I'm sharing my blog with my young assistant.

These photos were made by my six-year old granddaughter on one of our photo outings. Although I did the editing, I did it according to her specifications.
(See the earlier post:  Me and My Shadow)

Now for her commentary:

I took these photos by myself with no help. My name is Hallie and I love peace signs and stuff.  I also like taking pictures I love to help grandpa edit them. I also like color/black and white whichever, I don't care.

My favorite color is magenta I have a cousin named Sadie my other cousin’s name is Madelyn. Grandpa let’s me use one of his cameras to take pictures. I love to take photos with Sadie but I’ve never done it before that’s why I’m waiting for that day to come. My favorite animal is a horse well I have more favorite animals then that. There’s this painting thing on the computer I love but I wish I could do.  I like this close up thing on the camera that when you’re far away from something and you want to get a picture of it you can zoom in. Oh my grandpa’s a photographer. I live in North Carolina

The end.   

Me and My Shadow

If you know me, you know there are a few things that I absolutely love.  Naturally, one is photography.  The other, and more important,  is my family.  I have a wonderful wife, two great children and four of the best grandchildren one could ever hope for.  And each is different.

Today, I'm going to talk a bit about Hallie who is almost seven years old.  When she visits we like to spend at least one morning on a photo excursion, just the two of us. (click to see our other excursion)  We get in my old Ford F150, with no air conditioner, and head to the park.  She likes the truck because it has no passenger airbag and she gets to ride in the front seat with the window down.  She uses my Canon G11 and I use my Cannon 5D Mark II and we just walk around and take photos.  She's pretty good at it too. (click to see some of her work from and earlier outing).

These are some photos I made of her today.  As you can see, it's not all work.  We had to take a break at the playground and swing a bit.  Then it was back to the truck.

Remembering a hero.

With this coming Sunday being July 4, it started me thinking about my father, William Brian Oglesby, Sr.  He was born in 1920 and died in 1972.   My mom called him either Billy or Honey and they genuinely loved each other. We never knew anything other than a stable family life.

We boys, there are four of us, all knew him as daddy.  Just a normal guy who worked on cars for a living, loved to have a good time and loved our mother.  But there were some other chapters of his life before we were born that he rarely talked about.  In many ways I now think of him as a true war hero.  He didn’t win a lot of medals and made no daring battlefield stands, but his ordeal in WWII must have been pretty harrowing.  He was severely wounded in battle and captured in France by the Germans in late 1944.  He lost a few fingers and had pretty severe scarring on other parts of his body.  He also spent some time in POW camps, but was eventually repatriated because he was no longer capable of combat.

He rarely, almost never, talked about his military time.  When he did, it was usually of fond memories of friends.  One rare time he did mention his time in captivity, he made note of the fact that he was held in Stalag 13, and that only because that was the prison camp where Hogan’s Heroes, a popular television series during my youth, were interred.

My family doesn’t seem to know much about our history and we don’t have a lot of tangible artifacts to connect with the past, but I am fortunate enough to possess the telegrams my grandmother received during the days of my father’s war experience.  When I read them I can only imagine a mother’s anguish of hearing the news that her only son is missing in action.  I’m sure she was desperate to know more, but as you can see from the telegram below, there was no more.  Just, that her son is missing in action.

Then, almost a month later she learns that he is a prisoner of war.  Again, no more details.  I’m sure she prayed for him daily.  Since my family never talked about these telegrams or these experiences, I can only guess that they had no more information than what can be found on these three sheets of paper.

A few months later she learns that he is coming home.  What joy that must have been.  But, joy tempered with sorrow.  He’s coming home because he is injured so badly that he can no longer be of use to the war effort.  What happened to him?  How bad is he?  I’m sure these thoughts raced through her mind.  The third telegram gave no details, just that he would be in the hospital and that she would not be allowed to even greet him as he arrived.  In typical military indifference they even referred to him as her husband.  On a side note, my father’s father had died at least 15 years prior to that and she had remarried.

I’ve also included here the Allied Personnel Repatriation Tag that was attached to his stretcher when they brought him off the ship in New York.  It contains almost all the information I know about my father’s six years of military service.  These are treasures for me.  A few brittle scraps of 65 year old paper that give me a connection to my dad, a true war hero.

I don’t know the story of how my mom and dad got together, they are both gone now and I can’t ask.  But I do know they weren’t married during WWII, but my mom should also be mentioned for her service in the Women’s Army Corps.

Yeah, I'm a dog guy

Ok, I admit it, I’m a dog person.  I just love dogs and have had one or more living with me most of my life.  Sometimes I think that dogs are close to being God’s most perfect creation.  Think about it, they don’t worry about much of anything, never seem to hold a grudge, truly want to make you happy and love unconditionally.  What more could you ask for?

For most of my life, there as been a dog living with me.  The first one was Tiny.  I don’t remember much about him but I do remember him and how much I loved him.

