For Christmas, Jared gave me some spending money, with the only condition that I buy things that would bring me joy.
One of the thing I bought was the Schneider-Kreuznach Min/Mag pictured here. I bought it thinking it would adapt to either my Cinelux 85mm or my Cinelux 37.5mm, both ways, making it a useful tool.
And when it arrived, I was crestfallen to realize that the 85mm filter threads were dented.
But, not to be deterred, I ordered a Neewer lens vise. So when the lens vise arrived, I went at it, determined to be able to screw on the Min/Mag.
And, I got the lens filters successfully re-shaped, and went at screwing on the Min/Mag on the Mag side.
There were tears. I was soooooo upset. There were more tears. There was anger, because then I saw that Jared had the 85mm lens itself taken apart.
Turns out, the dented part was a lens hood for the 85mm, with the logo on it. a lens hood that is every bit the material of the rest of the structure of the lens barrel, meaning there is no cutting it off the Min/Mag.
And then, Christmas faded, and the Min/Mag with its problems, resigned, went into the dehumidifier cabinet.
And then comes this past week, with the job falling through, and I resorted to what I always want to do when these things happen: I started daydreaming about camera and lens gear.
But today, I had a renewed resolve. The Min/Mag went into the freezer for 30 minute with a dehumidifier pack, in two baggies.
No dice– that lens hood is not coming off.
But then, I remembered the screw. And I wondered: what would it look like if I used the glass from the Min side on the lenses?
The Min side has its own version of a lens hood, since the glass is on the lens side of the barrel.
The Super Cinelux 37.5mm is a no-go. Doesn’t work– has enough vignetting from the barrel that it isn’t worth the wide angle.
The 85mm though? I gasped when I saw what it could do:
The Min on the 85mm acts as a focal reducer and slight wide-angle teleconverter, giving me absolutely 99% of what the 85mm could do on the GFX 50sII. It gives me back the 60-70mm perspective that the 85mm had on the GFX.
Would I like the Min/Mag to be completely functional? Of course. I was convinced that it was the Mag side that I would want the most.
But I am thrilled to have stumbled on this serendipitous turn of gear events.
It feels like Christmas all over again today, and literally all it cost me was going out to the garage to get one of Jared’s electronics screwdrivers.
The setup looks ridiculous, admittedly, for a 60-70mm equivalent setup on the X-S20, but I care not. one. bit:
So super excited. I’d given up working with the Cinelux line since Christmas in the fallout of all this, along with the sale of the GFX itself, but now I am thrilled I can have 99% of the GFX look with not spending another single dime on gear.
I re-learned today that my brain is double-sided in both pain and beauty, that I can trust the decisions I make regarding my photography, that I made the right decision in selling the gear I sold in June, that I kept the lens I love the most. That my current gear matches the way that I see the world and that I like it that way. That my eyes see beautiful things and that the grief and pain that is inevitable in my daily life is indeed not the full story.
I learned that nature photography is beautiful with a normal-telephoto lens, that time with my husband is sacred, that I married the wisest person I’ve ever met in my whole life.
I came home a little more sure of myself, a lot steadier on my feet, and remembering that there is good with the bad.
It’s 1:07 PM and Jared and I are just getting breakfast. This morning was rough. It is the kind of morning where I move slow and everything hurts and I am not steady on my feet and I fall into Jared when he hugs me in the kitchen.
I’ve resisted writing for a long time recently. I don’t just sit to write. I don’t journal; I rarely do my gratitude list and when I do it feels like platitudes, not the real thing.
I didn’t sleep well last night; I woke up three times.
Since the whole “analytics ate the timestamp on one of my first emails to Jared” night a couple of weeks ago, Jared has slept in the living room.
I knew it was different that night because when he went to the living room, he packed up his CPAP and took it with him. That has been a months-long fight: he goes to the living room to sleep because I am scared for whatever reason, but he will absolutely NOT take his CPAP with him.
Except, now he does. Every night.
And generally, I do sleep better when he’s out here (where I am now writing). Knowing he is the first line of defense in case the random things-I-think-are-going-to-get-in-the-house-but-never-do really does make a difference.
One night in the last couple of weeks I woke up at 4:02 AM. I was sure I’d heard a knock on our bedroom door. I called out my reflex “JARED!” as I always do immediately upon waking when it’s his cue to go investigate the mystery noises that are never there. Jared was already out in the living room. That noise had been so real though.
“I hate my life.”
In those moments there, lying on my side under at least five blankets which include at least a comforter and two heavy fleece-type blankets, it hardly seems worth being grateful.
