Hibiscus Incline
The ramp to my studio is lined with a new crop of hibiscus peeking through the guard railings.
http://ceenphotography.com/2015/08/17/flower-of-the-day-august-17-2015/
Step by Step
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Community Service.” Your entire community — however you define that; your hometown, your neighborhood, your family, your colleagues — is guaranteed to read your blog tomorrow. Write the post you’d like them all to see.
I’d like for the residents of my fraccionamiento and the village of San Juan Cosala to see the three blog posts whose links are given below and to perhaps then contribute to a dance program I am setting up in San Juan Cosala–at first mid-eastern dancing for 20 girls, then with more funding, perhaps we’ll branch out to flamenco as well as different dance styles that will be more appealing to boys.
I know that people in my community have huge hearts and they’ve proven that where there is a need, that will fill it. They’ve set up soccer teams, a free spay and neuter clinic for dogs and cats, a 150+ child orchestra and chorus, English lessons, and a program that feeds and clothes the neediest families in town.
I would simply like to expand this wonderful world that is blossoming in the village of San Juan Cosala. In Camp Estrella–a week long camp for 30 San Juan children–I saw how the dance lessons taught cooperation and gave a feeling of pride to the children–some of whom do not go to school or do not even have a house to live in but live in tents.
The three blog posts whose links are given below show their wonderful accomplishments during Camp Estrella. I’d like to continue that experience throughout the year by providing weekly free dance lessons for the girls. I’ll pay instruction fees for the first twenty girls and buy their costumes that are necessary for the dance. We’ll see how it goes and perhaps have a concert later in conjunction with the orchestra and/or chorus to raise funding to expand into break dancing and other dances attractive to the boys. Let’s see what happens.
If you’d like to see the wonderful things thirty children accomplished in their week of activities that included art, dance and reading, please have a look at the below sites:
https://judydykstrabrown.com/2015/07/21/camp-estrella/
https://judydykstrabrown.com/2015/07/23/the-boy-in-the-blue-feathered-mask/
https://judydykstrabrown.com/2015/07/26/camp-estrella-final-show/
Diego and Morrie Clean Up
A few weeks ago, I bought this wonderful large talavera cup. It tapers out from the bottom, holds about 2 cups of coffee or soup or cereal, has a handle and is beautiful to boot. I just love it. Whenever it isn’t in the dishwasher, I use it for every meal or every time I have coffee.
This morning I came out to discover that I’d left the two liters of blueberries I bought yesterday in the disinfectant over night. Ten minutes is the prescribed amount of time necessary to kill amoebas and other nasty things that might lurk, but I forgot and left them in the water for at least 8 hours. Can’t quite remember when I put them in. At any rate, I drained them and decided to have oatmeal and fresh berries for breakfast. I added some lactose-free nonfat milk and stevia and–yum. I’ve only been eating one or two meals a day, so each meal is a big deal, and since this one was being served in my very favorite mug/bowl of all times, I was looking forward to it.
I’d just finished taking pictures of the dogs and when I got to my bedroom, oatmeal in hand, I noticed that the sd card was still sticking out of my laptop, so I put my oatmeal on the bedside table, ejected the card and reached over to get the camera from the surface of the table that forms the headboard of my bed. Somehow, the long cord I’d just attached to the camera, thinking it would be handy to have a neck strap for it, caught on something and as I reached to release it, either my hand or the strap caught on the handle of my oatmeal mug and over it went to smash on the floor, spilling shards, oatmeal, blueberries and a full can of Caffeine Free Diet Coke that I had opened but not drunk the night before onto my bedroom floor as well as on my own foot. Yes. A mess.
I mourned the cup for thirty seconds or so, then mourned the time I was about to lose cleaning up this big mess. The oatmeal and milk and berries had scattered over quite a big area of the floor and it was a sticky, globby mess.
So what would you do? Yolanda was coming tomorrow but I never ever leave messes for her. I clean up puppy leavings, spills, kitchen messes. I put the dishes in the dishwasher and wash them, leaving the putting-away for her. She likes reorganizing my carefully thought out kitchen arrangements, putting the stuff I haven’t used in 14 years in front and my everyday necessities in the back. She even does this with my underwear, putting the prettiest (and too small) bras on top, perhaps thinking they will function like pheromones to draw romance.
