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Monday Jaunts Through Norman: Coffee, Chaos, and the Senses That Guide Me
Mondays have become my favorite kind of reset. While the rest of the world seems to groan its way back into the workweek, I lace up my shoes and head out for a long, slow walk around Norman, Oklahoma. There’s something deeply comforting about the familiar rhythm of these days: the aroma of fresh coffee, the distant buzz of college students stressing over exams, and the constant percussion of construction echoing through the streets.
This morning started, as so many good ones do, at Yellow Dog Coffee. I settled in with not one, but several cups, letting the rich, warm brew wake up my senses and my spirit. The place has that perfect small town coffee shop energy, friendly chatter, the hiss of the espresso machine, and just enough background noise to feel alive without being overwhelming. By the time my cousin arrived, I was properly caffeinated and ready for our weekly adventure.
He’s a young man, full of energy and in much better shape than I am these days. We set off together, stopping every so often so I could snap a few photographs along the way. I say “snap,” but for me, photography is less about perfect composition and more about capturing moments I want to remember later, textures, contrasts, and the way light feels even when my eyes don’t cooperate the way they used to. He never complains about the pauses. In fact, I sometimes wonder if he’s deliberately slowing his pace to match mine. Whether it’s kindness or just good patience, I’m grateful for it. These walks mean more to me than he probably realizes.
It was a beautiful afternoon in Norman, bright, breezy, and just windy enough to keep things interesting. The sky stretched wide and blue overhead, interrupted only by a handful of sparse clouds and the occasional crisp white contrail slicing across it. As someone who is legally blind and severely visually impaired, I’ve learned to lean heavily on my other senses during these outings. Sight might be limited, but the world still offers itself to me in vivid layers of sound, smell, and touch.
We’d pass by a tall building and suddenly I’d catch the sweet, delicate perfume of spring blossoms riding on the wind. A few steps later, the scent would shift dramatically to the sharp, unmistakable tang of urine lingering in a shadowed corner, or the heavy, skunk aroma drifting from one of the local weed dispensaries. Norman is full of these contrasts. One moment you’re breathing in the promise of new growth and Southern charm; the next, you’re reminded that every city has its raw, unfiltered edges.
And that’s okay. I love this town precisely because it can hold both truths at once. Norman is genuinely beautiful, with its friendly people, tree-lined streets, and that unmistakable college town energy that keeps it young and vibrant. The community here is warm and welcoming in a way that still surprises me sometimes. But I won’t shy away from the truth either; the good, the messy, and everything in between. That honesty, I think, is part of what makes this place feel like home.
Tonight I don’t have many words left in me. The walk was long, the coffee strong, and the company excellent. Instead of more storytelling, I’ll leave you with some of the photographs I took during today’s jaunt. They may not capture every scent or sound, but I hope they give you a glimpse of the Norman I walked through this Monday.
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Why I Chose the Fujifilm X-T4 for My Digital Photography
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been writing about the rising cost of film photography, and unfortunately, the trend hasn’t slowed down. With global instability, tariffs, silver prices, and persistent inflation, film prices continue to climb. Film photography is drifting into the territory of a luxury hobby. That’s a difficult reality to accept, especially for those of us who have relied on it as a primary creative outlet.
I don’t want photography, especially something as timeless and expressive as film, to become inaccessible. But practicality has a way of forcing decisions. For me, that meant looking for an alternative.
Some of you may remember that I previously owned a Sony A7cII. It was, in many ways, an incredible camera, compact, full-frame, and packed with modern technology. I genuinely loved using it. But after our move, I found myself back in the market, searching for something more affordable yet still capable. This time, however, I wanted something different, something more tactile, more physical in its design and operation.
My vision plays a major role in how I interact with cameras. I have about five degrees of vision in one eye and none in the other. On top of that, the vision I do have is around 20/200. That places me well within the definition of legal blindness in the United States, both in terms of acuity and visual field. In simple terms, I’m working with very limited visual information.
Because of that, the way a camera feels in my hands matters just as much as what it can do technically. Buttons, dials, and physical controls aren’t just aesthetic preferences, they’re essential. I need to be able to operate a camera through memory and touch as much as sight.
When I last searched for a camera, I came across Fujifilm’s X-T series but ultimately chose Sony for its compatibility with my collection of Minolta Maxxum lenses. This time, I revisited that decision.
I started researching the Fujifilm X-T lineup, the X-T3, X-T4 and X-T5. The X-T5, while impressive with its 40-megapixel sensor, is still relatively new and priced accordingly. The X-T3, on the other hand, is a solid performer but beginning to show its age, having been released back in 2018.
That left the X-T4.
