Artsy Fartsy Part Quatre

My Aunt visited me a couple of weeks ago. And she brought her camera. You know what that means?

A photo excursion!  Whee!

First stop: a tunnel

I don't know why I like this picture, but I do. It could be because I felt a little naughty and dangerous standing in the middle of a seldom used country road taking a picture. 

Geez, I could have been hit by a tractor or something.

I'm all about living on the edge, man.

We stopped by an old filling station/museum of rusty stuff.

You know how I love rusty stuff.

Speaking of rust ...

… I'm so not going to tell you my weight, Mr. Rusty Sign. My fate is that I'm leaving you, Rusty.

And I'm going to an old church.

I have twenty-five mediocre pictures of the church, but I thought this one was kinda cool.

Let me explain it a bit. I am standing at the back door looking in the window (I'm part pervert I guess). Directly in front of me at the other end of the church is some beautiful stained glass. 

The door was locked, so I put my camera up to the window and snapped a picture. My goal was to get a good picture of the stained glass without a reflection of the glass of the back door.

Mission not accomplished.

Sometimes reflections irritate me, but I liked this one. I caught myself peeping in the window with my camera (perv alert!) and the woods behind me. Kinda nifty.

By now you probably know that wherever I go, whatever I do, I usually have some sort of incident.

True to form, I had a situation arise.

At a cemetery.

Who the crap has an incident at a cemetery?

(raising hand) Me.

Picture it. I'm trolling along in my shorts and flip flops (brown with brown sequins, $3.50 at Old Navy) enjoying my day looking at the headstones.

I particularly like the pre-Civil War ones and the child ones break my heart, but I digress. 

Back to trolling along.

So I'm sauntering through the cemetery when something grabs my right brown sequined flop and I step out of the shoe. I put my right foot down on the ground and turn around to see what grabbed my flop.

Instant pain.

I stepped on something. Not unusual for the Midwest. We have to be vigilant about stepping on stuff, usually some form of poo.

Horse. Goat. Cow. Pig. Chicken. Alpaca. Bald eagle. You name it.

This wasn't poo. This was ...

Wait … what?

Is that … cactus? 

Yes. Yes it was cactus.

In a cemetery.

In Indiana.

And it was holding my sequined flip flop hostage.

The cacti was running rampant around the cemetery. It was all around me. I was surrounded.

Dumbfounded and surrounded by a runaway cactus.

I managed to liberate my foot and my shoe and delicately extract myself from the field o' cacti. All the while my Aunt was commenting "Wow. You're just a mess".

I was, in fact, kind of a mess. A hot mess. Later that night, I pulled five little cactus pricker thingies out of my foot. One still remains in the side of my foot today because I can't get that little bugger out.

I will say this about the cactus though, the flower was pretty.

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