skyping

It's 9 a.m. on a Sunday morning; it's time for the weekly Skype to Wimbledon.  It was so warm and sunny there that the computer was taken outdoors to give us a tour of the garden - the proliferating primroses, the fallen magnolia petals, the birdsong.  It was so pretty that I wished I knew how to take a photo from the screen (have since found out, so I'll try it next week) - but instead had recourse to my camera.

I used to think that one would never, ever be able to See The Person One Was Talking To - that seemed like far-flung sic-fi invention - a visual telephone?  And I used to swear, adamantly, that I'd never want such a thing, even if it were available.  But of course it's wonderful to be able to see my parents each week - and judging by this, a still photo wouldn't do justice to how they look (and this was the best of three attempts ...).  And the visuals supplement the news - this week, the major event was the fact that a neighbor's tortoise had had her foot bitten by a dachshund.  I have known that tortoise since I was 7 - it belongs with the house opposite - so I do indeed care about this fact, even if, as news go, I recognize that it may appear as less than epic.  To be honest, each time we call, I'm just so very glad if this constitutes the nature of a headlining news item.

Had I not been intending to use this image all day, I'd have found something to say about the latest more-than-street-art posting near the Silver Lake Reservoir Dog Park, which neatly complicates the whole question of landscape/seascape/escapism.