The X-T4 strikes a balance that’s hard to ignore. It features a 26-megapixel sensor, excellent build quality, and meaningful upgrades like improved autofocus with eye tracking and a faster burst rate. More importantly, it retains the tactile design philosophy that Fujifilm is known for; dedicated dials, physical controls, and a shooting experience that feels deliberate and intuitive.
After some patient searching, I found a used X-T4 with a low shutter count for roughly half the price I had paid for my Sony. It felt like one of those rare moments where everything lines up perfectly; a professional level camera at a consumer level price.
I paired it with a few inexpensive adapters for M42, Pentax K, and Minolta mounts so I could continue using my vintage lenses. Even with its APS-C sensor, the image quality is outstanding, more than enough for my needs and far beyond what the price might suggest.
One aspect I didn’t expect to dive into was Fujifilm’s film simulation recipes. What started as curiosity quickly turned into a bit of a rabbit hole. I’ve since set up several custom recipes tailored to my preferences, and they’ve become a core part of how I shoot.
Regardless of whether I’m using film or digital, I always shoot in black and white. With my level of vision, contrast isn’t just an artistic choice, it’s a necessity. Color, while beautiful, is noise to me. It distracts more than it helps.
Contrast, on the other hand, defines the world.
I use a cane to navigate my surroundings, but when it comes to photography, contrast is what guides me. Within that narrow five-degree window of vision, everything is blurred. Without strong separation between light and dark, the scene collapses into an indistinct mass. But when contrast is present, when shadows and highlights carve out shapes, I can see. Not clearly, but meaningfully.
The X-T4 fits into that process beautifully. It’s a tool, first and foremost. I don’t pretend to use it to its full technical potential, but I use it often, and I use it with intention.
Like many visually impaired people, I rely heavily on memory. I memorize environments, layouts, and patterns. Photography is no different. I memorize my camera settings and the physical positions of the dials. I know how far to turn a knob, which direction adjusts what, and how each change will affect the image.
If I set my ISO to 160 and my shutter speed to 1/125 of a second, I can rely on muscle memory to adjust the aperture accordingly. That part becomes second nature.
What matters is the result, the ability to capture something from the world as I experience it.
The Fujifilm X-T4 has proven to be an incredible companion in that effort. It’s not just about specifications or features; it’s about how the camera fits into my way of seeing, or, more accurately, my way of interpreting what little I can see.
I’ll be putting together a long-term review in a few months after I’ve spent more time with it. For now, I can say that it has allowed me to keep creating at a time when film photography feels increasingly out of reach.
And that, more than anything, makes it worth it.
Below, I’ll be sharing some sample images from my time with the camera so far.
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Is Film Dead or Thriving? Examining Current Trends
Like many of you, I vividly remember a time when film was the only game in town for photography, whether you were an amateur snapping family moments or a pro chasing assignments. Shooting on film meant deliberate choices: metering carefully, composing with intention, and accepting that every frame cost money and couldn’t be instantly reviewed. Then, in the mid-2000’s, digital cameras became viable options for amateurs and professionals alike. By the late 2000’s and early 2010’s, the shift was nearly complete. Digital offered instant feedback, virtually unlimited “film”, and far lower per-shot cost.
During the COVID era (roughly 2020–2022), and something unexpected happened: film experienced a genuine resurgence. Stuck at home, many people sought tactile, meaningful hobbies. Loading a roll, advancing manually, and waiting for development felt like a rebellion against endless screen time. I dusted off my old film cameras, started shooting again, and even set up a home darkroom. The same wave lifted vinyl records back into mainstream popularity, both analog formats offered an “essence” and grounded, earthly feel that digital files (just streams of 1’s and 0’s) simply can’t replicate for everyone.
Film’s magic lies in its imperfections and process. That grain, those subtle tonal shifts, the way light interacts with emulsion, it’s organic in a way pixels aren’t. Everyone who calls themselves a photographer should try film at least once: learn to meter by hand, understand reciprocity failure, and master the full workflow, including developing your own negatives.
Personally, I love pushing Arista EDU 400 to 800 or even 1600 in low-light situations, then developing in 510-Pyro to retain fine grain while squeezing out every stop of sensitivity. These decisions happen before you even press the shutter. It’s a thoughtful, premeditated craft that forces discipline.
I’m not a film snob. Digital is incredibly convenient: walk into a dim building, crank the ISO, and keep shooting without a second thought. No waiting for processing, no risk of light leaks or bad chemistry. For pros needing speed, volume, or client turnarounds, digital remains king—and rising film costs have pushed many back that way.