At any rate, I carefully picked up each of the major shards of the clay cup and tossed them in the trashcan. Then I had a brilliant idea. With my bare fingers, I mushed through ever single lump of oatmeal. I drew my fingers across the floor checking for any little shards of clay. Then I opened the door and called in Diego. Morrie came trotting in the requisite few inches behind Diego.
And Diego went to work. I was amazed that Morrie didn’t, but I took it that he’d learned his lesson the few times he’d tried to “share” in Diego and Frida’s food dishes. I’d heard the snaps and barks and growls and guessed what was going on. I’d noticed how he now stayed safely in the kitchen waiting for his meal while I fed Frida and Diego and Birdie the cat outside.
Eventually, Morrie did locate a few blueberries that had rolled away as well as a flake or two of oatmeal at a safe distance from his boss. I gleaned a few spoonfuls from Diego’s pile that he was making fast work of and fed them to Morrie. This seemed to embolden him, and he stuck his tongue out a couple of feet away from where Diego was operating like a mine sweeper.
A long low growl from Diego brought a cessation of that action. Morrie was being better trained by his brother and sister dog than by me! I swiped him a few more spoonfuls, then went back to my blog. In a few minutes Diego had sauntered off to his sleeping cage and curled up and Morrie had followed. I used a wet towel to wipe up the tablespoon of residue. Job over!
So, this is one mess entirely of my own making. And this time the dogs did the cleaning up! If you are curious about my favorite cup, I think it is not worth trying to salvage, especially because this is what I got from trying to fish the shards out of the garbage to wash and reassemble for a picture:
How we suffer for art. Everyone is now sleeping but me, Morrie on the floor at my side, the two older dogs outside curled up on lawn chairs. I was talking on Skype to OKCForgottenman, but he actually retired for a nap, too. The palm trees jiggle in the stiff breeze, rocking me mentally to sleep as well, so I’m off to dream new schemes. Tomorrow I go to shop for a new mug. I know where I can get one just like it. I think I’ll get two or maybe four. They are a proven good thing and how often do you find a utilitarian object that you LOVE. Besides, it will keep me from feeling guilty for always saving the “good” cup for myself. Adios. Mas Tarde. Si?
I think this qualifies for the Zany Afternoon prompt I found HERE.on the prompt generator
I’m going to do one more poem based on the quote that Lourdes Mint sent me.
“Never express yourself more clearly than you are able to think.”
–Niels Bohr
Science and Politics at the Redneck Bar
It’s easier to talk than think,
especially when you’ve had a drink
or two or three or six or seven.
That’s when you’re sure you’re going to heaven.
And anyone more liberal
is surely going to go to hell
along with those who worship God
with rituals that you find odd.
And even worse is all of those
in turbans, robes or hippie clothes
who don’t believe in God at all.
They’re destined for the biggest fall.
Transsexuals and the profusion
of folks with sexual confusion
need to get their heads on right.
or be removed from good folk’s sight.
Those who pontificate in bars
sport redneck slogans on their cars
and are so sure that them and thars
will live with God up in the stars.
Creationism is a fact
and scientists have made a pact
with one below who waits for them.
to come and make their home with him.
and they don’t even need to think
beyond what they next want to drink,
They’re so securely in the know
because the Bible told them so.
They do not need to feed their brothers,
or provide health care for the others.
Planned Parenthood’s the devil’s scheme
and Right To Life’s the savior’s team.
Woman should bear what she has sown
and raise the product all alone.
It is her punishment for sex
this guilt for children she neglects.
Society should never pay
for lowlife children such as they.
Society should close its doors
to the progeny of faithless whores.
Retribution is the thing
Obamacare neglects to bring.
Cutting welfare’s the best way
to insure they pay and pay.
If you were smart like them, you’d know
this scheme is how the world should go.
First remove birth control and then
make sure she has her spawn of sin.
Do not provide for them at all.
Then you’ll begin to see Eve’s fall.
What she brought Adam to she’ll see
and be punished endlessly.
My 1000th Blog Post !!!!
When I made my first blog entry on NaPoWriMo, taking the big step to commit to one posting a poem a day for 30 days, it seemed like a task I might not be able to complete. I made the pledge to myself nonetheless, perhaps knowing my own nature and my dislike of not fulfilling obligations. I made it, sometimes in the nick of time. I think one posting was made at 65 seconds before midnight, thanks to a power outage and earlier obligations which kept me from posting first thing in the morning, as I usually did.
