Not a Eulogy

Dad loved words.  

You could tell this by how sparingly he used them.  

You know this by how judiciously he used them. He not only used words sparingly, but he used them thoughtfully and carefully as if they were meant to last.  I think Dad would want to be remembered and described in a single word. The word I would use is impressive. Impressive in the way something which is constantly present makes an impression.  Impressive in the way a jug of water never runs dry, nor a jug of oil runs empty, nor a measure of flour that’s never exhausted.

I too love words.  You know this by the great abundance of them I use.  I rarely use them as judiciously as Dad did, and almost never as thoughtfully or as carefully.  In Dad’s quiet way, and my very noisy way, we shared a great love of words.

My dad was a gentleman.  He embodied those qualities we associate with gentlemen.  He was polite, orderly, disciplined, gracious, honest, generous, humble, strong, deferential.  These qualities were developed over a lifetime of many influences such as his parents, and some very close cousins, Benedictine priests who taught him, his military service, a happy marriage, and, an only child himself, being a parent to seven children born in nine years. However these influences were not solely responsible for turning my dad into the gentleman he became.  Dad developed said qualities with great intentionality, perseverance and dedication.

When I was much younger Dad and I frequently went to the Stations of the Cross on Friday nights during Lent. We really knew how to kick off a happening weekend.   I imagine he took us all, but in my mind I am with him and listening to him. The text was Everyone’s Way of the Cross by Clarence Enzler.  The Stations of the Cross is a short contemplation service based on the passion of the Christ. The text is short and has a dialog of sorts between the priest reading Christ’s part and the people reading “the people’s” part.  As happens in most liturgies the people respond in unison and by rote so as to seemingly speak in one voice. However Dad always deliberately read the text using a different inflection and cadence from everyone else. I believed he was reading the responses with such intentionality so as to teach himself some difficult and very humble ways to live.  The reality is that by the time he started taking us to the Stations, he had pretty well cemented his legacy of goodness, but still his focus and emphasis on the words gave them greater meaning.

Here are some of the responses, and they are all partial but see if they seem familiar to Jim Seigel’s way of living:

“My Jesus Lord, obedience cost you your life.  For me it takes an act of will-no more.”

“My Jesus Lord I take my daily cross.  I welcome the monotony that often marks my day, discomforts of all kinds, the summer’s heat, the winter’s cold, my disappointments, tensions, setbacks, cares.”

Another great one: “I willingly accept my weaknesses, my irritations and my moods, my heartache and fatigue, all my defects of body, mind and soul.”

My favorite: “Lord make me realize that every time I wipe a dish, pick up an object off the floor, assist a child in some small task, or give preference in traffic (as if that ever happened) or in the store, teach the ignorant or lend a hand in any way it matters not to whom--my name is Simon and the kindness I extend to them I really give to you.”

“May gentleness become my cloak.  Lord make me kind like you.”

“My Lord I see you take a moment’s rest and rise and stagger on.”

“Detach from me the craving for prestige, position, and wealth.  Root out of me all traces of envy of my neighbor who has more than I.”

“The teachings you could not impart, the suffering you could not bear, the works of love you could not do in your short life on earth, let me impart, and bear, and do… through you.”

So when all fourteen stations have been addressed the Christ voice speaks to the People, and I could always see Dad focus on these two lines.

“Accept each moment as it comes to you with faith, and trust that all that happens has my mark on it.  A simple fiat; this is all it takes.”

And lastly: “So seek me not in far off places.  I am close at hand. Your workbench, office, kitchen, these are altars where you offer love.  And I am there with you.”

These fairly simple lines seem to me representative of the way Dad lived.  Obedient, dependable, patient, understanding, hopeful, charitable, kind, generous, gentle, humble, hard working, accepting and available.  Dad embodied these qualities so completely, when we recently broke into his toolbox we discovered in the lid where he displayed his pride. Never a boastful man, and one who was very sensitive to the trappings of pride, he nonetheless kept a daily reminder of something truly great of which he was a key element.  Everyday at work he would have his toolbox open, and where he kept those tools he needed for his job, nicely displayed in the lid, were pictures of his beloved and lovely wife and beautiful, amazingly well behaved children. It was there at this quiet altar that he offered up his love. I pray that we too should live like Dad did, and know that he is there with you.

