Monthly Archives: August 2015

Unfortunately Masked: Cee’s Oddball Photo Challenge 2015, Week 32

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Unfortunately Masked

Most of the masks kids made at our week-long camps for kids were stunning and you’ve seen a number of them on past blogs.  There were a few, however, that definitely qualify as oddballs!

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When all else fails, just slap a feather on the end of your nose and call it art!

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Perhaps it is that one sinister eye peering out or the odd misalignment of the placement of the mask that gives this one an oddball aura. I also like placement of the painting behind which gives him the appearance of having one horn that parallels the drooping ear. Does that look like a goober coming out of his nose and a little green creature reaching up to grab it?

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Darling, but definitely oddball!!!

http://ceenphotography.com/2015/08/09/cees-odd-ball-photo-challenge-2015-week-32/

Delayed Agenda

My first week after camp was out, I had so much to do,
but how I’d really spend it, I didn’t have a clue.
Sunday I was resting–staying close to home–
eschewing rituals of makeup, jewelry or comb.
Catching up on sleep and alone time and my blog.
Straightening camp clutter and shampooing my dog.

By Monday I was taking samples to the lab
for a friend who wasn’t feeling very fab.
Taking her electrolytes and medicine to do
what was necessary to execute a coup
on all the small amoebas who’d colonized her bod
and made of her their temple, their dwelling place, their god.

Version 2

On Monday night there was a birthday party for a friend,
but Tuesday brought my social life abruptly to an end
as I commenced a sort of party of my own,
communicating my own pleas upon the phone
for a friend to help me, for I was feeling fragile
and had an urgent need for electrolytes and Flagyl!

Two days at home just running between my bed and loo
left me with no time left for other things to do.
But when at last the meds kicked in, I found that I could go
to execute my errands, to meetings and a show
of kids on ukuleles that I’d committed to–
in three weeks, the third showing of kids for us to view.

So now it is a Sunday. I’ve fed the dogs a bite
and I have come back into bed to finish out the rite
of publishing this blog post and tweaking a few pictures
that I hope you’ll approve of with a minimum of strictures.
I’ll have a swim and then I’ll tackle that job I’ve been dreading
of cleaning all the piles off my desktop and my bedding!

Computers, files, folders, forms, boxes, books and cards.
Bits and pieces, piles and scraps, strips and orts and shards.
For months I’ve just kept piling things that I have just done,
unpacked or started packing–while I am on the run.
Now it’s time to organize, to put away and hide
all this mess I’ve found it necessary to abide.

I wish my life were simpler, my habitat more sparse,
but that would mean a schedule that gets me off my arse
earlier each morning, which would cut into my blog time–
my swimming and my photographing, dreaming and my dog time.
With only so much time each day, I must choose how to spend it;
for time is just not flexible. There is no way to bend it.

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Desk # 1 Cleared off. Check!

So for two months I have chosen to write and teach and play–
to exercise and see my friends and post my blog each day.
And once a week to clear some space–my desk that’s in the sala.
Then I did a week of camp and the final gala.
Then I cleared the dining table of mat cutter and books,
papers, art supplies and pens. ratchets, screws and hooks.

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Desk #2. Cleared of clutter. Check!

Then off again to one more week of art and words and kids
and those mean amoebas that put me in the skids.
But now I’m almost finished with this tedious little rhyme
which means that I have finally nearly reached the time
when I’ll do the final sorting task that I have to do–
of sorting of more desk rubble–the whole motley crew!

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Desk #3. Today’s agenda.

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Desk #4. Today’s further agenda.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Obstacle Course.” Think about what you wanted to accomplish last week. Did you? What are the things that hold you back from doing everything you’d like to do?

Heartleaf Ice Plant, nee Baby Sunrose, nee Red Apple Ice Plant (Cee’s Flower of the Day Challenge, Aug 9, 2015)

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Heartleaf Ice Plant, nee Baby Sunrose, nee Red Apple Ice Plant

IMG_3280 IMG_3277I have loved ice plant ever since I first spied it in CA and brought cuttings back to my greenhouse room in Wyoming.  I have been known to pull off the hiway to pinch off a chain of ice plant.  The beach was another favorite gathering place.  Now I live surrounded by it–growing from planters, along sidewalks and crawling over pumice grinding stones hundreds of years old.

