First Blush

I just got back from gallivanting out west and have begun to sift through the photographic wreckage after a very long travel experience.

F you, US Airways.  Good day, sir!

Anyway…as a quickly flipped though the pictures, one of the photographic subjects winked at me.  You can imagine my shock, I’m sure.  How very forward of such a sweet, spiritual lady!

So saucy.

On angel's wings?

Wink if you can hear me.

The church in question is the Holy Family Catholic Church in Jerome, AZ.  A nice, quiet, little joint overlooking the streets lined by artsy and kitschy shops down below.

The church is over one hundred years old.  Read a bit of the church and its parishioners if you are so inclined.

Now, the picture has a story.  The story isn’t quite as creepy as the picture.

After I took the first picture, I mashed some buttons on my camera.  I muttered to myself, “I hope I didn’t delete all those pictures…” and moved on.

Upon downloading the pictures to my desktop, I discovered that one photo was in a folder with another, essentially a duplicate of itself and titled with the same name and “_edited-1.jpg” added to the end.

As can see, I managed to wink at myself somehow.  Or perhaps it was Juan Atucha Gorostiaga, the church’s last Father, having some fun.

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About I.M. Pangs

digital verbal smog creator improbablefrontiers.com
This entry was posted in Personal Commentary and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to First Blush

  1. Moriaelini says:

    You know what this means, yes?

    ALIENS!!!

  2. Autumnforest says:

    I’m so glad you got to see Jerome. It’s an experience. I freak out driving up the mountain. I have to be a passenger and close my eyes. The town is kind of weird. You feel very much like an outsider in a place no one wants visitors, but it has some amazing history and buildings.

  3. My mom’s patron saint was a fellow named St. Martin de Porres. She even had a little statuette of him similar to this.

    My mom used to joke that when things went right, it was due to St. Martin. When things went wrong it was my dad’s fault. The joke got a little old over the years.

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