Why Is It That I Never Have My Camera At The Right Moment?

I'm a fairly enthusiastic amateur photographer. I take pictures of my cats, nature, knitting projects, my garden, stuff that looks cool, whatever happens to present itself to me. Somehow, I never seem to have the camera at the ready when the really good photo ops appear.

Driving home, I see the most glorious sunset with glowing clouds and the lights in the valley below beginning to twinkle. So I drive like a bat, run into the house, grab my camera and drive at top legal speed back to the vantage point, but it's gone like it never existed.

Sitting in the woods, contemplating nature, and eagle lights in a nearby tree and stares at me. I quietly remove the camera from the bag, raise it to my eye and the eagle has flown with just the echo of a high keening cry to prove he was there.

As mentioned in yesterday's post, I walked into the bathroom and a cute little kitten head popped up over the rim of the toilet bowl. A cat in the can, how funny. Camera, in the other room.

Or the time the sprinkler junction started leaking. I got home from the grocery store and found the Engineer head down in a hole, derriere in the air, covered with mud. By the time I got back out with the camera, he was done with the job. And, darn it all, he wouldn't replicate the pose for me.

Hate to admit it, but I'm warped enough that I regret the last two instances more than the first.

Maybe next time I'll have camera ready in hand.