Camera Envy

The pristine garden was located high on a hill in Newcastle and couldn’t be seen from Highway 193.  I parked my truck in the pasture below and tripped over every dirt clod and cow patty on the way over to my garden destination. 

 

If the crowds wanted to see this garden, they had to walk.  It was starting to get hot, and as an incentive, the garden would provide a sanctuary with sounds running water, a view and shade.  But by walking, we had to work to get there.  Touring the garden with so many people reminded me of being at Cal Expo on a day of high fair attendance. 

   

Too many people in one place irritate me because I never fail to get stepped on.  This usually happens when people are moving like cattle and saying things like, “Why, this place looks like the Butchart Gardens.”

No, Silly.  I have been to the Butchart Gardens, and believe you me.  This garden looks nothing like it.

My crowd control skills were coming back to me, and I wanted to whip this crowd into shape and make them move.  If I could find a stick in this paradise, I could prod the slow movers closest to me. 

“Moooove it!” I wanted to scream.  “Move!” 

   

This garden received some good press and promised to be spectacular.   I had my camera ready and was looking forward to taking all kinds of shots.  This is what I like about having a camera.  Wherever you go, you automatically have something to do.  People don’t bother you when you are playing photographer.

The tour started with a trail of crushed granite winding through an attractive selection of shrubs and trees plus a collection of handmade birdhouses.  Good.  I would take pictures of the birdhouses in case my husband was interested.  If he isn’t playing perfectionist, he likes making birdhouses.  I think he started one years ago with scrap lumber, but I don’t remember where he put the finished project.  That is, if he ever finished it.

So after taking photographs of about half a dozen bird houses, I was ready to photograph some scenery.   

 There was plenty of lovely landscaping, but my camera read, “Memory is full.”

 

Why was this happening to me?  I tried to delete some photographs to make room, but nothing changed.  No more photographs for me because my camera was not cooperating.  I stopped a few times and tried to fix it, but knowing I didn’t have a camera for the event made me angry.  I was probably pouting.  It is not becoming for a 53-year-old woman to pout.

So I went through the motions of looking at the immaculate garden and admiring it.  Who was I trying to kid?  Without the use of my camera, I was like a crying baby without its pacifier.  On the way back to my truck, a man with a camera asked me, “Was it nice?”

“I ran out of film,” I snapped.  “Don’t run out of film.”  I was in no mood to chit chat.  Cameras these days have memory sticks.  Which reveals that I was old enough to remember when cameras used film.  Anyway, it was a dumb question for him to ask.  He had a nice camera around his neck, and it looked like he wasn’t going to have a camera malfunctioning on him anytime soon.

The next day, my husband and I went to COSTCO and toyed with their camera display.  The COSTCO staff, if you can find them, seems to know what we’re up to.  And they leave the cuckoo camera couple alone. 

We suffer from camera envy, and it usually happens after traveling outside of Sacramento.  This recent trip to Alaska showed me how limited my camera really is.  When bears on the shore look like pieces of fuzzy brown lint and eagles’ heads remind you of golf balls with bright yellow beaks, it’s time to think about getting a better camera.  I also saw cameras on all the people who were with us on the cruise.  This included the 900 members of 2010 Team Amway Thailand.  If those folks weren’t posing for cameras, they were certainly wearing them or clicking away at everything in they saw.  They weren’t too choosy about their subjects.

Looking at cameras was more important to us than sampling the free COSTCO food on display.  I always wanted a Nikon camera with wide angle and telephoto lenses.  My husband wants the Canon Rebel for almost half the price.

Testing the cameras, which are chained to the display, we take turns looking at faraway places in the store.

“Look at that sign!  Look!  Look past the produce!”

“Over there!  See if you can see that sign over the meat department!”

“Can you believe it?  That’s so far away, but I can see it with these lenses!”

“Wow.”

“Wow.”

We can see plenty of objects with these cameras.  Then we sigh, put the cameras back, and continue with our shopping.  Neither camera comes with the lenses we want.  Not including tax, the Nikon is “discounted” at close to $2,000.  The Canon is about $800.  Which is why we test the cameras on each visit to COSTCO and know we won’t be leaving with them.  I think of it as going to the bakery to drool over the glazed twists, then leaving without buying at least a dozen.

My husband and I are truly sick chickens when it comes to cameras.  Our trips to the COSTCO camera department show how much we deserve each other.

So, we will suffer from camera envy until we have the cold hard cash to buy the cameras of our choice.  Until then, it’s camera envy, putting the money aside and pretending to like the cameras we already have.