Honestly, what I was thinking was, “What if Mom needed me to show her what magnolias were, because she has forgotten now, wherever she is?”

This was the most magnolia I could find today.

Since 1983 or 1984, my Two Guys Iodized Salt container has followed me wherever I have lived.  I did not buy it at Urban Outfitters, although I have no doubt that, if they discovered such a marvel, they would promptly appropriate and reproduce it until even Andy Warhol would cry “Uncle!”  In 1983, however, lacking access to marketing geniuses, we had to discover such things for ourselves.

Two Guys Salt was supplied in a regular order to the greasy spoon where my roommate was a short order cook.  When I saw the container sitting next to the grill, as I sat waiting for my order of ridiculously cheap, fresh biscuits and gravy with potatoes (remember carbs?), I could hardly contain my delight.  No one rolled their eyes (where I could see them, anyway) when I asked for a box, and my silly wish was granted.  I don’t remember if we used up the salt before I cut off the top, put my colored pencils and exacto knife in it, and called it “cool.”

Whatever the qualities I first saw reflected in the humorous name and vintage label graphics, my feelings for this souvenir have matured to true love.  Every time I have glanced at the red oval, imagining the wisenheimer who left their mark as “Two Guys,” I have inevitably imagined the girl who took home a box of salt, in her big winter coat, like a pearl beyond price.  She had a good eye.

“Stare.  It is the way to educate your eye, and more.  Stare, pry, listen, eavesdrop.  Die knowing something.  You are not here long.” – Walker Evans

Ever since I was a little kid, I have had a knack for threading needles – one act of hand/eye coordination that doesn’t suffer in myopia. Peering over the rims of my glasses, my uncorrected vision permitted bringing the needle and thread so very much closer to my eye than a normally sighted person, it was no challenge at all to hit even the tiniest target with a bare wisp of thread.  From this experience, I developed a wistful longing to explore that shallow world, just a few inches away from the tip of my nose, where my natural eye could focus, and both color and depth breathed in more vibrant dimensions.

So it makes sense that I am in crazy love with shallow depth of field, where surfaces move in and out of focus within a few millimeters of each other.  This really is my world, as I have barely ever seen it, one moment sharp and clearly defined, then slipping away like silk ribbon through your fingers.

Buying a lens forces the issue, which is: you can’t make every picture.  In fact, as far as I can tell, statistically speaking you can’t make any pictures at all, no matter how many you shoot, when weighed against the infinity of possible images in a given day.

But I could make this picture, and I sincerely mean it – every word.

Yes, I can confirm that the magnolia by the Verona Public Library is budding.  You heard it here first!