I zoomed in on this photo of a faerie in my backyard. I’ve entitled it, “Contemplative Fellow.”
Month: August 2016
Snapshot #6 or Something
I call this one “Storm Gathering.” I snapped it while riding in our little convertible as we drove into Tallahassee on Sunday afternoon. Not long after I took the photo we had to pull over and put the top up.
Tripping
Studly Doright and I are getting away for a few days. We’re heading to a resort hotel on Clearwater Beach for a belated 40th anniversary celebration. Hopefully the weather will cooperate and we’ll have fun in the sun instead of a fizzle in the drizzle.
My pre-vacation ritual always includes a couple of days in which we aren’t allowed to wear anything that might need to be packed. If at all possible one should just sit around the house naked, but Studly Doright played golf yesterday, and he’ll need to report to work this morning, both of which are better done clothed.
As for me, well…
Yes, I might or might not be naked right now, not for any prurient reason, but solely to avoid doing unnecessary loads of laundry.
Ok, so I’m not naked, but I am wearing a pair of too tight, too short yoga pants and a faded pink t-shirt that I pulled from the deepest, darkest corner of my closet.
At some point today I’ll make a trip to the grocery store. I’ll probably change into something less offensive. Or not.
Peace, people!
At the Car Wash
I took my Mazda into Tallahassee to wash several months’ worth of road grime away. The swirls and colors of the detergents were mesmerizing, so I began snapping photos as the car was pulled through the wash bay. I wonder if Jackson Pollack was inspired by a car wash?
The Obituary Writer
Absolutely wonderful piece by Ray Sharp. Read more at raysharp.wordpress.com.
Chapter 1
It was the kind of small town, and the kind of small-town newspaper, where people still read the obituaries. And he was the last real obituary writer; instead of replacing him, they turned the job over to funeral directors, who just filled in the basics — profession, church, hobby, survivors — a paint-by-numbers outline of a life.
But I’m already getting ahead of myself. He was the last, and he was the best. He wrote the best damned obits you’d ever hope to read. They were funny and sad and beautiful, suspenseful even, which was quite a trick when the title always gave away the ending.
And he was a real writer, to be sure, narrative arc and pacing, and, of course, character development, for what matters most after we are gone, for most of us good and ordinary folk, is not plot, but character. He had a…
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Remember
Remember
By Leslie Noyes
Drums and bullets, flags and fervor, we sweep up after and send off prayers.
Disembodied, disbelief; lives discarded randomly, scattered into layers.
We weep without restraint for the city of lights, while honoring her resilience
No torrent of terror can quell her ultimately exuberant existence.
Songs of mourning and songs of praise intermingle seamlessly,
Joie vient le matin humanity sings in voices lifted triumphantly.
Check out photographer Julie Powell’s blog at https://juliepowell2014.wordpress.com/
Faerie Sighting!
Since placing a faerie house behind our home I’ve been anxiously awaiting a glimpse of one of the wee inhabitants. Knowing that the fae are shy by nature I figured it might be weeks, months, or even years before one appeared.
I began leaving small gifts for the faeries: buttons, bits of bread, and a thimble. Every day I checked the house, and noted that my gifts had disappeared. Of course, we have a great many squirrels who call our forest home, so I reasoned that it was they who’d taken my offerings.
So imagine my delight when, upon returning from an afternoon matinee, I spotted a tiny visitor outside the faerie house! Now, the photo isn’t terribly clear; I feared getting too close lest I frighten the faerie away. See if you can spot the tiny being.
There, a few inches to the right of the ladder, if you look carefully you might see a pair of wings.
Hopefully, now that our newest neighbors know we mean them no harm I’ll be able to get closer for more definitive photos. I’m trembling with excitement. I must get this news to the grandchildren as soon as possible.
Peace, people!
Virginia’s Voyagers
An important post.
I’ve written about my mother many times.
She was an enigma, the entire time I knew her. She was cool, gathered, quiet and definite. She was tailored and streamlined, her blouse always pressed and her seams straight. She was careful and spare. Her entire presence was like a cool cloth on a fevered brow. I will never know anyone as gentle as my mother.
When she died, she had Alzheimer’s. She had stopped cooking, golfing and talking. She stacked cans of beans and hash and then decorated the towers with Christmas bows. She kissed my father’s hands the night before she died but she had forgotten everything else about her life.
So fifteen years after she died, I am walking in the local Alzheimer’s Walk. I have no idea what took me so long to do this simple thing – of showing up, claiming her and her Alzheimer’s Disease, doing…
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A Knotty Ode and a Knotty Tongue Twister
Some silly poetry today. I’ve always enjoyed the whimsical poems of Ogden Nash, and attempted to channel him a bit in these two offerings:
“Ode to a Knot”
–by Leslie Noyes–
Perhaps invention of the wheel
Earns history’s highest spot,
Yet, I would argue heartily
In favor of the knot.
Kudos to the underdogs
Who ventured out of frame,
To find a better method
Of fastening everything.
Whosoever first declared,
“Look I’ve found a way
To hold my furs up comfortably
And make them firmly stay!”
And she who finally realized
Her stitches would best remain
When tidy knots were employed
At both ends of the same.
You may argue for the wheel
Or for microprocessing chips
As for me I’ll sing knots’ praise
As mankind’s greatest gift.
“The Knot’s Untying”
–by Leslie Noyes–
”Twas not the knot’s fault
For not holding taut.
The knotter was for naught,
And herself poorly taught.
Watching My Husband Work
watching my husband work at his job,
you know I love him so,
is somehow akin to watching paint dry
or listening to spring grass grow.
Explanation, Studly Doright called earlier and asked if I’d come to his office in Tallahassee so we can run some errands when he gets through with work this afternoon. Like an idiot, I said “yes.” So here I am watching him type and listening to him make major decisions via phone calls.
I did spot this oldie but goodie photo of the two of us. It was taken in ’04 at his office’s Christmas party in Orlando. Honestly I thought I was fat back then! Oh to be that fat again. I’m sad to report, Studly still owns, and wears, that awful gold sweater.
Praying for Eyebrowz 