Month: April 2016

UnMolding

A dreary diagnosis grayed the day, like the blending of black and white lumps of clay

So thoroughly that their masses could not be unentwined, no before or after, only

This big clump of the right now that she should have foreseen, but most certainly 

 Had not braced for. In cartoons and old films clenched fists are raised, railing 

Angrily against an uncaring sky, but she didn’t have the energy to expend. 

So she sat on a three-legged stool and began the numbingly futile task of

Separating dark from light, working the tacky slip between inflexible fingers, a

Salty tang of flour undiluted by her efforts, unchanged by the effort.

  

Just Another Nail in the Wall

I’ve been a busy little decorator these past few days. After two years of living in the home I’ve dubbed Doright Manor I’m finally hanging some artwork. 

Now, the term “art” is used loosely here. There are no Ansel Adams or Georgia O’Keefe pieces gracing our walls. Instead, I’m fond of framing pretty greeting cards and random pictures from glossy magazines, a holdover practice from our days of living below the poverty line, along with finds from estate and garage sales. 

I like to say my taste in art is eclectic. That sounds so much better than questionable or dubious. The few pieces I’ve purchased from art galleries don’t do anything for me once I try to find a spot for them. I really have fared much better with my more frugal purchases.

Regardless of cost or source all of my pieces have something in common: They hide multiple nail holes. Never mind the amount of time I spend measuring and calculating, marking and leveling, I never get it right the first time. Even if I’m hanging a single picture I end up with roughly 9,643 holes in the wall. Ok, that’s an exaggeration, but just barely.

My expertise comes in cleverly masking those holes. “Oh, look, you placed a butterfly on the corner of the frame! How cute!” people exclaim. Damned straight, Skippy–that butterfly is camouflaging at least three holes. 

I know at this point in the post I should provide a photo of a few of my displays, but no good could come of that. My readers will either pity me or laugh at me. And I’m not sure my fragile ego can handle that. 

Ok, just one. No laughing. Pity’s ok, though. Or vice versa. 

 

One of my garage sale finds. It makes me happy.
 
Peace, people!

838. Dear Miss Munyard

Absolutely brilliant! From weaveaweb.wordpress.com.

Bruce Goodman's avatarWeave a Web

838mice

Miss Munyard, although she was called May by her colleagues, was in charge of the little children new to the school. She got the children to form a circle holding hands. They danced around singing:

Three blind mice, three blind mice,
See how they run, see how they run,
They all ran after the farmer’s wife
Who cut off their tails with the carving knife,
Did you ever see such a thing in your life as
Three blind mice?

Dear Miss Munyard,
I was amazed when Nola came home singing Three Blind Mice. The method of numeracy you apparently espouse has no bearing whatsoever on the modern mathematics that should be taught. Three mice is definitive. It’s the working out of the problem that’s important; not the answer. There could have been ten mice. It wouldn’t have mattered.
Zita Codfish

Dear Miss Munyard,
Andrew came home having had bad…

View original post 245 more words

Classic Car Dreaming

Studly Doright and I were out piddling Saturday afternoon. He’d played golf that morning, and I’d driven to Apalachicola to spend some of his money. All in all a win-win, I’d say. He made it back to Doright Manor ahead of me even after helping a friend move some items from one house to another.

When I pulled into the driveway, he was out working (playing) in his shop. I talked him into taking me out for dinner since I’d worked so hard at shopping and beach walking that morning, and couldn’t quite summon the energy to push the power button on the microwave. It’s a tough life, I know.

After dinner he subtly suggested we go grocery shopping, and I reluctantly agreed. If there’s food in the house I’ll eventually have to cook it or ignore it. Both require energy. I just am fresh out of energy lately–shall I blame it on the weather? Daylight Saving Time? Age? All of the above?

The Publix supermarket nearest our home is adjacent to a Sonic drive-in. As we pulled into the drive in we realized the first Saturday car show was in progress and the first car we saw belonged to one of Studly’s friends! Of course we pulled over to look, and for once I remembered to snap a few photos.

The car below was one of my personal favorites. I love the color scheme on this Bel Air. I want to say it’s a ’57 model, but I forgot to look.

 

 

Next is our friend, Pete’s car. It’s a ’55 Chevy Nomad station wagon, hardly stock. Pete’s been working on the build for three years, and it’s a beaut. He isn’t finished with the project–work on the interior is still in progress. This was the car’s first foray into the limelight.

