Oaf

“Oaf” is the three-letter word I write in the tiny squares of the crossword puzzle when the clue says, an inept, clumsy person. Sometimes the clue also says, someone who’s lacking in aptitude and intelligence.

It describes me.

I can’t operate a digicam without: a) erasing all the other photos already there; 2) clicking and the photo gets lost; 3) missing a moment because I am forever fiddling with a myriad of tiny knobs with tiny drawings I can’t see without my reading glasses on; 4) and a lot of other things you don’t want to know.

I was extremely content with my Prima Canon camera even if my children, nieces and nephews laughed at me whenever I used it. I ignored every ribbin’ and teasin’—even sarcasm on occasion. I got all the photos I wanted and I have a cabinet full of spiffy albums and scrapbooks where my photos are mounted. However, those same photos don’t look too well when scanned and sent to cyberspace. But who cares? Photos are all about moments, not composition or clarity, right?

If I want crisp, clear photographs, I have artist friends to borrow from or Getty Images to run to.

But then I got hooked on blog hopping. And oooh and aaah, the photos in other people’s blogspots are simply marvelous, not to mention scrumptious. You can almost taste those delectable dishes; or feel the air in those exotic places; or touch nature’s promises in air, land, and sea; or hear the sounds of cities and ranges wide awake.

And to top it all, my son in the US painstakingly wrapped his first digicam--purchased with his hard-earned money treating patients two years ago--mailed it and bequeathed it to me. What’s a mother to do?

A mother who is also an oaf, that is.

I’ve been to several very important occasions worth a thousand photos the last two months. And I have nothing to show for them! Zilch.

Over the weekend I was in an awesome ostrich farm in GenSan and saw for the first time a lot of ostriches making like they were burying their head in the sand! What I’ve been reading about as a child had finally come true before my eyes. I was also treated to sumptuous ostrich meals in wonderful gastronomic presentations by the chef. And all I have is an ostrich egg which the farm/restaurant owners graciously gave me as a souvenir.

That's what makes my ostrich egg extra special. It now sits in an exotic basket for everyone to see—and with it comes my lengthy live narrative of what would have easily been recorded on digicam!

What’s my family doing to help me in this crisis? They’ve given me instructions over a hundred—maybe a thousand?—times, and well, enough is enough I guess.

Summer vacation has dawned upon us and I vow to make it worth my while. I will pore over the digicam manual and memorize every step.

Failing that, I may be able to visit my friend Robbie again. He is now out of the hospital, after over one month there, and I will ask him if he will be so kind as to show me exactly how he takes those drop-dead gorgeous photos with eyes closed.














(The photos show my precious ostrich egg beside a regular egg from our ref.  Who took these badly-lit shots? Guess.)