole Skupien Experience, but rest assured I will be back soon. Life has been pretty busy (excuse) and has left me little time to blog, but I have been re-inspired and am looking forward to take up this web log once again. Next post coming soon...

A Photo Shoot with Walker

It is seldom that I have the enjoyment of an impromptu photo shoot.  This weekend's trip to the Phoenix West Condominiums in Orange Beach, AL provided corresponding variables that allowed for such an event.

Our family was invited to a long weekend stay at the beach during the Independence Day holiday.  Our hosts, per the norm for our stays at the beach, were my in-laws.  They are always very gracious and accomodating.  We always have a great time, regardless of the weather.

Walker always likes to check everything out when we reach our destination.  He is a "no stone unturned" type of gentleman.  He had made his way to the balcony of our condo and I saw a perfect opportunity to snap some pics with my prime lens that I ought to use more than I do.

The trouble with a prime lens is that it is not a "utility" lens, which means its versatility is rather limited. It has a fixed focal length, so you are unable to zoom in or out, you just have to move your feet.  It's rather interesting how this one feature can limit the use of a lens to the point of rarely taking it our of your camera bag, but with children running around, you need a lens that can chase them so you don't have to.

My prime lens is a 50mm f/1.4.  The 50mm prime is the traditional portraiture lens for photogs in the know.  However, since I use a crop sensor camera (Nikon D7000) and not a full-frame sensor, it translates to what would be the equivalent of an 85mm.  But it is still remarkable.  What makes it remarkable is the f/1.4, which is the aperture (the amount of light the lens allows to pass to the sensor).  When you have a lens in your bag that has an aperture this large, it allows you to capture light much more quickly than with a normal zoom "kit" lens.  

So Walker was checking out the balcony, which did not have much walking around room, and I had the "aha" moment of "Quick! Put the prime on the camera and take some pics!"  Well, I was pleased with my allowance of images that were granted to me by a somewhat cooperating three year old.  

This first image caught him off guard.  This is Walker's usual "I'm not into fashion" pose.  

I quickly hold my left index finger up. HE LOOKS!!!

Another great pic.

So now he starts to warm up to the camera because I let hime see the pics I take.

And gets silly.

This is my favorite. Encapsulating the essence of

the three year old boy.

Then he just felt like laughing to hear himself laugh.

I think a bird flew by.

I tied to get a serious pic before I put the camera away.

He actually took direction well for three years old.

I just told him not to smile. Presto change-O!

Happy American to Unicef poster child in

less than 5 seconds!  What can I say, the kid

has talent!

A few curve adjustments in photoshop and that was that.  Now I just need to do a photo shoot with Molly Kate!

My wife has all the pictures on her computer. All I have is a salad.

Ok. Its been over a year since my last post. What can I say? Life is busy, and I am lazy!  But time to slowly dip my toes into the waters of the blogosphere and acclimate myself to the surrounding temperature.
Looking through the pictures on my computer I quickly realized that my wife, Katie, has all the family pictures.  So today I'm going to blog about a salad.  Because I like salad.

Growing up, a side salad was a typical staple for our evening meal.  We called it supper.  Now I call it dinner, because when you get married your vocabulary changes. Sometimes dramatically.  But nevertheless a small salad accompanied the main event.  Trying to recollect my early childhood, which used to be alot easier when I was closer to it, our side salads were pretty legit. Iceberg lettuce, carrot, tomato, chopped hard boiled egg, and a sweet pickled cherry pepper.  I loved the cherry pepper.  Actually, I loved the brine in which the cherry pepper was pickled.  I would bite a small hole in the cherry pepper and extract all the juice with extreme prejudice.  Then my dad would eat it so it wouldn't go to waste, an attribute he has passed on to me.

I dont think it was until I was in high school that we started using Romaine lettuce.  To be honest, I don't think I knew there were lettuces other than iceberg.  You can imagine how amazed I was.  I had been sheltered for so long from the immense plethora of greenery on which a salad could be built.  An unusual but not so unusual feeling. The kind of feeling you get if you lived in a log cabin and never went outside.  Then one day you ventured outside and you were surrounded by skyscrapers.  And the passers-by stared in awe as their ideas about how much plaid one person could possibly wear were shattered.

 My parents did their best to shelter me from the evils lurking in this world.  Romaine lettuce, baby spinach, and spring mix were apparently made of adultery, swear words, and Democrats.  Perhaps they were waiting until I was old enough to cope with such a paradigm shift.  Its a process that takes years.  My eyes will still roll back in my head if someone puts a bowl of arugula in front of me. But I digress.

The dressing that accompanied our salads was somewhat of a rudimentary Thousand Island, but it was sooooooo good. And still is.  Its goodness is imbedded in its simplicity.  Built upon the cornerstones of the greatest of American ingredients.  Mayonnaise and ketchup. Salt, black pepper, and garlic salt to taste.  As I've grown into somewhat of a mature adult, I have developed a more refined palate.  Now I make it with freshly ground black pepper.  And Kosher salt. And I use Hellman's instead of Kraft.  What can I say.  I'm a carnisuer.