See Cee’s and other flowers of the day HERE.

A Walk in the City

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A Walk in the City834afb3f1046776847056c03ba06b88aFor those of you who said you had liked the book “A Walk in the City,” is this the one that you knew and liked? Such charming illustrations, but of all the children’s books in the world, I can’t believe that you, too, remembered this one.  As I recall, the hardcover was bright orange with black lettering. Candace and Soul and Spirit, what say you?  And, does anyone else remember this book? It has to be at least 60 years old.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/bedtime-stories/

On a stage with no vaginas, there were a lot of opinions about vaginas

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I’ve only read one blog by these two, but I have already favorited them. See what you think!

Helen Philpot's avatarMargaret and Helen

Margaret, let’s be clear. I am obviously using the term vagina in the narrowest sense of the word as defined by the Republican Party: a noun referring to women. And it was pretty clear at the debate that vaginas have no value unless a baby needs to pass through one on its way to church or its minimum wage job. Of course, if that baby is black or brown, then the intended destination changes to either prison or Mexico respectively.

I don’t pretend to think that any of the presidential candidates will ever read what I write, but if they did I hope they will remember this:

Millions of women have been going to Planned Parenthood for nearly 100 years. We all remember the exceptional care and the quality of the information we received from the staff at those clinics. We remember when Planned Parenthood staff held our hands and…

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Sandcastles the Modern Way

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These castles are so incredible. I’ve just spent the last hour looking up everything I can about their creator. Of everything I’ve seen, these castles are by far my favorites. I can see entire cities based on the designs of the largest, most involved ones. I can see intergalactic visitors hovering over earth to see them. It would become the Barcelona of the universe. Thanks so much, Chris, for sharing them. I can’t resist adding this link: https://judydykstrabrown.com/2015/03/04/sand-castles/

Chris Donner's avatarCee's Photo Challenges

I was blown away by these wild modernistic sandcastles done by architect Calvin Seibert.  Even if modern architecture isn’t your thing, these sandcastles are still fun to look at.  See more and read an interview with their creator at ArchDaily.

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Heart of Zinnia with Fly and Spider Floss: Cee’s Flower of the Day Challenge, August 8, 2015

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IMG_3274IMG_3271I sprinkled seed from an earlier zinnia plant over this plot of dirt left after I dug up a big cactus to transplant. My plans were to put a fish pond here, but I can’t bear to dig up the zinnias which have been blooming almost constantly since.  You’ve seen them at other stages, but this is what they look like now.  They are loving the rainy season!

IMG_3275I love the detail of the shadow in this closeup.

For more flowers, go here: http://ceenphotography.com/2015/08/08/flower-of-the-day-august-8-2015-dahlia/

Night Fantasies and Other Reading Pleasures

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Night Fantasies and Other Reading Pleasures

 In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Bedtime Stories.” What was your favorite book as a child? Did it influence the person you are now?

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For his entire life, my dad was the storyteller in the house, but at night time, it was my mom who climbed into bed with me and talked me to sleep.  At first, she would make up the stories, perhaps fitting me into them, or weaving fantastic tales of everyday life that grew as I asked question after question.  (Present day bloggers may notice this same tendency in my comments! Sound familiar, “Relax”?)

One story would end, and of course, I demanded another.  Finally, she found a book of one-page stories to read to me, and when she got to the end of the first page, most nights she could be prevailed upon to read one or two more. To this day, I usually listen to a recorded book from Audible as I fall asleep.  As I’ve noted before, sometimes I wake up in the morning with the book still running and I wonder how it affects my dreams.

What a relief to learn to read in the first grade, so I could experience a new story whenever I wished.  From Dick and Jane to The Little Red Hen, I loved those simple plots that somehow grew so involved in my imagination.

Many of my favorite childhood books were lost in a tornado, but a few years ago, I found a number of others in my older sister’s library.  “A Walk in the City,” several Dr. Seuss books and my favorite of all times, “The Teenie Weenies” now reside on my own bookshelves.

It was in second or third grade that I became addicted to Nancy Drew.  Go HERE for that story.