Recent trends show the resurgence has cooled somewhat. Sales boomed during the pandemic but appear to be flattening or stabilizing into a dedicated niche rather than explosive growth. The market remains healthy as a niche. Global photographic film sales exceeded 20 million rolls in 2023 (up 15% from 2022), with production ramping up (Kodak and Fujifilm increased capacity by around 20% in recent years to meet demand). Black-and-white film saw solid gains (10% shipment increase in some reports), and instant film surged in places like Asia-Pacific.
Prices tell a different story, especially for color film. Kodak and other manufacturers have raised prices multiple times since 2023, with increases of 10–25% in some cases, and more hikes announced or implemented in 2025–2026 (some reports cite 20–50% jumps for certain stocks due to raw material costs like silver, which spiked dramatically in 2025).
Average U.S. film prices rose about 9% from early to mid-2025 after a brief dip in 2024. Premium emulsions like Portra or slide films have climbed noticeably, while some black-and-white options (like Tri-X) have stayed more stable or even seen temporary reductions.
As an American, I’d love to shoot Kodak exclusively. It’s iconic, reliable, and made here. Kodak has made positive moves: resuming direct distribution of consumer stocks like Gold 200 and Ultramax 400 (after more than a decade through third parties), introducing new/rebranded options like Kodacolor 100/200, and taking greater control to stabilize supply and pricing. They’ve also expanded professional lines and boosted motion-picture film sales (higher than since 2014 in some years). I hope this extends fully to TMax black-and-white films, potentially lowering prices through better distribution and reduced middlemen.
So, is film dead? Absolutely not. It’s evolved from the default medium to a cherished, intentional alternative like vinyl in music. The “end of an era” might refer to film’s dominance, but we’re in a new one: a vibrant niche supported by enthusiasts, artists, educators, and even some pros who mix formats. Film won’t reclaim the mass market, but it doesn’t need to. As long as manufacturers like Kodak, Ilford, and Fujifilm keep producing, labs keep developing, and people keep loading rolls, analog photography endures.
What about you? Do you shoot film regularly, or has the price creep pushed you more toward digital? Have you noticed changes in availability or costs lately? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments, whether you’re a die-hard analog shooter or someone who’s curious to try it.
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Snow Ice Walkabout Adventure: A Monday Encounter
Due to the snow and ice weekend before last and the cold temperatures that didn’t get above freezing for days, we haven’t been venturing out much. While I did work this past Friday and Saturday, I wasn’t able to go out for a walk last week. I need my walkabouts with coffee a couple times a week.
As much as I love my wonderful wife, Deana, and our adorable 3 furry kids, I like to venture out as much as I can. We moved to Norman, OK a little over a month ago, but due to the time of year, I haven’t been able to venture all over the city like I normally would.
Today, the weather was scheduled to be fair and sunny, a balmy 50 degrees Fahrenheit. One of the coffee shops I wanted to try is BeanStalk. They have a huge selection and reached out to me on social media when asking for a good coffee shop in town. Once I got there, the staff was friendly, helpful, and offered to read things for me since I can’t see.[wpgmza id=”1″]
After enjoying a fantastic coffee and a iced oatmeal cookie, I started my way down Main Street in the general direction of home. I started to walk by City Hall, but due to the road work, I was unable to do so today.
As I trudged homeward, the treacherous icy sidewalk stretched endlessly before me, offering no escape. Just as I began to steady myself, the ominous sound of a dog’s approaching footsteps pierced the silence, accompanied by the escalating growl of heavy breathing that sent a shiver down my spine.
In that heart-pounding instant, fear gripped me like a vice. The dog was invisible, a shadow of impending doom hurtling my way. Would it topple me to the ground? Would its jaws clamp down with ferocity? Or in a twist of fate, it would shower me with slobbery affection? The absence of its owner only deepened the mystery. My mind raced with these frantic questions as I desperately tried to pinpoint the beast’s origin.
In the blink of an eye, the world around me transformed into a whirlwind of fur and chaos. The unmistakable sound of paws pounding against the ground reached my ears, and before I could fully comprehend the situation, a doodle. Perhaps it was a mix of breeds, its identity lost in the flurry—collided with me with the force of a small, enthusiastic train. I was caught off guard, my balance faltering as I stumbled backward, trying desperately to regain my composure. The cacophony of its barks echoed through the air, each one more fervent than the last, fueled by the rhythmic clatter of a cane that seemed to amplify the dog’s excitement. My heart raced, torn between the instinct to flee and the overwhelming urge to surrender to the absurdity of the moment. Should I dash away, risking a tumble on the uneven ground, or simply laugh at the sheer unpredictability of life, acknowledging my defeat in this unexpected encounter? The decision hung in the air, as tantalizing as the mystery of the dog’s identity.