An open letter to my high school class

Hearing about the death of our classmate Paul Eganhouse made me take something more than a sideways glimpse of my own mortality, and judging from the many rapidly arriving responses to the post on the 1986 Regis Facebook page, many of you likely did the same.  Knowing some of you have experienced a much harder, and more prolonged confrontation with your mortality, I have to think that Paul's early exit from this life stirred more poignant feelings well beyond my imagination.  At 50 years of age, give or take, we are neither old nor young.  That we have lost more than 5% of our classmates seems like a statistic that would not necessarily be alarming.  Should someone know if that number is high or low, or if anyone wishes for some grizzly research, it would be interesting to know.  However the reassurance that our class' mortality is statistically within range does not help refocus our day to day lives.

Many of you were probably very good friends with Paul.  He was very smart, gracious, good looking, mature, and he had a very reliable jump shot.  Of course he possessed many other great qualities, as you all do, but these were the first that came to mind upon hearing that he had died.  They are qualities that I remember well because they are the ones he exhibited to me.  His intelligence and graciousness we're pretty easy to see, and since he and I were not close they are the qualities that stood out to me.  Undoubtedly many of you remember other qualities that add to the dimension of his life.  Wouldn't it be fascinating to hear everyone's perspective of Paul?  I'm confident that our collective recollection would reveal a richly complex man who left us with good feelings of humanity.  While I would eagerly participate in and enjoy such a memorialization, that's not actually the point of this writing.

The second thing that crossed my mind while reading the announcement of Paul's passing was that I was inexplicably sad.  That sadness rose from the realization that while he and I were not close, or even friends really, we shared this time and space where  mostly disparate, but some common, experiences occurred.  Based on those experiences, and many, many others, he and I became the people we did.  While my own life is scarcely shaped by having shared a certain time and space with Paul, I  am aware that the other one hundred and thirty some others of you with whom I spent one to four of my formative years left an impact greater than I have acknowledged.  Probably that's normal, but perhaps part of reaching fifty is I realize that's something I can change.

For whatever reason, trying to articulate the impact my high school cohort had on me while while it was happening was a very dicey act.  Whether self absorption prevented me from even recognizing it, an immature understanding of the importance you all might contribute to my life, a nearly complete lack of confidence in my power to express myself, or possessing a decorum entirely ill-suited to expressions of appreciation, I never communicated the many ways, subtle, obvious and and at times brutally blunt, you helped shape my life.  Regardless of the circumstances under which we would have interacted, I  am at this point in my life grateful to and for  each of you.

With the passing of each of our classmates; George Nassif, Lynn Smith, Mark Uribe, Michelle Sundell, Sarah Hopp, Ann Valliere, Amy Crane and now Paul Eganhouse, I have reflected on this one contradiction that only time can resolve.  When we were in high school, whether that time was great, miserable or indifferent, we all at some point were told, and we probably tried to understand, that our time together was fleeting.  (For a lucky few of you your time together lasted much longer and hopefully still will.)  High school would be just a small part of who we ultimately become.  On the passing of each of our classmates I took the time to weigh the impact that person had on my life. Each time the amount of sadness I felt for the loss of that person really surprised me.  Even now, thirty two years after my last exchange with Paul, that sadness is more present than I would have expected.  Why would the loss of a person, with whom I  could barely draw a venn diagram of our lives there was seemingly so little overlap, warrant such sadness?  Sadness is part of the resolution.  The happiness, humor, or even contempt I feel and occasionally express when our on-line lives cross is also part of that resolution.  Undeniably while our time together was comparatively short, our interactions possibly few and fleeting, you all helped develop the complex life I am so grateful to live.

So I'm taking this opportunity, while  in the midst of a sadness I can't completely explain and honestly feels a bit self indulgent, to thank  each of you for the imprint you have left on me.  I hope each of you can point to your high school days and feel a similar gratitude for the ways the people, the time and the spaces have shaped your lives.

Tomorrow Belongs to Me

Performed by Rockford Auburn High School CAPA's presentation of Cabaret

     Tomorrow belongs to me. It belongs to you and to everyone else who is living today and bears the good health and fortune to continue living another day.  Tomorrow even belongs to those who won't be with us when night passes for today lives in their hearts nourished by the anticipation that another day must be better than this one.  With the knowledge that yesterday can not be redone and the hope that what we imagine is a better life could possibly arrive tomorrow, we lay claim to that near and dear future with a certainty that betrays the fragility of our existence.