What Lies Below

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What Lies BelowIMG_3276 IMG_3280 IMG_3286 IMG_3296 IMG_3300IMG_3308

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/beneath-your-feet/

Remi Speaks

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Sunrise or Sunset?

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Through the Window.” Go to the nearest window. Look out for a full minute. Write about what you saw. What??? I wrote to this prompt on July 15 –less than a month ago!!  I think they are repeating the prompts a bit too quickly, don’t you? If you didn’t read it then, HERE is my answer to this prompt.

Luckily, YESTERDAY’S PROMPT was a double one, including instructions to write a letter to myself now from the “myself” of 20 years from now.  (Yes I know I reversed the directions.  Makes more sense this way.) So, here goes:

Dear Remi,

Remember five years ago, when you took this new name for yourself?  I notice you’ve slipped back into the “old” name (Judy) and the “old” you that you professed just five years before to no longer identify with.  What happened?  Was it merely the resistance of old friends to call you by this new name? Or was it that you slowly slipped back into being that person–more laconic, giving in to the heaviness and inactivity of age?  Did you also give up on romance and change and the excitement of the possibility of forward progress?  Did you decide to stay where it is easier with an established routine, people to clean your house and wash your clothes and mow your grass and clean your pool?

I’m wondering if you are thinking about how that is working out for you. I see you even more tied down than before–three dogs instead of one, making plans to start more programs for the young people of your community, but will this be enough?  That sense of urgency and of time passing that has kept you vaulting from your bed and running outside to try to breathe at night–is it caused by any physical condition or is it me, prodding you to be young for as long as you can and to experience more before you sink into that routine that is the reward for doing all that you meant to do in this lifetime? Is it time to retire and to smooth your own pathway, or is it still time to leap over barriers–such as this barrier of yourself–and go boldly out into the world to see what else is there?

I’m not trying to prod or push you or suggest the way.  I am, after all, a figment of your imagination as surely as your present view of yourself is.  I understand that two foot surgeries in two years slowed you down and changed your exercise patterns as well as the patterns of your day.  I also realize that friends moved away or moved into new lives and that this also made you turn inwards.  There are reasons of one sort or another for everything we do.  We all have excuses.  At 88 years old, I have excuses, too.  I know where you ended up but I also know that there are a limitless number of me’s.

There is the me that succumbed to Alzheimer’s, as your sister did.  There is the me who moved to Italy and moved off into a new life that I only hint at here.  There is the me who has devoted herself for the past 20 years to making her small town a better place to grow up in.  There is the me who finally took off in that boat and went all the remaining places there were to go.  There is the me who grew grumpy and reclusive and eventually became dumber than her Smart TV.

There is even the implausible me who did all the “shoulds” and got her other books published–who maybe even got back on the agent/publisher treadmill and did it the “right” way. There is the me who found more romance, the one who converted her entire house into a dog kennel, the one who built the house on the adjoining piece of land and hired a nurse/housekeeper and invited her friends to come grow old with her.  There are so many potential me’s that I hope it is making your head swim and that I hope will make you think about what you want to do with the remaining 30 or so years of your life.

Things are not over.  In the first thirty years of your life, you grew up, went to summer camp, counseled at summer camp, went to University, sailed around the world on a boat and saw all else that life could be, got your masters degree, emigrated to Australia, taught for two years, traveled for four months through southeast Asia and Africa, moved to Africa and had various adventures, good and bad.  Fell in love, taught school in Addis Ababa, moved back to the U.S., taught for 7 more years, fell in love, built a house, edited a creative writing journal for teens, traveled to China and Great Britain and Hawaii.

Then you had a dream that knocked you into a recognition of your subconscious.  You quit your job, moved to Orange County, CA, wrote on the beach, moved to L.A., fell in love, studied film production and screenwriting at UCLA, worked in a Hollywood agency, joined a writer’s workshop, joined an actor’s studio, worked for Bob Hope, gave poetry readings, was co-editor of a poetry journal, fell in love again, married, moved to the Santa Cruz mountains, became an artist, traveled and did art and craft shows for 14 years, became the curator of an art center, lost your husband, moved to Mexico, self-published four books, traveled, taught English and art, fell in love a few more times, started a poetry series.

This is what can be done in thirty years.  So, what are you going to do with the next thirty?

Love, Remi–twenty years older.