The Mrs. and I wandered several hours up into the mountains, meeting friends for lunch in Blue Ridge, Georgia. We’d never been, many things to see along the way if you’re looking.

Time on campus, a breakfast downtown and a walk down Spring Street, the reason the university is where it is. Even if the spring is now hidden.

Evening scenes around the neighborhood, as bucolic as we think it is there’s still signs of the mechanics of suburban life.

Late afternoon light through the kitchen window, all textures and tones.

Amazing what a week or so can do to a sunflower, isn’t it?

The old Kmart is still empty. Supposedly it’ll be town down and a new Kroger built, but there’s no sign of any work yet.

It’s my least favorite day of the year, but I learned a few months ago when my father bought the camera he taught me to shoot on – June 13, 1967, while he was stationed in Vietnam. That makes this 50 mm 50 now.

His Pentax Spotmatic is tucked away in a closet, every now and then I pull it out just to trip the shutter and hear the springs and gears do their thing. There’s a comfort in its mechanicalness, still.

I was fifteen and a half when he passed 31 years ago today. He was a math teacher in my youth and my kid headed off to start his college adventure this past week, an intended math major. No genes involved, but still kind of cool to me.