Monthly Archives: March 2015

FRESH


The Prompt: For this week’s photo challenge, share with us a photo that expresses something fresh.
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/fresh-2/

Hue-bris

Hue-bris

I painted every living room wall,
but did not like the hue at all.
It did not match the sofa right.
It was too orangey and bright.

And so I sought to alter it
with another color over it.
A watery glaze applied with care
cancelled out that awful glare.

I did not like the yellow alone,
but thinly o’er the other tone
it did the trick and looked superb.
One color did the other curb.

Carefully on a section ample
I painted out a color sample
to show the painter what to do–
watered yellow over orangeish hue.

He was an artist and had an eye
for form and structure, grass and sky
but his talent was not English or
my talent was not Spanish, for

when I came home at end of day,
my cry was one of real dismay.
What had he done, this artist fellow,
but take the undiluted yellow

and cover all the orange up?
The room looked like a buttercup!
I shook my head in real distress.
It clashed with sofa, hair and dress.

Next day, the paint store saw me coming.
The owner smiled and started humming.
Money in hand, I came each day
to pay and pay and pay and pay.

Alas, selections were not ample.
I knew they did not have a sample
right for me and so I got
ten liters of yellow and also bought

orange and white and brown and green,
blue and every hue between.
I took them home and mixed them up–
tint after tint in a gallon cup.

And pretty soon I had a stew
of every little shade and hue
and when I put it on the wall,
I found it was the best of all!

It matched my sofa and my eyes.
It clashed not with the lawn nor skies.
It went with pictures, sculpture, table.
I mixed as much as I was able,

then called the painter and asked him when
he could paint my room again.
This time I watched as he covered up
wall after wall from my mixing cup.

Now four layers grace my sala wall
each over each, one under all.
White, then orange, yellow and
that lovely concoction mixed by my hand.

In other rooms, each wall I made
a different hue of blue or jade
or red or mustard, orange or gold.
My house is varied and very bold.

Guests say they like the colors I chose
but when they see the gold or rose,
they cannot possibly suppose
how many colors are under those!


The Prompt: orange. and also, Hello, Goldilocks–Write about a time you had a Goldilocks experience, exploring different choices and finally arriving at “just right.”  https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/daily-prompt-4/

DSC02409

John Wayne and I

DSC00169

When the Union Pacific Railroad was finally completed on May 10,1869, it was a cause for great celebration. A very good source describing the somewhat hilarious ceremony may be found here, but a segment from that source follows as a background for my own story:

A railroad linking America’s east and west coasts had been a dream almost since the steam locomotive made its first appearance in the early 1830s. The need for such a link was dramatized by the discovery of gold in California in 1848 that brought thousands to the West Coast. At that time only two routes to the West were available: by wagon across the plains or by ship around South America. Traveling either of these could take four months or more to complete.

Although everyone thought a transcontinental railroad was a good idea, deep disagreement arose over its path. The Northern states favored a northern route while the Southern states pushed for a southern route. This log jam was broken in 1861 with the secession of the Southern states from the Union that allowed Congress to select a route running through Nebraska to California.

Construction of the railroad presented a daunting task requiring the laying of over 2000 miles of track that stretched through some the most forbidding landscape on the continent. Tunnels would have to be blasted out of the mountains, rivers bridged and wilderness tamed. Two railroad companies took up the challenge. The Union Pacific began laying track from Omaha to the west while the Central Pacific headed east from Sacramento.

Progress was slow initially, but the pace quickened with the end of the Civil War. Finally the two sets of railroad tracks were joined and the continent united with elaborate ceremony at Promontory, Utah on May 10, 1869. The impact was immediate and dramatic. Travel time between America’s east and west coasts was reduced from months to less than a week.

The ceremony at Promontory culminated with Governor Stanford of California (representing the Central Pacific Railroad) and Thomas Durant (president of the Union Pacific Railroad) taking turns pounding a Golden Spike into the final tie that united the railroad’s east and west sections. As the spike was struck, telegraph signals simultaneously alerted San Francisco and New York City, igniting a celebratory cacophony of tolling bells and cannon fire in each city.
“It was a very hilarious occasion; everybody had all they wanted to drink…”
http://www.eyewitnesstohistory.com/goldenspike.htm

It will probably come as no surprise that in 1969 it was decided to have a huge ceremony honoring the 100th anniversary of the “Wedding of the Rails” in Utah. To that end, two trains set out—one from the easternmost point of the track and the other from the westernmost point. These trains were destined to meet at the original point of their joining, but since they were filled with dignitaries, they made numerous stops along the way with celebrations at each point where they stopped.

