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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!
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Progressively Blind Photography
As someone on the cusp of complete blindness, I’ve found joy and frustration in equal measure within the vibrant online communities for the blind and visually impaired. Social media groups buzz with stories of adaptation, innovation, and triumphs over adversity, reminders that we are not defined by our lack of sight but rather our spirit. This morning, whilst scrolling through my feed, I stumbled upon a post from Blind New World that caught my attention. It linked to an article in Amateur Photographer titled, “How Can a blind photographer take such great photos? Find out here.” As a photographer who’s been chasing light and shadow for nearly 40 years, selling prints and services for two decades of that time, any whisper of a fellow blind photographer pulls me in like a moth to a flame.
I double tapped the link, settled back, and let VoiceOver voice paint the words across my mind. At first, a smile tugged at my lips. Here was someone like me, turning limitation into art. But as the article unfolded, that smile faded into a thoughtful frown. The photographer in question, Gary, isn’t blind, he’s visually impaired, navigating the world through a haze of blurriness that, while challenging, still grants him glimpses of clarity I can envy. Don’t get me wrong, I am genuinely thrilled for Gary. His work is remarkable, a testament to persistence and creativity in the face of adversity.
Yet, I could not shake a quiet pang of disappointment. The title’s promise of a “blind” photographer felt like a gentle sleight of hand, one that blurred the lines between our experiences in a way that left me feeling a tad unseen. It’s a small thing, perhaps, but it highlights a broader truth I’ve pondered often: visibility in the photography world, especially for those of us with disabilities, often hinges on connections, contexts, and sometimes, a certain alignment with the cultural and political currents.
From my own perspective, I’ve watched patterns emerge in the stories that break through and get attention. Time and again, the blind photographs who grace magazine pages or TED stages seem to hail from he art world or carry a progressive left wing banner. It’s an observation born of countless hours of reading articles and being involved in photography for decades. These individuals often arrive at photography with a pre-existing platform, galleries whispering their name or networks amplifying their voice through he lense of activism. In an industry where “edgy” and “avant-garde” can open doors, a narrative laced with political fervor for the left or artistic pedigree travels far. It’s the old adage of “it’s not just what you, but who you know”.
I write all of this not with bitterness, but with humility and the hope that one day I will get recognized for my work, not for a political stance. I’ve captured deserts that whisper of ancient secrets, canyons where rivers carve stories in stone, and everyday moments in parks. Like Gary, I shoot in black and white and love contrast. My work doesn’t sell. I have done everything possible to get my work out amongst the public, but it hasn’t caught the eye of a sponsor or a spotlight article.
The gentleman in this article says that he can’t use film cameras any more. That’s a choice. My vision is far worse than his, and I still shoot film and develop it at home. It’s not easy, but I do it because I love it.
What do you think? Have you encountered a “blind” story that didn’t match the label?
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Episode 1 of f/128
In this packed episode of f/128, I dive into the fascinating world of affordable film cameras, exploring iconic brands like Minolta, Pentax, Praktica, and Zenit that have left a lasting legacy in the photography community. With film photography making a remarkable comeback among enthusiasts and new creators alike, now is arguably the greatest time to grab a few of these jewels from a bygone era before they inevitably become too expensive and scarce. As more individuals seek budget-friendly film cameras for various purposes, whether for school projects, personal exploration, or simply for the joy of capturing moments, it is all too easy to get lost in the allure of YouTube hype videos and countless blog posts filled with opinions.
In my previous post on this blog, I thoroughly go over my picks and the rationale behind them, emphasizing not just their affordability but also their unique characteristics and potential to enhance your photographic journey, encouraging others to embrace the magic and nostalgia that comes with shooting on film.
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Why the Voigtlander Vito Line of Folders should be Treasured!
For decades, I have been a fan of Voigtlander’s styling, engineering, and glass. It is rare to get it all in one package, particularly when considering the meticulous attention to detail that these cameras exude from their original designs. The lightweight and compact size of the original pre-WWII Vito design is stunning, making it an ideal companion for both amateur and seasoned photographers who prefer to travel light without compromising on quality.
Whilst looking through charity eBay auctions one early morning, I happened across a well-worn but functional Pre-WWII VITO I. Though it had the original owner’s name inscribed on its top plate, as they used to do, it looked great and carried with it a sense of nostalgia that only an antique can offer. I put in a ridiculously small bid and won the camera, feeling a thrill of excitement about the history it held within its frame.
That little Vito I started a love affair with these little folders that has yet to fade. About a month after I purchased the first one, I picked up a Vito II for practically nothing at a charity shop, a lucky find that further fueled my passion for these intricate machines. The Vito I and II both have the same options in shutters, the Compur, which offers an incredible 1/500th of a second max shutter speed, and the Prontor, which offered a max shutter speed of 1/300th of a second, showcasing the impressive engineering of the era. The pre and post-war Vito I’s had a very large shutter bar button that stretched across the entire folding ledge, a distinctive feature that added to its unique aesthetics. With the Vito II, they changed this to a simple button, a design choice that echoed the innovations taking place in photography at the time.
The issue with the bar is that it can cause blur in your images at slower shutter speeds due to having to press down harder on the bar, a quirk that some users might find frustrating. Nevertheless, the lenses on the Vito I, pre and post WWII, were uncoated, which, while charming in its own right, means they can produce softer images compared to modern standards. The Vito II lens, on the other hand, is coated for color film and adds contrast to black and white film, enhancing the overall photographic experience and expanding creative possibilities.
Since I started my little collection, I have purchased the pre-WWII Vito, a mint Vito II, another Vito II with a cold shoe adapter on it, and a Vito IIa, each camera presenting its own story and character. Most people say the Vito III, with its larger f/2.8 lens, is the best out of this bunch, but that depends on your perspective, as each model offers different advantages that can appeal to various styles of photography.
I am loving the Vito IIa for its modern conveniences. It has an advance lever, instead of winding knobs, which adds a touch of ease to the shooting process. To rewind the film, you press a button and a winding knob pops up, an exciting little spring loaded mechanism that makes me smile every time I do that. The engineering in these little cameras is absolutely outstanding for its time; it reflects an era when craftsmanship took center stage, and each component felt lovingly crafted.
The original is still my favorite for walking around taking happy snappy pictures with. It doesn’t have the contrast and clarity of later Vito’s, but it has an enchanting finesse and an epic history that resonate with how photography was experienced back then. Each click of the shutter reminds me of the countless stories captured through its lens, collecting moments from a time long past.
My beautiful and loving wife endures my love of these old cameras and photography, never failing to support my passion even when it may seem excessive. I made a promise that if I didn’t use a camera regularly, I’d sell it, so I will be selling at least one of my Vito’s soon to make room for new acquisitions or to fund further photographic adventures. But, I will not be getting rid of the original or the IIa, as both hold a special place in my heart and represent more than just a piece of equipment; they are vessels of creativity and history. Of course, all of my cameras are for sale for the right price, though parting with them will always evoke a mix of nostalgia and respect for the legacy they embody.
