The Art of the Photo

When our daughter was visiting last month, I asked my husband to take a picture of me with her, her brother and her daughter. Here was his first attempt.

This from a guy who shoots his age or better on the golf course and wields a remote control like it’s his third hand.

True, he doesn’t use a camera much–he hasn’t needed to because his own personal assistant (me) has followed him around. If you look at pictures from some of our trips you’d think I wasn’t along. There he is with the Masai chief.

There he is in Venice.

And enjoying a Hawaiian evening or two.

But where am I?

This started early in our relationship. Here he is at the Rocky Point restaurant where he asked me to marry him. It’s a charming photo of a young couple in love. Oh, wait, I’m not in it.

At least I made it into a wedding picture:

But here we are on our honeymoon.

You can kinda tell that my husband thinks all of these photo shoots are his due. His family took pictures of him before he could stand on his own.

I’ve just continued the tradition.

Someone reminded me about selfies. I’m trying to learn how to take them.