So when Romaine was introduced to our table, it didn't take long for our side salads to become a little more filling.  Chopped celery and bell pepper had joined the party along with cucumber and green onion.  The evolution was pretty dramatic.  Like watching Richard Simmons transform into Arnold Schwarzenegger.  Ok, I'll admit. That comparison is not the most appetizing but whatever.

Here is the photo that inspired this post.  I took this picture after making this salad so I could show my mom, because this was an awesome salad.  After I emailed it to her I realized that she cant eat salads like this anymore because they contain too much sodium.  I felt pretty bad about that.  Sorry, mom.   Then I ate the salad and didn't feel as bad.  Actually, I felt awesome because this salad was incredible. Two eggs are on that sucker!

Well, thats all I've got for now. Until next time.

The Politically Incorrect German Shepard

Back in the early 80’s, on a cool autumn afternoon in late October, the 31^st to be exact, I stood in my Mamaw’s living room trying to explain to her what I wanted to be for Halloween.  Since there was a more than an apparent generation gap between us, just suggesting a character from a popular TV show was not going to be enough information for my “ever eager to please her grandson” Mamaw to draw up a cognitive image of this person of whom I was speaking.  So she asked me to describe him. And I did. Thoroughly.

“He has brown skin,” was my first descriptive clue in what was going to be much harder to explain than I had originally anticipated.  Had I not been raised in a somewhat sheltered manner, the quest of becoming my favorite TV character would have abruptly ended then and there.  There would have been no way my Mamaw would have let me be what I considered to be the ultimate TV icon.  But thanks to my parents not exposing me to human labels, my quest was allowed to continue.

“You mean he has a tan?” replied Mamaw. “Yes. A REALLY brown tan.”  So she grabbed bronzer and went to work.  After my face was of a close enough hue to what I deemed acceptable, she went to work on my arms.  She did her best to stretch bronzer to cover both my arms.  And it didn’t look half bad! I was very impressed at how this most epic of Halloween costumes was beginning to come together.

“OK, what else?” She asked.  “He wears a lot of gold necklaces!” I exclaimed with feverish jubilation, knowing that a distinguished lady such as my Mamaw would, without a doubt, have acquired plenty of gold necklaces in her time.  It wasn’t quite as many as I had anticipated, but it was enough to make it to the next step.  I already had bronzer covering 100% of my exposed skin, so there was really no point in changing my mind at this juncture.

“OK, what else?”  I already had on the proper clothing for the costume, and I already had the necessary hardware to make the costume believable.  There was only one thing that remained.  “Mamaw, I need you to cut my hair so that there is just hair on the very top and around the ears.”  Well, Mamaws will go to the end of the world for their grandchildren’s costume aspirations, but cutting hair was something that she just was not going to do.  So she assured me that wearing a blue bandana over my hair would be just as convincing.

My costume was complete.  It was time to pound the pavement in search of endless amounts of candy.  Almost every house in the neighborhood had its porch light illuminated.  This was a very good sign!  Just thinking of all the candy I was going to rake in almost gave me a self-induced sugar rush!  “Come on, Mamaw!” I rabidly squealed as I raced through the neighborhood.  As we approached the first house to begin what I had already determined was going to be” the greatest night of trick-or-treating ever,” a confused expression came over the face of the woman that was poised in the doorway ready to hand out candy. 

“And just what are you supposed to be?” the woman asked in a somewhat befuddled tone.

This wasn’t good.  I thought my costume was spot on and that there should have been no confusion of who I was supposed to be emulating. I was crushed.  Heartbroken.  But I held it together.  She was about my Mamaw’s age, so I quickly chalked it up to the generation gap, as the explanatory experience with my Mamaw was still pretty fresh.  “Perhaps I should recite some catch phrases,” I thought to myself.  Still nothing.  I decided to just end the turmoil and tell her who I was.

“I’m B.A. Baracus from the A-Team!”

Laughter ensued.  I was somewhat confused due to her immediate response.  She obviously knew of B.A. Baracus, yet my embodiment of the A-Team character did not meet her standards.  It must have been the blue bandana. It had to be.  It was the only element of the costume that didn’t belong.  From then on I just decided to make my identity known outright.  And each time, copious amounts of laughter ensued.  I was beginning to become ever so curious as to why my costume was so amusing.  My Mamaw was pleased that I was having such a good time, but I could tell that she was a little curious as well.  And when she asked one of the candy givers exactly who B.A. Baracus was, she was quickly illuminated as to whom in fact this distinguished gentleman was that I had so courageously been portraying.

 “Oh dear,” she replied.  “Jeremy, the sun is beginning to go down and we need to start heading back to the house.”