In 1969, I was attending university in Laramie, Wyoming. It was announced that John Wayne and Glen Campbell would be on one of the trains and that they would do a whistle stop where they would both say a few words before continuing on to the ceremony. Now it just so happened that this event coincided with Sigma Chi Derby Days—an annual event that consisted of a number of challenges whereby campus groups could assemble points. What the prize was I can’t remember, but I do remember that one of the contests was to gain the signature of the most famous person, and I happened to know that John Wayne himself had been a Sigma Chi. If I could somehow gain his signature, we would have it made in the shade for that particular challenge.

And so on the prescribed day, we were off, fully laden, with five of us filling the seats of my little red Ford Galaxy. How we would get close enough to the train to gain the autograph, I did not know, but nothing ventured, nothing gained.

There was, as may be expected, a huge crowd at the Laramie train station, and we waited in anticipation for the train. Finally, it came up, sounding its whistle, flags waving. Several men came out to a small stage that had been constructed just in front of the train. Finally, Glen Campbell came out, but no John Wayne. We were puzzled when the speeches started without him. What could have happened to John Wayne? Finally, I was hit with one of those instant inspirations often depicted by a light bulb going off over someone’s head in cartoon bubbles.

“I bet he got off the train to fly back to California!” No one disagreed and it was my car, so off we sped to the airport, which was several miles outside of town. We drove well over the speed limit down the two-lane nearly carless road. As we approached the airport, we could see no larger planes loading, but there was one smaller private plane. We went speeding up to the airport. “I’ll go see what’s going on with that small plane,” I told my friends, springing from the door almost as soon as the car had come to a screeching halt. I went running out onto the field—not hard to do in a small airport in those years before airport security­—and ran smack dab into a man who was walking toward the plane from the opposite direction. “Well, whoa, there, little lady. Where ya goin?” said the brick wall I’d just run into.

“I’m trying to find John Wayne. Do you know if he might be in that plane?” I asked.

“Nope, I’m pretty sure he’s not,” said the man, “because he’s standing right here!”

I looked up—way up—and sure enough. There he was with his hands still on my forearms where he had caught me just before I ran into him broadside!

Yes. It was a surreal experience. And it was even more surreal when I explained about the points and he said, “Well, would it give ya more points if instead of delivering my autograph you could deliver me?” I said it sure would, and we had reached my car and my somewhat astonished friends had piled four in the back for him to climb into the front seat with me when a harried looking man came running out from the landing field shouting, “John, John! What are you doing?”

Long story short, John Wayne did not come back to campus with us. His manager managed to persuade him it was not in his best interests given that something in California was important enough to warrant his immediate return. But, I did get his signature and no, I did not turn it in for Sigma Chi Derby Days. To this day, it resides in a square of a memory box—one of the kind popular in the sixties and seventies that is made out of an old newspaper print box—and as proof, I include a picture below.

And yes, of course John Wayne was three sheets to the wind, for in keeping with the original rail-joining ceremony, “It was a very hilarious occasion; everybody had all they wanted to drink…”

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/whoa/

DSC00166
For another great story about how Garry Armstrong met John Wayne, go here: http://teepee12.com/2016/01/08/the-duke-and-garry-a-pilgrims-tale-garry-armstrong/

The Prompt:  What’s the most surreal experience you’ve ever had?

My earlier post wouldn’t pingback to the Daily Prompt site, so I had to repost.  Here are comments from that earlier post:

lifelessons
grieflessons.wordpress.com
jubob2@hotmail.com
189.169.119.208

This seems to be a day for synchronicities. Did you read Mark Aldrich’s piece? Today is also my best friend’s birthday and I need to call her as well. Your mentioning your birthday reminded me of hers, so the chain goes on. Thanks for your kind words, Anton.

Mark Aldrich
thegadabouttown.wordpress.com
markaldrich68@hotmail.com
68.174.46.193

I wonder why that did not ping properly.

That is a treasure of a story.

