So, I decided to shoot all my pictures in RAW today. What’s RAW, you ask?
I wondered the same thing.
From what I understand if you shoot all your pictures in RAW, no matter what the picture, even a picture of yourself taken in front of the bathroom mirror, late at night, with two of the bathroom light fixture light bulbs burned out, your mortgage will be paid off by an anonymous donor, you’ll be chosen to be the first (insert your career here) to walk on the moon, and an official from Parliament will knock at your door, blow a shiny golden horn, and announce that after thorough investigation of your family tree, you are actually the rightful queen/king (circle one) of England and you simply must drop everything and head directly to Buckingham palace, posthaste. Shooting in RAW is just that amazing.
But really: shooting in RAW makes your picture files reeeeeally big. The benefit of that is when you go to edit the pictures, you can make more adjustments which makes for a better image.
But, it makes your picture files reeeeeeally big.
So, before I started editing today’s pictures, I deleted the ones that didn’t turn out. Bam!—into the recycle bin. And instead of letting them sit there until the end of the evening, like usual: BAM!—“empty the recycle bin.” “Do you want to permanently delete these files?” Yes! Yes, I do!
And about two seconds later, “Noooooooo!”
I deleted the picture that I wanted.
Oh, I had the most beautiful picture. If only I could have shared this picture with the world every puppy would find a home, the sky would be continually filled with rainbows, and perfume would last all day long, even the cheap stuff.
Fortunately, I was able to crop down a different picture to recreate my deleted picture.
Here’s the picture that needed to be cropped. I needed the sign that’s sitting on top of the dishwasher.
Here’s the crop.
Of course, this picture is just dreadful. The original that I took, and deleted, was breathtaking. I was planning on contacting National Geographic about it first thing on Monday morning. Alas, it’s not to be.
Read it carefully. Carefully. See it?
Yes, folks, today we bought a dishweasher, and oh-ho aren’t you jealous? Wouldn’t you like to have a dishweasher? Even the staff at Sears was delighted and giddy with joy when Darling Husband pointed out that they were lucky enough to have the honor of selling a Real Live Dishweasher, nestled in the sea of ho-hum dishwashers.
Our new dishweasher will be delivered on Wednesday. After 9 months of handweashing our dishes, our little bundle of joy will finally arrive. I’m thinking of having a dinner party for 12 on Tuesday night, just so that my entire set of dishes will be waiting to be weashed on Wednesday. Well, a dinner party of 11, since Boy7 broke one of my plates a few weeks ago.
I’ll serve lasagna and grits and let them adhere to the plates overnight. No worries, I just know my new dishweasher will be able to handle it.
Obama Chia is enjoying his sauna. (Obama Sauna.) He should be able to come out of his bag/greenhouse/sauna in a few days, when his grassy hair takes root. I’ll keep you updated.