My dog now is Sophie, a great companion and hiking buddy.  I’m not sure what her breeding is since she was an apparent orphan found wandering in a parking garage downtown.  When people ask what kind of a dog she is, I usually just say, “a black one.”  That’s about all I know.  Perhaps some terrier, but who knows and who cares?  That’s how it’s been with all but one of my dogs, they were strays that just wandered up or puppies from mixed-breed litters that people were desperate to give away. 

The lady that found her refers to her as a rags-to-riches story.  We are not rich by human standards, but in dog currency she is wealthy.  She has people who love her, a warm bed and treat every night at bedtime and she gets to take a long walk in the park and “hunt” squirrels several days a week.  Not only that, but she has her own back yard with critters in the woods to bark at just on the other side of the fence.

Sometimes I wonder about her early life.  She doesn’t seem to have been abused, but she doesn’t seem to have received much affection either. While she loves to be in my presence, either lying nearby in the studio, going anywhere in the car or, best of all, going for a walk in the woods, she is not one to be petted or lie next to me on the sofa.  Maybe that’s part of our kindred spirit.  We’re not touchy-feely.

One thing, as a photographer, I wish was different.  I wish she were brown.  Black dogs are just harder to photograph.  Brown dogs show up so much better in pictures.  But, she is mine and I wouldn’t trade her for all the brown dogs in town.

The day my life changed.

It was 1968, I was a new kid at school and was on my first band trip.  I was in the eleventh grade.  We were headed to Washington, D.C. to march in the Cherry Blossom Festival.  My family had recently moved to the area and I had only been in the band a month or so, but I had noticed the band secretary from my back-row seat in the trumpet section as she carried out her duties in the front of the room.  Besides being secretary, she played saxophone and sat a few rows in front of me.

A few hours into our train ride I went looking for the few guys I had gotten to know - we had planned to play cards on the long trip. When I got to where they were the only seat available was next to her.  What should I do?  Then she said, "sit down, I don't bite."

Funny how I still remember those first words she spoke to me after over forty  years.  But, then that was the day my life changed.  I never went out with anyone else, we went to the junior and senior proms together.  In fact we've never been apart since that day.

We graduated high school together, and were married one year to the day from graduation.  And that only because her mother insisted we wait a year to see if we were still together.  You know how those teenage romances are.  June 12, 2010 was our fortieth wedding anniversary. I guess it's going to work out after all.

We currently have two grown and married children that we are immensely proud of and three wonderful grandchildren and one due to arrive in July.  Like I said, that was the day that my life changed and it couldn't have been a better ride so far.

The photo posted above was made on that train ride the day I was invited to sit by her.  It's easy to see from that smile why I jumped at the chance.

Below is a short slide show highlighting our time together.

Mixing fun with business

Stacy and Blake's wedding at Hilton Head, SC, was fun all by itself, but it also gave us the chance to spend a little time in Savannah.  After meeting them on the beach for a "morning-after" session on Saturday, we drove down to Savannah and spent the night before coming back home on Saturday.  Although we spent only a little time there, I was able to make few photos that were keepers.

Train up a child...

I know it's a bit of a stretch, but Proverbs 22:6 says, "Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it."   I hope this applies to training photographers as well as spiritual matters.

Hallie, one of my granddaughters, and I went out this morning for a short photo excursion.  She's only six, but already shows some signs of becoming an artist and photographer.  Naturally, I am encouraging this every step of the way.

 These are a few of my photos from this morning.  You can see Hallie's in another posting.

Hallie's photo excursion with Grandpa

My granddaughters are now six years old.  Old enough to begin making photo excursions with grandpa.  Hallie and I went out this morning, I with my Canon 5D Mark II and she with my Canon G11.  When we got home we immediately sat down to edit our photos.  From her photos these are Hallie's choices for the blog, edited to her specifications.  I wanted to make a few in black and white, but she has strong opinions about her art and only wanted color.

My Favorite Subjects

There are three of them and one more will be here in July.  My grandchildren.  It is evident from my website and the large amount of disk space devoted them, that I love to make their pictures.  They get a bit tired of it now and then, but overall they like having a photographer-grandfather pretty well.  Maybe one of them will develop a passion for the craft.

If you keep up with BlueMoon Studios on facebook, you know that we recently moved our studio back to our home.  We were at Mt. Laurel for over three years and only had to walk out the front door of the studio to find good outdoor locations. These photos were made in our backyard and I believe that between what we have right here and the locations available within just a few miles of us, we have some really good places to photograph.

These few photos were made as impromptu tests and to give grandpa an excuse to photograph his favorite subjects.  I think they look pretty good.

 

Arm Wrestleing Champ

I never met him and only know his name because it's engraved on his headstone.   I know he was born in 1959 and died, much too young, in 1999.  But, more than his name and the span of his life I know that Terry was at one time the state arm wrestling champion.  I am assuming that he was Alabama's arm wrestling champion.