Anton Wills-Eve
antonwillseve.com
willseve@aol.com
78.144.91.230

Judy you should have been a journalist! One of the best and most interesting posts I’ve ever read.Well done, but tell me, how did you know May 10 was my birthday? Seriously, it is. Anton. 🙂

UFOs At Roswell

UFOs at Roswell

Roswell has been debunked, I hear. There’s nothing there at all.
And yet, I’d like to be a fly clinging to its wall.
I think there really might have been a craft and little men,
or something left of evidence that once they might have been.

A piece of foil or metals rare–some say they found them there.
Others just say weather balloons–nothing very rare.
Some say they saw a little man taken from the craft,
while government officials say they’re merely daft.

I do not know the truth of it but keep an open mind,
for minds that are not open qualify as blind.
And if Wikipedia is right in ruining all our fun,
then maybe I’ll just fly over to Area Fifty-One.


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roswell_UFO_incident

The Prompt: Fly on the Wall–If you could be a “fly on the wall” anywhere and at any time in history, where and when would you choose? https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/fly-on-the-wall/

Blogging Mystery

Okay, superbloggers. It has been said that anything can be solved with statistics, but this one is impossible!!!  How can it be that there have been 154 viewings of my Migraine blog today but only 45 viewers?  I’ve seen before where one person viewed several blog entries, but it is impossible to chalk up more than one view per viewer for each single posting, and who would want to see it more than once, anyway?  Can anyone solve this mystery?

Duck and Cover

Duck and Cover

DSC09671

Little Duck heard Big Duck trying to cover a new Tom Waits song and he was rattling at the door to get out.

DSC09661

Little Duck couldn’t help vamping it up a bit as he joined in the chorus

DSC09665

As if magnetized, Little Duck was drawn to Big Duck’s riffs, but when, his enthusiasm overwhelming him, he attempted to join in, he ruined the chord.

DSC09666

He attempted to straighten out Big Duck’s fingering, but they could both tell this wasn’t going to work.

DSC09664

So, once Little Duck was able to overcome Big Duck’s slight annoyance, they were able to talk it over and come to a compromise.

DSC09667

And together, they discovered they could take the “Long Way Home” together. THE END

 

 

http://ceenphotography.com/2015/03/19/cees-black-white-photo-challenge-music-people-instruments-sheet-music-audio-devices/?blogsub=confirming#blog_subscription-2

Post-Migraine Depression

Disclaimer: Yesterday I suffered my first migraine in sixteen years or so.  I had just been telling a friend how long it had been since I’d had my last one and the best way to overcome them when suddenly, a few days later, when I was standing on a ladder putting away material in my studio, I grew dizzy and would have fallen off the ladder if I hadn’t had a chair back and file cabinet to steady myself on.  Soon after, the migraine descended, along with the nausea and this time with a shortness of breath that was probably psychosomatic but which made me feel as though I was going to suffocate.

What was worse is that there was no one around–no one in my neighborhood–no one I could think to call.  When I tried to think of someone to email or Skype, my mind fogged and I couldn’t figure out how to type the letters or who exactly to call–just to have a sense of presence.  I was too sick to talk and could barely even stand the distraction of calling on Skype.  Nor could I figure out how to actually make the call.  Luckily a friend who was about to leave on a trip to another town and who was already connected to me by Skype, contacted an old friend and she called me and talked me down a bit, poor thing, talking for ten minutes or so without relief.  All I needed was some soft distraction so I did not think about not being able to breathe.

Today just the slight edge of a headache is there. Enough so I dare not bend down or chance seeing a bright light or smelling the odor of Jacaranda, which I am afraid is what caused the problem this time, but I have started thinking about old age and being alone and vulnerable and all of those things I’ve never really thought of seriously before.  When I tried to write something else entirely, what got written was the rather self-indulgent piece below.  My impulse is to put it away and to write something else, but I also have a curiosity about whether others might have the same feelings sometimes so I just might have another look at it and print it with the understanding that when such things are written, they sometimes serve as their own antidote.

