The Obituary Writer

Absolutely wonderful piece by Ray Sharp. Read more at raysharp.wordpress.com.

Ray Sharp's avatarThe Bard of Liminga

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

 

Photographic art, “Sidney” by Julie Powell

 

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.

Jan Wilberg's avatarRed's Wrap

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.

  

Numbering Things

I recently began blogging a series of photos I’ve snapped in and around Tallahassee. From the start I was super conscientious about scrupulously sticking to the truth: photo #1, #2, and so on.

Now, I’ve lost count, so I’m just labeling them willy nilly. Next up, photo 9,456, 785, 321.7. Enjoy.

I call this one, “A Pair of Keets and then some.”  

Snapshot #6

I’m calling this one, “Perspective is Everything.” I snapped it in the faerie department at a local nursery, gardening, and landscaping business.

Faerie furniture at Esposito’s in Tallahassee
 

Well Tended Forest

I slipped outside last Sunday afternoon, too restless for a nap, too lazy to do laundry. Leaving the quiet air-conditioned comfort of our home for the heavy, humid Florida air I was temporarily sightless as my glasses fogged over. Mole-like, I stumbled up the driveway.

There was no purpose to my walk as I left the confines of Doright Manor and slowly trudged through the neighborhood, but I was struck as always by the abundance of foliage. A product of the semi-arid Texas panhandle where relatively few trees grow, I’m constantly amazed by the variety and the vigor of my surroundings. 

  
Studly Doright and I do not live in a prettily manicured housing development. When we moved to Tallahassee we steered clear of what I’ve come to call “cookie cutter” neighborhoods. I don’t mean that term to be derogatory. Indeed, our home in Melbourne, Florida, was in such an area, and we appreciated the continuity of architecture and the strict guidelines that kept the community pristine.

This time, though, we knew we’d most likely be settling into retirement in this home, and Studly wanted a separate garage for the storage and care of his motorcycles. Most home owners’ associations won’t approve that sort of project, so we opted for a more loosely governed neighborhood.

We still have a neighborhood covenant with strict building guidelines, though. For example, the brick, roof, and windows on the shop had to precisely match our home, and we (meaning Studly) had to pore over tons of paperwork until he had the request for building approval worded just right. 

And if the yards aren’t kept in a reasonably acceptable manner residents receive a nasty gram from the powers that be. So far we’ve managed to live up to our end of the bargain. So as I walked up our tree-shaded lane I noted one home in serious need of attention:

   
   
Several months back I stopped and spoke with the elderly woman who lived here. Her husband was in poor health and she was lonely. We visited for awhile and I gave her my address. I encouraged her to call if she needed me.

Well, not long after her husband passed away and her family placed her in a nursing home. My heart goes out to her. I can easily imagine Studly and me going through the same trials someday in the future.

I’m not so worried  about neighborhood aesthetics, except our next door neighbor is trying to sell her home, and the neglected one down the street probably doesn’t help her efforts.

Not much I can do, but I have offered my services to help spruce the place up if we get the go ahead. It’s a tough thing–no one wants to step on anyone else’s toes.

I snapped a few more photos of our quiet neighborhood as I walked and perspired under the Florida sun. Now I need a shower!

   
    
    
 
Peace, people!

Collaboration!

I couldn’t wait to share this inaugural piece of a collaborative effort between my blogging friend, Julie Powell, and me:

https://spark.adobe.com/page/pQ1SAnAuHuXtn/?w=0
Julie and I are matching my poetry with her gorgeous photography. She’s the brains behind the Spark link above. I am in awe of how wonderful our first piece looks.

Check out more of Julie’s photography at https://juliepowell2014.wordpress.com/ and watch for future pieces from our joint effort. I’m so pumped!

Peace, people!