Don't get me wrong. I don't have anything against cameras. In fact, I love cameras. I've been hamming it up for cameras nearly as long as Eastman knew Kodak. Although always, shall we say, cherubic (or what Sears might refer to as "husky"), for most of my life, I'd like to think that I've always been a photogenic member of the species. If I'm not pleasing on the aesthetic scale, then at least I may be on the morbidly curious scale (when using the words morbidly and scale in the same sentence when referring to me, the word "obese" usually follows).

I've always loved looking at old pictures of my family whenever I've had the chance. There are the always amusing shots of my older brothers, sisters, and cousins wearing nothing but their underwear on the porch at grandma's and grandpa's house. These were taken in the late fifties and early sixties. The Boucher and Kriley elders claim that this was due to the heat. However, knowing the frugality of the preceding generation, I suspect it had more to do with the ice cream that always got made and keeping the little buggers clean. Come to think of it, there seems to be a scarcity of other pictures of the children at this age other than these. It is entirely possible that due to the immense cost of clothing for a typical Catholic family, the children may have went for several years without clothes.

I also noticed, to my chagrin, that there seemed to be a lot more pictures of the older kids than of me. One day, I asked my mother about this, hinting in the selfish, baby-of-the-family way, that perhaps I may not have been loved as much as the other children. She looked at me in that weary, worn out mother way and sighed, "By the time you came along, we could barely afford film." Besides, there were probably at least one or two siblings that I looked like, so it was just as easy to pretend their pictures were my pictures. Somehow, too, the black and whites seem more enchanting and harkened to a simpler, more innocent time. Maybe that just made them more fun to look at, with your mind coloring in between the lines. Whether the colors are remembered or imagined, depended on whether you were there or not.

I have, in recent years, derived much enjoyment from my toil on the other side of the lens. Shortly after meeting the future Mrs. Boucher, she introduced me to the wonders of the SLR, or for those of you who think the height of photography is your cell phone, the single lens reflex camera. We are talking about the good old hand cranked or even motor driven 35mm camera complete with interchangeable wide angle and telephoto lenses.

Now, I have what you may call an addictive personality. Just ask Little Debbie. But seriously, when I get into something, I go at it with intensity bordering on obsessive compulsion (see: "blogging"). Naturally, with this newfound toy at my disposal as well as my healthy ego, I assumed I would ascend to my rightful place as heir apparent to one Ansel Adams. I don't think I reek, but Ansel I'm not. "I know Ansel Adams. Ansel Adams was a friend of mine. And you, sir, are no Ansel Adams." Though I lack the ambition to thoroughly learn the craft and the guts to try and make a living out of it, I think I have a splendid "eye". I hope you will find a few of my accompanying samples enjoyable. If not, call 1-800- yea-rite for a full refund.

Needless to say, me being me, however, there have been a few mishaps. There would be the time hiking around Sprague Lake in Rocky Mountain National Park that I dropped the SLR resulting in a $150 repair bill. This was two days after my vasectomy so it was entirely possible that I may not have been thinking straight. I know what you're thinking. Hiking two days after the snip? What a manly man! Don't get too close. Sometimes the testosterone just spontaneously jumps from my body.

There would also be the time with the camcorder at the Saint Vincent of Malo church near the outskirts of the park that made it on what we like to call BFV. Bill's Funniest Videos. "Wow, look at the huge statue of Jesus! I must capture this inanimate object on moving film for posterity while walking down these stairs!" Next thing you know; feet, stairs, sky, feet, stairs, sky. Overall, it proved wildly entertaining, especially with the assorted curses and self conscious laughing, as this was a "talkie". Coincidentally, this was the same day as the SLR incident. It was all-in-all, a real ball buster. I just remember thinking, "I really hope everything that is supposed to be inside is still inside."

The one nearest and dearest to Judy's heart and mine is the great "burnt retina" incident. We were taking pictures at the community park, near the lake, by our neighborhood one evening. I was trying to capture a particularly beautiful sunset. After snapping the picture, I noticed my vision was significantly blurred. Fearing the worst, I informed Judy that I may have burned my retina, and I may be wearing an eye patch for the rest of my days. "Boo, take off your glasses. Do you still see the blurred spot?" "Doh! Gosh. Guess it's time to clean my glasses, eh?" She was too busy laughing and comptemplating power of attorney to respond.