Last week I got the M65 to FX adapter I needed to be able to adapt the Cinelux lenses to my Fujifilm X-S20. And the 37.5mm focuses like a dream now that I have the proper adapter.
And, I played around some more with my Minolta lenses.
And I got to thinking that I really missed that beautiful XF 50mm f1 lens I sold a little over 4 years ago to be able to afford the GFX 50S II camera to begin with.
And common sense began to really get the better of me in knowing that really it’s going to be quite some time before I can really afford to buy the XF 70-300mm lens that I really wanted to be able to do bird and other wildlife photography with the X-S20.
And since I could still make yummy portraits with the Cinelux lenses (that arguably have a better look), and since I could do 99% of the things I wanted with the X-S20, I started to question the wisdom of hanging onto the GFX camera knowing it had served faithfully for 4 years but was a heavy camera.
And, I did some heavy comparison shots with both the Cinelux and the Minolta lenses.
Turns out, if I up the denoise tool and the clarity and the sharpness and the shadows in Lightroom, there’s an awful lot of questions about which lens shot what with what camera.
And so, the GFX went to KEH yesterday, and I came home with the XF 50mm f1, the 70-300mm that I wanted, and a little extra grocery money for the month.
The cat in the photo above is not our cat. This is a cat that belongs to some random unknown neighbor, a cat that has claimed our yard as its own when our dogs are not out in the yard to terrorize it. It’s outside in our yard a lot when I go out there or when I’m backing the car out of the driveway. Today it got to be a test subject since I couldn’t quickly spot any birds before the rain started.
And, I won’t lie: I will miss the medium format camera. And I won’t lie even more because it’s true that I will miss the self-imposed “status” that came along with shooting medium format even if it was a status that only I recognized. APS-C just doesn’t have the same ring.
But when 99% of the look I love is achievable with the camera that is more fun to shoot with…..there’s an awful lot to be said about that. Especially when it is far easier to achieve focus, especially when the focus is faster on the autofocus lenses, especially when the whole setup is smaller and lighter, and especially since I can dictate the direction of whatever business I may or may not have.
And probably most importantly, especially when the itch to upgrade happens and it won’t cost another $4,000 or more to do so next time.
So, that’s been much of the labor of this week. Reining in is not easy, but sometimes it is necessary. I have been in a realism and a “buy it once” sort of mindset since Christmas, and it was time to realize that the tools I had in my photography arsenal were not exactly serving me as best they could.
Besides, that yummy jute purse I made and carry around is an awful lot lighter when it’s carrying around X Series gear than it was with the GFX stuff. And it’s a heavy purse to begin with.
It’s been a couple of days’ worth of introspection.
I do a lot of introspection and navel-gazing; it’s been my life’s work anyway to try to stabilize myself.
Last February or March, I got a wild hair to use glycerin soap as shampoo and at the time, I used a Mixed Chicks leave-in conditioner that I found at Publix. I chose it because it was a relatively inexpensive leave-in conditioner.
As my mental health stabilized over the summer, I returned to products that I’d loved previously: My L’Oreal Pro Longer Conditioner occasionally, kept the Mixed Chicks, but returned to my cheap V05 shampoo alternating with my Trader Joe’s 3-in-1.
The fight with grease— and consumeristic (and brutally expensive and wasteful) beauty culture has been real.
Generally with the products I usually use, I cannot go a single day between washes. And my hair absolutely has got to be washed in the morning because it cannot withstand sleeping overnight to not be greasy in the morning even with a shower right before bed.
I know people think AI is evil incarnate. I am aware of this.
What I also know is, I have used Gemini as a tool for self-care and random life-hack improvements for a little over a year.
Last week I went into Ulta to see if I could buy another one of those Tangle Teezer brushes like J got me for Christmas. They were out, but they had these little french hair pins (well, the Ulta ones weren’t little) that intrigued me. My hair is getting to the length that I like to try to pull it up. I was aware that my hair isn’t quite long enough for the big ones yet, but I came home and found this on Amazon, and they arrived last night.