 

Pete had to hide his soft drink from view lest it detract from the view of his car.

Other cool cars from our evening:

 

   

  

  

swoon!

Look at the Jaguar featured in these next photos. I’d never seen this model before in person. I love the way both the hood/bonnet and trunk/boot open. 

   

  

   
  

Here’s Studly urging me to take a peek inside “The Widowmaker.”
  
    
A lone bike made it out on Saturday. This is one Studly would enjoy having in his stable.
    
   
 
Studly had to give me a brief tutorial on the Holley headers on this GTO. He was in heaven.
 
We eventually made it to the grocery store, but Studly’s enthusiasm for food shopping had been replaced by visions of engines and headers and carburetors, so I got off easy. Hurrah for horsepower!

Phobia

I have no phobias as far as I can tell. At one time in my life I was fearful of escalators, but only those heading down. After years of traveling through airports and department stores I overcame that fear. The time it took to circumvent the escalators cut drastically into my travel and shopping time, so I cured myself.

I do understand irrational and deep seated fear, though, and I’m sympathetic to those who suffer from phobias. Having said that, some of these are a bit hard to swallow:

Pharmacophobia is the name given to the fear of medicines.

Quackery

 

Do not go into nursing or motherhood if you suffer from this.
  
Really?
  
A weird one, granted, but those black symbols can be daunting.
  
I forgot to be afraid of this one….
  
Studly Doright has an odd fear of lakes.
  
Totally understandable. Only the shadow knows what’s in the shadows.
  
That explains why people scream and run away when I enter a room.
  
I can understand this! Ventriloquists’ dummies are pretty creepy.
  
Could I claim this one after 39 years?
 
And then there’s

 

I might develop this.

Peace, people! 

Pretty Please?!

http://mikeallegra.com/2016/03/30/win-a-doodle-woo-2/#comment-18151
Click on the link for an opportunity to win a doodle AND your own personal story written by Mike Allegra. Oh, and tell him I sent you. Pretty please?

Peace, people!

My Attempt at a Lanterne 

A fellow blogger, Gretl Feeson at https://gretlfeesonpoetry.wordpress.com/ has introduced me to a variety of poetry forms. He’s always so good about providing the syllable count so those of us still learning the craft can give the form a try. 

Today that form was a lanterne, a five line poem (cinquain) with syllable counts of one, two, three, four, and one respectively. Gretl’s lanternes pack a lot of punch; whereas, no matter how much I played with mine it still came out rather wimpy. 

I’ll keep working on the challenge though. Might need to drink a bourbon instead of a wine.

 


Wild Abandon

drums
throbbing
down beating
relentlessly
dance

  

Storm Brewing

I nestled into my covers on this cloudy afternoon, closed my eyes and drifted

Away to the lull of rolling thunder over the lake, the susurration of rain and wind 

Against the skylight. Into my dreams strode twelve Valkyrie, each with a fallen 

Warrior in her arms, bound for Valhalla at Odin’s behest. I craned my neck, stood on

Tipped toes, but could not see the faces of the dead. Worry not, rumbled a distant 

voice. None of these corpses belong to your time. They will stride the great halls with

All-Father and dine at his table. Chastened, I shrank from my curiosity and shadowed 

Mythic maidens, head bowed, hands extended in supplication. “Grant me entry,”

I implored. “A glimpse would suffice.” An answering reverberation threw me to my

Knees. Paltry human! You beg at great peril to your own welfare. Leave this path and 

Entreat us no more. Standing, I turned my back to the great guarding doors of Valhöl

Only to meet a spirit of such fierce beauty that I sank again in awe and obeisance.

A voice of compassionate strength filled my soul, as Freya lifted my head.

Child, you have shown great courage. Worthy are you to enter the great hall. Prepare yourself mentally to open the gates.

With all my heart I leaned into the task, only to awaken to a bright flash of

Lightning and the immediate clap of gut wrenching thunder. Valhalla must wait

For another day. Oh, but for a glimpse, a taste. “Odin eier dere alle!” 

  
Lately I’ve been re-obsessed with Norse mythology. As a child I read every bit of Greek and Roman mythology I could get my hands on, and that reading led me into the Norse myths. I especially enjoy the creation myths and the stories surrounding the afterlife. 

Studly Doright and I have been binge watching The History Channel series, Vikings, and apparently the episodes are bleeding over into my dreams. I’m not complaining.

Peace, People!