Me, really?

Thoughts that occurred to me over the weekend:

(1) pooshka 1 year later: Coming up on April 17, the last day I saw the little black pooshka in our yard.  It was the same night I saw what might have been a coyote on the deck, looking for food but getting spooked by the motion-detector light.  I want to believe the pooshka recognized the danger and found another territory.  I took a bunch of stills and video, and maybe this might be the time to put together a short video.  Maybe a minute per year, six minutes long.  Not on fire for it, the way I was for other past projects, but the mere fact that I'm thinking about it at all...

(2) Photography blog with a post about ideas for a 365-day project.  I hadn't thought about doing one since stopping the last one halfway through.  I think that was in 2017.  

The ideas included someone who was taking photos that included her.  Not so much pictures of her, but pictures where she was in the shot but not the point of it.

But then I thought, what about a series (if not 365) of me at age 65?  Small things, like a single hair on my left thumb, or ropy veins on the back of the hand, emphasized by lighting.  I can see someone doing that about themselves.  But me?  I'm not on fire for it, but not dismissing it, either.  Don't let 365 be the enemy of something interesting.

(3)  John Waters, interviewed for the Times.  A guy who's as outrageous as I am subdued.  But what he says about art in his answer below... the rest of the interview was like, this guy's totally different from me, and it's fascinating in a way.  Then in the last paragraph, he says something and I understand I've never heard it put that way before, but I agree with him.  

It's what macro photos of tiny speedwell flowers do for me.  It's what chicory flowers in the inhospitable dirt along country roads do for me.  It makes me want to record an image and say, this stopped me in my tracks.  Look at it!