Like many great love stories, it all began with something sleek, vintage, and mechanical—no, not a sports car. A Minolta SRT 102. Wrapped in black leatherette and satin chrome, it didn’t just capture moments—it captured me. I wasn’t trying to document life—I was trying to make it look real enough to remember. Birthdays, Tuesdays, that weird phase with the mustache—I shot it all. People teased me for always having a camera glued to my face. Those same people now shamelessly request my “old pics”, realizing that they’re like little time machines that take us back to who we were before we became who we are, aka “The good old days.”
One evening, my wife casually says, “You always loved taking pictures. Why don’t you buy a camera?” Translation: “Now that we’ve sold the boat, you need a hobby before you start organizing the spice rack alphabetically.”
I wasn’t crazy about the idea. Today’s cameras are terrifying—more buttons than a fighter jet and menus that require a Ph.D. in cryptography. So, I hesitated. She suggested a class. A club. Therapy. Then, fate intervened in the form of Don Toothaker, a photographer we met at a medical conference. What was he doing there? No idea. I didn’t ask questions—I asked about f-stops.
Don, it turned out, was leading a photo tour to Cuba. Cuba! Land of cigars, classic cars, and really good hats. And besides, Trisha has always wanted to go there. I borrowed my son’s Nikon D90—because nothing says “commitment issues” like borrowing your kid’s gear—and off we went.
From the moment we arrived, Cuba took hold of me. The people—gracious, vibrant, resourceful—welcomed us with open hearts. They possessed a quiet dignity, a contagious joy rooted in simplicity. They didn’t chase what might be—they lived what was. In their smiles, I saw stories. In their stillness, strength. Being among them wasn’t just travel—it was transformation.
Don’s guidance was the compass I needed. Patient, clear, and always willing, he demystified the modern camera like a magician revealing secrets. Every setting, every button, suddenly made sense. I wasn’t just snapping photos—I was creating again.
Trisha and I roamed Havana like two starry-eyed newlyweds, with cameras in hand. Trisha is an expert with an iPhone camera. We shot street ballerinas, wandered tobacco farms, and met fishermen who read the ocean like a bedtime story. It wasn’t just a trip; it was a reset button for my creative soul.
And so, photography and I are back together. We’re older, wiser, and finally shooting in every mode. Our love story continues—fueled by adventure, spot autofocus, and just the right amount of dramatic lighting.
So, if you see a guy chasing the light – yup, that’s me.
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