Facebook does not help.
This morning’s memories included the lovely photo walk Jared and I went on at Hobbs Farm exactly a year ago today. The featured photo is a photo I took on that walk. I thought I’d like to go on another photo walk today…except I sold the 100-200mm lens I used in that walk last year. None of my current lenses are ideal for wildlife photography.
“I wish I’d never gotten into photography,” I wailed at Jared at some point this morning.
I don’t always see the bits I wouldn’t have otherwise seen if I look back at my photos later.
The blog gets random weird bot analytics.
The boys are grown and prefer the company of themselves in their own rooms over spending time out in the main areas of the house.
I feel aimless, unanchored.
And always, always, always…I lament not having a job, not having the prestige of a career, not having substantive income of my own both so that I can help support us and also so I could buy the things I want without guilt.
People I know are not always helpful; just yesterday my own mother said, “Caroline, you should just make yourself do it,” when I was lamenting the state of our dirty house that I am unable to keep up with.
As if it were that easy, proving my family has zero clue as I’ve always known.
I am up now. I have had breakfast, or lunch or snack, or whatever: a protein bar, a tiny cup of walnuts, a very small section of brie, and six fruity jellies from Trader Joe’s.
I won’t allow myself my coffee until I’ve had the entirety of my full water bottle first.
And later, it won’t be so bad. My legs won’t feel shaky when I walk.
Jared says the PTSD is like this. I never remember.
I won’t feel as though I will wilt. I will get a shower for the first time in two days.
But for now, I write, because that’s one of the few things I can do in moments like this.
Sometimes, that’s how I wake up.
It’s 1:07 PM and Jared and I are just getting breakfast. This morning was rough. It is the kind of morning where I move slow and everything hurts and I am not steady on my feet and I fall into Jared when he hugs me in the kitchen.
I’ve resisted writing for a long time recently. I don’t just sit to write. I don’t journal; I rarely do my gratitude list and when I do it feels like platitudes, not the real thing.
I didn’t sleep well last night; I woke up three times.
Since the whole “analytics ate the timestamp on one of my first emails to Jared” night a couple of weeks ago, Jared has slept in the living room.
I knew it was different that night because when he went to the living room, he packed up his CPAP and took it with him. That has been a months-long fight: he goes to the living room to sleep because I am scared for whatever reason, but he will absolutely NOT take his CPAP with him.
Except, now he does. Every night.
And generally, I do sleep better when he’s out here (where I am now writing). Knowing he is the first line of defense in case the random things-I-think-are-going-to-get-in-the-house-but-never-do really does make a difference.
One night in the last couple of weeks I woke up at 4:02 AM. I was sure I’d heard a knock on our bedroom door. I called out my reflex “JARED!” as I always do immediately upon waking when it’s his cue to go investigate the mystery noises that are never there. Jared was already out in the living room. That noise had been so real though.
“I hate my life.”
In those moments there, lying on my side under at least five blankets which include at least a comforter and two heavy fleece-type blankets, it hardly seems worth being grateful.
Facebook does not help.
This morning’s memories included the lovely photo walk Jared and I went on at Hobbs Farm exactly a year ago today. The featured photo is a photo I took on that walk. I thought I’d like to go on another photo walk today…except I sold the 100-200mm lens I used in that walk last year. None of my current lenses are ideal for wildlife photography.
“I wish I’d never gotten into photography,” I wailed at Jared at some point this morning.
I don’t always see the bits I wouldn’t have otherwise seen if I look back at my photos later.
The blog gets random weird bot analytics.
The boys are grown and prefer the company of themselves in their own rooms over spending time out in the main areas of the house.
I feel aimless, unanchored.
And always, always, always…I lament not having a job, not having the prestige of a career, not having substantive income of my own both so that I can help support us and also so I could buy the things I want without guilt.
People I know are not always helpful; just yesterday my own mother said, “Caroline, you should just make yourself do it,” when I was lamenting the state of our dirty house that I am unable to keep up with.
As if it were that easy, proving my family has zero clue as I’ve always known.
I am up now. I have had breakfast, or lunch or snack, or whatever: a protein bar, a tiny cup of walnuts, a very small section of brie, and six fruity jellies from Trader Joe’s.
I won’t allow myself my coffee until I’ve had the entirety of my full water bottle first.
And later, it won’t be so bad. My legs won’t feel shaky when I walk.
Jared says the PTSD is like this. I never remember.
I won’t feel as though I will wilt. I will get a shower for the first time in two days.
But for now, I write, because that’s one of the few things I can do in moments like this.