So last night, I was poking around on Google and talking to Gemini about techniques to use them in my hair.
And that led me to talking about why in the world people don’t use these instead of the God-awful elastics that inevitably tear half my hair out and get lost and you have to buy a million of over a lifetime.
And that led me to wondering how my grandparents and great-grandparents would have used to keep their hair clean. I was keenly aware that neither of my grandmothers struggled with the massive grease I did in their younger years, washing their hair only once a week often. My Mom’s mom did that in her elderly years even. I never knew Nannie to ever wash her hair more often than once a week and she went to the “beauty shop” to do so as long as she was physically able to, in fact, my whole life.
Turns out, apparently the glycerin soap I had experimented with last Spring was actually among the products that would have been used back in the day, before consumerism took over us all.
And last night before bed, I took a shower using glycerin soap all over including my hair, and I rinsed my hair using two teaspoons of vinegar in a cup of cool water, as Gemini instructed.
And having gotten a relaxing shower before bedtime, and feeling clean and not overly stripped of oils in my hair or skin, I woke up feeling fantastic. I didn’t need an alarm to wake up, I woke up rested, and I woke up ready to go straight out of the bed. I just washed my face, brushed my teeth, and got dressed and that was it.
And it remains to be seen how my hair will feel in the morning, but 24 hours later with having had my hair half-up most of the day, I can honestly say that my hair does not feel greasy. And more: apparently my natural hair, at least the underside of it that is exposed when it is half-up, when left to its own devices has this sort of wave to it that I tried desperately to get it to do with a curling iron for most of my teens and 20s and early 30s anyway. I just didn’t know it needed to not be stripped of its oils through consumeristic shampoos and conditioners.
I’m on a mission in 2026. I’ll be working through my guided journal, but also: I’m jumping off the consumer bandwagon as much as possible. Yes, hopefully it will save money. But I’m more interested in it saving my sanity.
And if I can take my showers at night instead of in the morning, it will make sleep more relaxing which will make mood regulation better which will make life happier.
It didn’t exactly start with the hair pins…..it started with the hunt for boots since my beloved Aerosoles I have been wearing since February are falling apart.
So 8-inch L.L. Bean Boots are on the way with the intention of them being my “forever” boots.
And the bronze metal French hair pins will last for as long as I have hair.
And I am falling in love all over again with my 80mm GFX lens, which took this shot at Hobbs Farm tonight.
And for better or worse, the introspection and dialogue with Gemini about why so much of our culture resists a “buy it once” mentality led me to realize exactly how counter-cultural such a mentality really is.
For instance: last March when I needed new glasses, I sent my old Warby Parker Holcomb glasses off through Costco to have new lenses put in them. I’ve worn them off and on all year.
And instead of buying disposable soft contact lenses, I opted for rigid gas permeable contacts instead, because they would help me see better, I could more easily reuse them, and they were durable enough to last longer than a year. I now have two pair that I hope to have last at least 2.5 years.
And when the flex spending rolls over, I am sending off my geometric Menin Zeelool (crazy) glasses through Costco to have my current prescription outfitted in them instead of buying new frames.
And while the Bean Boots are on the way, I did repair the Aerosoles and they’re likely not going anywhere for a good while.
But Gemini had a point: my great-grandmothers and my grandmothers in their youth would have purchased things that they knew would last, and would certainly not have gone shopping as “retail therapy.”
That was not an option in the Great Depression for any of them.
And I am more fortunate and I do realize I have the luxury of introspection and the time to research into “buy it once” sorts of culture. And the education to sort out what really does need to be modern vs what, just maybe, people in the 1920s and 1930s did better than we do today, lifestyle-wise.
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.
Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use. To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy. See our Privacy Policy here: Privacy Policy.