Then, I heard the voice of the owner. I laughed it off and said I was fine, of course. Then, a Norman City Police Officer pulled up and asked if I was ok. I said I was, so we both laughed and he drove away. 99% of dogs are friendly to me, but it is always the 1% that you have to worry about. Getting bit is not my idea of a fun afternoon in the park.
All ended well and I made it back home safely. It provided me with some entertainment and a story to tell to you all. -
Why We Moved from Arizona to Norman, Oklahoma: A Personal Journey
For over a year, my wife and I had been on an exhausting search for a used home we could actually afford in Arizona. With housing prices skyrocketing and my vision declining, our choices felt increasingly narrow. We could have stayed and poured every dollar into exorbitant rent, leaving us scraping by without enough for basics like food, or we could pack up and start fresh elsewhere. As much as we both adored Arizona’s landscapes, climate, and memories, it simply wasn’t sustainable. Tough as it was, we knew it was time to leave.
My wife’s family roots run deep in the Norman, Oklahoma area, and I’d fallen in love with the place during a week-long visit we took a while back. The friendly vibe, the open spaces, and the genuine warmth of the people stuck with me. So, we turned our sights eastward. In Arizona, even a modest one-bedroom felt out of reach on our average salaries, but crossing a couple of states into Oklahoma opened up possibilities we hadn’t dreamed of. After months of careful research, heartfelt discussions, and weighing every pro and con, we took the plunge and bought a charming three-bedroom home right here in the Norman area.
We’ve been in our new house for nearly a month now, still surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and bubbling with that new-home excitement and aching back. The sense of community here feels real and immediate, a far cry from the isolation we sometimes felt before.
Just the other day, for the first time since moving in, I ventured out for a longer adventure: a roughly four-mile walk exploring parts of the city. Downtown Norman is buzzing with activity these days, with quite a bit of construction reshaping the area, new developments, infrastructure upgrades, and revitalization projects that promise to breathe even more life into the heart of the city. Navigating those zones as a legally blind guy could have been tricky, but the construction crews were incredibly kind and patient, guiding me safely through the hazards with clear directions and helpful hands. I had an absolute blast chatting with folks along the way, strangers who stopped to talk, share stories, or just say hello. The whole experience left me feeling safe, connected, and invigorated.
That said, Norman isn’t without its challenges. Like many growing cities, there’s a visible issue with homelessness, and the city council has been deeply engaged in debates about solutions, including proposals for a permanent shelter funded through a bond vote. With budget deficits and ongoing discussions about priorities, it’s a complex topic that reflects the city’s commitment to addressing real needs while balancing resources. But beneath those growing pains, Norman brims with character, the kind that’s hard to find in bigger, more polished places. The people here are genuinely great: down-to-earth, helpful, and quick to lend a hand.
As a classic university town, home to the University of Oklahoma, Norman pulses with energy. You’ll encounter all walks of life, students, professors, families, artists, and athletes creating a vibrant mix that’s always refreshing. There’s constantly something happening: games at the stadium, events on campus, festivals, or just the lively hum of daily life. It’s big enough to feel like a proper city (without the overwhelming chaos of nearby Oklahoma City), yet it retains that welcoming, small-town heart, perfect for this country fella who’s always preferred wide-open spaces over endless sprawl.
The one thing I’m still hunting for is that perfect coffee spot with the right community feel. There are plenty of options within easy walking distance, Starbucks, Dutch Bros, Stella Nova, and more, but they’re not quite hitting the mark for me. Back in Payson, Arizona, I was a regular at Common Grounds, a true local hangout where folks gathered every morning to chat, catch up on news, and build real connections. They even kept my own dedicated coffee mug on a special hook, complete with Braille labeling so I could find it easily. It felt like home.
Here in Norman, I’m optimistic I’ll discover something close. I’m planning to explore them one by one until I find that spot where I can become a regular again.
All in all, we’re thrilled to be here in Norman, putting down roots and embracing this new chapter. Our home feels like a true blessing, spacious, affordable, and filled with potential.
As we get more settled, I look forward to sharing more stories and diving back into writing about my lifelong passion: photography and vintage film cameras. Being legally blind hasn’t dimmed that love one bit. With no useful vision in my left eye and just a narrow 5-degree tunnel in my right, the world is mostly shadows and shapes to me. But photography has been part of my life for decades. It’s about feeling the moment, composing through instinct and memory, and capturing beauty in ways that transcend sight. Old film cameras, with their tactile controls and timeless mechanics, are especially magical. I can’t wait to talk more about them soon!