     Today we live with the tools we've picked up and mastered to create the best, happiest, most satisfying versions of ourselves, and we likely try to shape our circumstances and the people who are a part of our lives in such a way that the better, brighter tomorrow comes.  We use many good tools like healthy eating and exercise habits; we plan ahead and try to use our resources wisely; we are kind, encouraging, helpful and we share from our store of attention, skills and treasure.  We welcome the opportunity to improve our chances at making the best possible tomorrow and hope that everyone else is doing likewise.  We also use many destructive tools, and to be clear not all destructive tools are bad.  Sledge hammers and wrecking balls are enormously destructive, but they also help us efficiently remove obstacles which are no longer safe or useful or prevent something better from existing.  The destructive tools we use to secure a better tomorrow tend to also demolish the potential for any worthwhile future for those who do not share the specific ideals to create the new day we have in our minds.

     We use tools like fear, doubt, anger, hatred, uncertainty, selfishness, ambition, secrecy, influence, isolation and stubbornness to insulate and incubate our efforts to create a better tomorrow.  Why shouldn't we make use of these and all tools at our disposal?  Tomorrow belongs to us.  The reason we shouldn't use these destructive tools is that when tomorrow comes it's just as likely to find us on the receiving end of someone wielding their tools against us.  As we have carved out our today by finding the best possible place to live, work, study, play, worship...live even if it means we have separated ourselves from those we think are undesirable, lazy, violent, different, dirty or poor, we could just as likely find ourselves perceived the same way by someone else more powerful than ourselves. There's no doubt that more powerful, influential, ambitious, stubborn, angry, hateful and manipulative people exist, and to deny their presence reflects a willful misunderstanding of the world.

     The video at the top of the page shows a song from the musical Cabaret being performed at Auburn High School's CAPA theater program.  The song is titled Tomorrow Belongs to Me and it's begun by my beautiful and talented daughter Mary.  The melody and lyrics hauntingly betray the hopeful and even cheerful suggestion in the song's title.  The reality that the singer's tomorrows are being shaped by the destructive tools wielded by the emerging Nazi party could easily be the anthem for so many groups today who find themselves on the business end of the wrecking ball.  Whether it's refugees fleeing poverty, oppressive regimes or a corrupt and violent force causing social dysfunction, or it's an underemployed group of people who can't make enough money to purchase affordable health care, or young people of color dying by the hands of brazen authority who've lost the will to serve and protect, their voices will gather to meet the storm that awaits them.

Working in a Camera Store is not a Job

The LinkedIn reminder of my 15 year work anniversary somewhat unexpectedly brought to mind a quick survey of my time at Camera Craft that left me feeling a strange mix of emotions encapsulated by a story told by the proprietor of another camera store.  He tells of a time when his son’s class was taking turns saying what each of their fathers did at his job.  When this kid’s turn came up he said his dad didn’t have a job; he works in a camera store.  Most days I vacillate between the extremes what such a statement might mean.  As the story was told to me the the kid was taking a cynical dig at his dad whose store was located in a mall.  On the other hand the kid’s statement makes me think of the proverb suggesting that when a person finds a job he loves he’ll never work another day.  Neither of those positions accurately describes my daily view of going to work, but certainly I appreciate both sentiments.  

There are days when pulling into the parking lot I am struck by the impulse to go hunting for a “big boy” job that doesn’t involve ringing a cash register or working in a mall.  There are many more days when I meet fascinating people who are willing to share with me a narrative of how imaging needs have brought them to the store.  Whether they need an old family photo reproduced, troubleshooting camera problems, trying to learn a photographic technique or are in search of some appropriate delineation amongst a wide choice of products, people are giving a glimpse of something very personal about themselves.  Indeed they are revealing a fundamental element of our anthropology that’s as primal as our control of fire or our need to honor the dead.  Within these glimpses of people’s connections to imaging there lay an opportunity to make a connection with them.  Making that connection is a very personal experience that when an image is successfully restored and reproduced, a problem is solved, a new understanding of photography is learned or a new tool is acquired to help capture a better image people have been very generous with sharing how important imaging is to them.

I do not mean to suggest that my work is on the same level as that done by a lawyer, a physician, a consultant, a therapist, a cleric or a teacher. Nevertheless there’s a need to try being as professional as those who do such jobs.  And I wouldn’t suggest that everyday is filled with one pulse quickening, personal interaction after another culminating in some enlightened understanding of human nature.  That would be no more true than saying the job lacks any shred of fulfillment or satisfaction.   The reality is the bulk of the days are filled with common and fleeting exchanges with people, and the truth is these exchanges are supposed to culminate with some sort of financial transaction.

