I snapped the pretty thread rack at Manor Cleaners in the morning, the place I take my expensive silk shirts that none of the other boys can afford.
Anyway as I said, I just haven't been in a picture taking mode.
Yesterday was pay bills day, never a happy moment, although I was eager to see if there would be anything left when I was finished. My Verizon bill had effectively doubled, that new plan that was supposed to help me cut costs so much.
What happened next was one of those horrible chains of events.
I opened the trunk and got my new Bogen tripod out, the one the 400mm was mounted to. It has taken a little getting used to, lots of squirrelly
settings and adjustments. Doesn't seat quite right.
I set the damn thing up and went back to the car to retrieve my camera.
The next thing I knew, the next sound I heard,was the super expensive lens detaching itself from the tripod ball head by its own volition and flying through the air and then crashing to the ground.
I stared in stupefied amazement, unable to move for several seconds, the horrible deed done. Two thousand dollar nikon lens, lying in the dirt, check. My friend's lens no less.
I finally mustered my strength and reached down to pick it up and save for a minor owee on the lens flare shield everything seemed to be no worse for wear. I looked up in the tree and of course my quarry the osprey was now nowhere to be seen. Was there a causal relationship between my chronicling the raptor's most intimate business and the resultant catastrophe? That will take a wiser mind than mine to decipher.
Leslie came home and made us dinner and then walloped me at gin rummy three games running. Some days it just doesn't pay to get up.