Or, perhaps the extreme of what I wrote is simply priming the pump–a surge to get me going.  Well, I’ll have another read and we shall see.  If I do print it, I’d appreciate comments–lots of them–no matter how negative.  My grandmother used to say a Dutch phrase when she was feeling sorry for herself, “Mama Miet mi Dote!” (Mama might be dead.) It became our family’s saying, only my mother (her daughter-in-law), who didn’t understand Dutch, said “Mama Milk My Goat.”  My dad thought this was funny so never told us differently until I went to college and tried to use it and got blank stares from all those who didn’t know the phrase I thought everyone used.  It was then my dad ‘fessed up.  So, “Mama Milk My Goat.” Yes, I am feeling sorry for myself in the ditty below, but it helps to rave sometimes and tomorrow is another day.  For now, I’m lying low for one more day.

Post-Migraine Depression

My life is growing narrower, the walls are closing in.
I don’t care where I’m going or care where I have been.
I never thought life would wear out or that I’d tire of it,
but suddenly the life around me does not seem to fit.
We’re schooled to be cheerful and to make the best of life–
to emphasize our happiness and overlook the strife,
but somehow everything has changed. Perhaps it is the weather,
for suddenly I feel my life is on too short a tether.

I think I’ve worn my old life out but cannot seek a new one.
I’ve simply not the energy to try again to do one.
So I shall lie abed today to contemplate my fate–
to have a look at what I do and what is on my plate.
I need to feed the dogs and then to feed my own self, too–
to dress myself and try to put each shoe in front of shoe.
My grandma was a martyr and perhaps I am the same,
but I don’t try to make this into any other’s blame.

I simply feel that I must stir the pot up once again–
take off on an adventure someplace I’ve never been.
Find a niche and fill it and live a simple life.
Try to find diversion without turmoil or strife.
To inspect the Caribbean or a tiny town in Spain.
Live alone in solitude with nothing to explain.
My family is scattered and has no need of me.
In terms of obligations, I am really fancy free.

So if you do not see me later on this blog,
just know that I have gone away and slipped my usual cog.
Perhaps I’ll be beach combing or traveling out to sea.
Perhaps I’ll be investigating what else I can be.
My life will soon be over and although I’ve had the best,
I feel that I need more of it before my final rest.
Or, I may not stir at all. I guess I must admit,
perhaps my need is satisfied by contemplating it.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/we-built-this-city/

This Bear Walks into a Bar in Alaska

“This Bear Walks into a Bar in Alaska”

I sit and wait for their cessation–
these blocks to actual conversation
that make me want to sputter, choke,
and leave before another joke
escapes the lips of that lame teller
who thinks his dumb jokes are so stellar
that they stand in for actual
statements that are factual.

It makes me want to take a toke,
to whinny, bark, meow or croak.
I don’t like jokes too awful much.
I find they are another crutch
that keeps at bay words intimate
with words that entertain or cut.
Make no mistake, I love a pun,
and humor is a lot of fun.

Laughter’s not the problem, see.
It’s jokes that really bother me.
Using someone else’s words
is what I find slightly absurd.
What’s more, there’s always just one more
joke to tell.  It’s such a bore.
I want to hear your mind at work–
not jokes retold by every jerk.

Even so, I’m prompted to
find a joke to tell to you.
So rather than betray my taste,
and hoping you’ve some time to waste,
I’m going to give a punch line here
and though I know it’s kind of queer,
I hope you’ll try to take a poke.
Here’s a punch line. Please write the joke:

“You see, I’m a bipolar bear.”
(Write me the joke now if you dare.
Don’t feel you have to make it rhyme.
A joke in prose takes half the time.)

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/ha-ha-ha/

Cees Photo Challenge: Abstract

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Points for anyone who can guess what this is.

http://ceenphotography.com/2015/03/17/cees-fun-foto-challenge-abstract-photography/

One Word Photo Challenge: Melon

Jennifer Wells’ photo challenge this week is to publish photos making use of the color of melon, depicted below:

Melon_430059_i0

DSCF2539

The light-saturated red of the floor as well as tones in the bamboo echo the melon of the prompt. The scrim effect is created by a mosquito netted wall between the bedroom and studio area of the tree house I rented in La Manzanilla. I enjoyed my month of birdlike existence in a coconut grove that adjoined a bird sanctuary just blocks from the ocean.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

When I saw the color for this challenge, I knew at once which pictures to search for. I’ll never forget those pastel melon and purple sunsets, which alternated with more vivid orange and yellow sunsets–never two the same.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

 

http://jennifernicholewells.com/2015/03/17/one-word-photo-challenge-melon/