How, do I know this?  It's proudly engraved on the rear side of his headstone.  Right now you're probably thinking who puts that sort of thing on their headstone.  Is this a big deal, a major accomplishment that would rate up there with finding a cure for acne or achieving world peace?  Probably not, but for Terry, it must have been a defining event. 

At first I chuckled then I was a bit ashamed.  I'm the kind of person who believes in chasing one's dreams and not marching to others' drummers.  I was standing next to the grave of a person who must have done the same.  I imagine that he was the kind of guy who loved his sport, even though most of us have no idea that it even exists as such.  He much have trained and participated in all sorts of preliminary events in order to work his was up to the state level.   And he won, was king of his hill.

What about me?  I've chased a few dreams in my life.  I spent a few years in the army learning electronics and working on satellite communication stations.  I worked at a "real" job for several years, then worked in a few churches in various ministerial positions.  Always the dreamer, I convinced my wife we should work in foreign missions and live in Europe.  Which we did for about eight years.  But, the passion has always been the camera and a few years ago we took the next big adventure and opened our studio.
So, you see, I can identify with Terry.  He wasn't afraid to chase his dream and was proud that he did.  I admire that.

I hope that my headstone could someday say, "His photos touched a lot of lives."
 
(Terry is buried in the cemetery that is next to the park where my dog, Sophie, my wife, Joy and I take our morning walks.)

Snow Day

I was born and spent most of my growing up years in south Alabama along the gulf coast.  Then my family moved to Atlanta during my teenage and early adult years.  Needless to say, snow is not something I grew up with.  However, in my adult life I've lived in Texas, New Jersey and Germany.  So I've seen my share of it in my life.

But, we've been back in Alabama for about five years and snow has been a rare experience for me.  They tell me that we receive a pretty good snow last year, but I was in Belize on a mission trip when that happened.

It snowed today.  Not much by the world's standard, but a near blizzard by Alabama measurements.  We closed the studio and went out and made a few photos.

Click here to see the gallery

 

 

A Date With Sadie

OK, I admit it.  I had a date with a younger woman today.  It's not the first time either.  For the past six years I've had a real love affair with two girls, Sadie and Hallie.  For the past couple of years, Charlie has also been in the mix.  And it's great being their grandpa.

Today we took Sadie to the Galleria for lunch and just to hang out.  Of course, I took a camera.  She's such a model.

See all the photos click here    (All photos shot with Canon G11)

 

How long have you been a photographer?

That's the question lots of people ask me.  My answers range from, "forever," to "over forty years,"

to "depends on what you mean."  I usually tell people that Joy, my lovely wife, bought me my first 35 mm SLR for our first wedding anniversary in 1971 and it's been a love affair with the camera since then.  It became an obsessive hobby and I began photographing weddings and portraits for money in the mid 1970s to help support my hobby.  As you know, photography can get expensive.

But, the story really goes back even farther than that.  I don't really remember the first time I got to use the family camera, but I do remember what camera it was -- a Brownie Hawkeye, built in the early '60s.  My mom liked to take family photos of my dad and family of four boys and this was the camera that she used to make many of those photos.  Lately I've been on a project to scan all of our old family images and store them digitally.  I love the way we were usually posed in front of the family car.  My dad worked for the Studebaker and one is often prominent in our family photos. 

Another common theme is the Christmas morning photo of our living room showing us marveling at all the good things that Santa had left the night before.  It's usually a photo of me and my brothers standing around in our under pants.  I guess we never wore pajamas.

All this to say, the Brownie Hawkeye had a great influence on the path I would eventually take.  Below is a photo I made of my maternal grandparents on Dauphin Island in the mid 1960s with that camera.  Then there are the close ups showing the camera today.  When I was a cub scout, my mom finally gave me that camera.  You can see where she wrote my name and troop number on it with India Ink.  We didn't have Sharpies in those days.  You can see by the electrical tape repair that I made many years ago that the camera was well used.

I still have it.  It sits on a shelf in our studio.  I'm not even sure if you can buy film for it any more, but it still means a lot to me.

 

Sophie, The Wonder Dog

Just messing around with a photo I made of Sopnie a few weeks ago. She's my jogging/hiking buddy and just loves the park we go to in the mornings. I thought she looked like "Wonder Dog" sitting at the crest of this little hill. In spirit of full-disclosure, I added the clouds from a photo I had on file. The sun beam is a swipe of the stylus across my Wacom tablet over an opaque layer.

Took the day off and went out and made some pictures

Fellow photographer, Jim Little, and I took the day off and went out to see what we could make pictures of. Not sure what Jim came home with but these are a few of the ones I got. Most were made in Old Alabama Town in Montogomery.

Click to see the gallery