I had already collected a quite a severance package of tasty treats, so I wasn’t reluctant to start our journey back to the house. There were just a few houses with lights on during the trek back to Mamaw’s house, and I convinced Mamaw to let me stop in for my last efforts of conquesting for candy.  Well, it turns out that the next house was going to be the last house.  And certain lessons were about to be learned.  An epic night of trick-or-treating was about to be transformed into a traumatic experience of life lessons learned in the school of hard knocks.

Lesson #1: Don’t be greedy.  When you have more than you can possibly manage, it is time to retire.

Lesson #2: If you want to pet a dog, in this case a full-grown German shepherd, ask the owner first.

Lesson #3: Don’t dress up in blackface.  Even if it is after Labor Day.  Just don’t do it.

The dog bite wasn’t that bad, but it was bad enough to teach me a lesson.  A little Neosporin and Mamaw’s love quickly made the discomfort dissipate.  A supper of Sloppy Joe’s brought the evening back around to a comforting level, and that my friends is the story of “The Politically Incorrect German Shephard”

Back to the Blog

I have been away for quite some time now.  Busy with work.  Busy with kids.  Busy with life and whatnot.  As most of you know that follow my mother's blog Retirement Daze, you are aware of the recent passing of my grandmother.  For my following posts, I will be sharing some of my fondest memories of her.  I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed remembering and writing them.
Have a blessed Christmas season and my joy come to you and yours.

Memories of an Open Living Room Window

     Growing up in the South, one quickly becomes acclimated to the warmer, more humid weather.  Contrary to popular belief, we do have seasons.  But the longevity of our seasons seem to coincide with the concepts behind thermal science, meaning that the warmer seasons expand and the cooler seasons contract. Which was unfortunate for me, because I really enjoyed the cold (of course when I refer to "the cold" I mean temperatures between 45 and 65 degrees).  But around the end of September the nights would start getting cooler, which would prompt my dad to cut the AC and open the windows.
     Well, after a pretty thorough heat streak here in south Louisiana, the good Lord has decided to bless us with a cold snap.  And, yes, I have cut the AC and have opened the living room window.  And as the cool air flows over my shoulders and into the rest of the house I am instantly transported back to my formative years.  The years when my dad and I would sit on the living room floor with our backs against the couch and watch the Atlanta Braves play whoever on TBS.  Or Saturdays later in the football season watching the eleven o'clock game on Jefferson Pilot.  Whatever it was, the cooler air made it much more enjoyable.

Now let's just hope those levees hold up!

When the growing gets tough

     Being a route salesman, I am on the road quite a bit, so I see my fair share of landscape.  Lately, I have been paying more attention to trees. Contrary to popular belief, the deep south does experience seasons.  Maybe not regarding "fixed temperature" seasons, but with cooler weather and placement of the sun, the trees do change color and lose their leaves.  Having observed several areas over the course of 3 years I have enjoyed watching the shedding of leaves in the fall and regrowth in the spring, and recently it got me thinking.
     It really must be difficult being a tree.  They have to constantly grow, expand their roots, fight for their share of sunlight, and then spend 4 to 6 months out of the year completely exposed.  It certainly doesn't sound like an easy task, but are we that much different?  Well, except for the being exposed...unless you belong to a nudist colony or have a career in...... nevermind.
     The truth is we have the potential to do these things, but seldom is that potential realized.  To quote Larry Winget, "Humans are the only species on the planet that don't live up to their full potential.  A tree doesn't grow 6 feet tall and then say, 'You know what? I think I'm good where I am at.' No. A tree grows as tall as it can grow."  Can you argue with him?  And then add all the advantages we have over trees, mainly our ability to choose.  Trees can't choose where they are planted, they can't choose how often they receive nourishment, and they can't choose their neighbors!  They simply have to do the best with what they are given, and they do.

     We, on the other hand, can choose where to live, how often we eat and what, and many other things that add to our comfort.  And how often do we do our best?  How often do we strive to grow into better versions of ourselves?  How often are we given everything we need accomplish these two tasks I have mentioned?  We all know the answer, we just don't want to accept it.
     Grace.  I forget where I heard this, but it is the best definition of grace I have come across.  I was listening to a sermon on God's grace and mercy. The main idea was this: Grace is when God gives you something that you do not deserve.  Mercy is when God does not give you something that you do deserve.  When I heard that, it sank in rather quickly!

     All of us have "fallen short" if you get my meaning.  But what gives us a fighting chance is the grace and mercy of God's love.  Just as a tree receiving limited sunlight in the winter, we too sometimes move ourselves away from God. And just as a ray of sunlight can shine down upon the bare branches of tree and encourage springtime growth, God's grace and mercy can shine down upon us, giving us the encouragement to do better.  Ok, so His mercy and grace are always shining down, we just may be having a "the future's so bright I've gotta wear shades" moment.
     As a tree does its best to grow towards the sunlight, we should make our most valiant effort to grow towards God.

2 Peter 3:17-18 

“Ye therefore, beloved, seeing ye know these things before, beware lest ye also, being led away with the error of the wicked, fall from your own stedfastness. But grow in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. To him be glory both now and for ever. Amen.”