While having to pry into a customer’s wallet, carefully search for the best buying opportunities and look for a better way to do something in the hopes of improving the bottom line is the point of any business, even these provide an opportunity to exercise kindness and patience; offer some encouragement or good humor; relieve someone of their frustration, or provide a satisfying imaging experience. In an ideal workplace customers, vendors, other retailers and employees would all work together generously to ensure there’s always that great experience.  Unfortunately the mark is missed more times than I care to consider.  No one is perfect and when a job requires working with so many different people it’s impossible to create a predictable, controllable and perfect environment.

Without trying to make my job  (which does indeed involve working in a mall and ringing a cash register) sound more profound than it is, I have to say that the last 15 years, and 5 of the previous 7 when I also worked at Camera Craft, have been richly filled with unforgettable experiences and opportunities to meet the most fascinating people.  They have taught me many things about doing my job better.  When I started working at Camera Craft I knew nothing about photography or photo specialty retail.  All I really had were a few people skills my parents taught me by their great examples of treating people with kindness and patience, listening and responding with honesty, encouragement and good humor, being problem solvers and regarding those we don’t know or may not even particularly like as generously and graciously as possible.  They are much better at these virtues than I am or likely ever will be.  However I can’t let this occasion go by without saying to all those co-workers, customers, vendors, other retailers in the industry and my family  thank you for helping me understand that working in a camera store, or anywhere for that matter, doesn’t have to be a job.

Lens Hoods

Most days I am asked questions about lens hoods also known as sun shades or those tulip-looking things on the front of a lens. These devices serve very practical functions aside from making your lens look really cool.

 

The primary function of the lens hood is to prevent stray light just beyond the perimeter of the image from causing flares on your photos.  The flares can appear as light streaks or even as a series of hexagonal or octagonal shapes caused by reflections off the aperture blades in your lens.  There will frequently be many of these flares, as there can be one for each element within the lens.  While the following photos won't win any prizes but they illustrate how flares can be controlled with a lens hood.

 

 The photos were taken with a Canon EOS Rebel T1i with the commonly included Canon EF-S 18-55mm f/3.5-5.6IS lens.  Both pictures were taken with the same exposure setting, same focal length and locked down on a tripod.  The top image has a flare circled in black in the upper right hand corner, and the lens hood was off the lens. The bottom image was taken with the lens hood on, and the flare is gone.  The big golden circle on the wall is a reflection from the big gold reflector on the right.  Since that stray light came from within the frame of the photo there was no good way to eliminate it at the point of capturing the image.  However a little work in Photoshop could remove it.

The lens hood will also protect the lens in a more physical way as well.  Since it generally extends well beyond the front of the lens it can protect the front element from precipitation, dust and small, grabby schmutzy fingers belonging to the child whose sweet image you just captured as he tries to see the picture on the camera.

 

  The lens hoods come in a variety of shapes
and sizes depending of the lens it fits.  Telephoto lenses have longer hoods.  With the narrower field of view they capture they can have longer hoods for greater flare protection.





Wide angle hoods are shorter and frequently notched out in the corners giving them something of a tulip shaped look. They need to be notched out so that they do not darken the corners of your photo.  If the Canon ET-65B for the EF 70-300mm IS on the left were used on an EF-S 18-135mm IS lens that needs the EW-73B hood on the right, the image would in fact be circular.  To prevent such an effect, most lens hoods attach to the lens with specific bayonet fittings. 








Some hoods have other distinctive characteristics.  The rectangular Pentax hood on the left is fairly deep and it is quite wide to offer maximum protection when used on normal lenses such as the FA 50mm f/1.4 or the new DA 35mm f/2.4 lenses.  The hood on the right is for the 18-55mm lenses, and it fits them all (DA, DAII, DA L and the DA WR).  Most of the Pentax hoods are cleverly designed with a door so if you are using a filter with a rotating ring like a polarizer or graduated neutral density filter you will be able to rotate the ring without having to remove the hood or try squeezing your fingers inside the hood.

 Finally there are variations on the above themes with regard to fittings.  Some have locking rings that screw on to the hood and it is tightened when the hood has been rotated to the proper position.  Some have clamp fittings that tighten with a set screw to be used with lenses that perhaps have damaged filter threads or bayonet flanges.  They are also useful if a lens also has an adapter ring on the end of the lens.  There are even hoods that appear to close in on the image area such as the small Samsung hood in the middle.  The design does prevent flares while keeping a priority on a compact size.  Lenses with such hoods are typically referred to as pancake lenses due to their extremely small and flat design.

Many lenses include a dedicated hood, but a good number of them do not.  If your lenses did not include a hood, they are very commonly available at your favorite local photo specialty shop.