My days during that first month of daily postings went pretty much as they go now: 8:30, let the dogs out and see if the prompt was posted yet. 9:30–last possible moment to feed the dogs without Frida going into an apoplexy of barks. By noon, my poem was usually written and posted, but sometimes the internet went out. Sometimes workmen came. Sometimes the electricity went off. Other than these mitigating circumstances outside of myself, posting was always first priority. 
This was my first ever picture posted on my blog, on September 12, 2012. This fountain of a Mayan woman is long deceased, having been knocked into the pool by a visiting workman, repaired and repainted, then again knocked in by either my gardener or dog–a different report according to who was speaking. This time, she was unrepairable, so parts of her reside separately in different parts of my garden.
I didn’t post any more pictures until March, 2013. This is one of the pictures I posted then that I used for the cover of my book, Lessons from A Grief Diary–which was initially my purpose in starting a blog, but after my initial posts and a few replies by readers and friends, my posts were few and far between until April, when I participated in my first NaPoWriMo. After that month of posting a poem a day, I made almost no posts again until April of 2014 when I again participated in NaPoWriMo. It was at the end of that 30 day period that I decided to just keep going by doing the WordPress daily prompt, initially posting every day, then gradually adding photo prompts and occasional challenge prompts from viewers, up until the present day, when my record total number of posts per day reached 9 one day this past week.
I had no idea I had made that many until I read it on my stats page. I was sure they were wrong, but they weren’t. So it is official. I am obsessed by blogging. Not only writing them but reading them and conversing with other bloggers. I love that I am in daily communication with interesting bloggers from India, Nigeria, Australia, the States, Canada and other points all over the world. Iceland. Greenland, Mongolia, Kenya and Indonesia. Too many more to name. I know what is going on with women’s rights in India and Journalist’s rights in Saudi Arabia. I know that this week a Nigerian king cannot be buried because the man who has been raised from birth to accompany him to the grave (and by this euphemism, I mean to be buried alive with him, as in the style of Egyptian pharaohs) has run away!
I know that a good blogging friend’s beloved dog has passed away but I also know intimate details of the most important dolls in her life. I know that my friend Judy King, who lives here in Mexico, had a Tiny Tears doll, as did I and I know the worries of a sixteen year old girl, a friend again looking for employment, the sadness of a twinless twin. I have met nomads, travelers, photographers, introverts, shut-ins, journalists, and those fighting bravely for the security and safety of their transgendered friends. It is incredible how the world has opened up for me in the nearly two years I have been seriously blogging.
A friend told me very early in my blogging life that she didn’t get it. To her it just looked like an exercise in ego to be posting a blog each day. I don’t think she’s ever looked at my blog. Nor has another close friend who likes all of my books but who says she “Doesn’t do blogs!” Other friends read and comment, knowing that even though a message isn’t sent exclusively for them and to them that it can still be personal and interesting and true.
In blogging we expand our circle–like a group telephone conversation on Skype or a support group or interest group. Blogging is the corner bar minus the drinks, the pot party where no one inhales, the slumber party not limited exclusively to girls. Very rapidly, it has become one of the most important parts of my life. What I wake up for. Where I go when I need advice or I’m feeling blue.
Some blogging friends have moved through my life and disappeared. Most of them are mothers with a lot else to do, so I understand. But others have come to take their place and I am constantly surprised by what it is that they respond to. A recent posting with pictures of my favorite dolls of the past, posted exclusively for a friend who collects dolls, drew interest from men and from Judy King, whom I mentioned earlier–a journalist friend who wrote pages in my comments section–a wonderful story of her favorite doll that I hope she develops into a story some day.
Every day when I force myself to leave my house and go back out into the physical world, I meet people who, when they hear my name, say, “Oh yes. I read your blog!” People I did not know in my own small community as well as surrounding towns have become supporters, occasionally noting on Facebook or in my comments section that they are daily readers of my blog. I’ve heard from kids I went to high school with, college friends I haven’t seen in 50 years–even one old boyfriend of my sister’s (when she was 12) whom I had never even met when we both lived back in South Dakota.
I have reconnected with my favorite cousin’s wife and daughter, my high school principal’s ex-wife, who it seems was a friend of my older sisters in high school and who was there when those pictures of me and my friends in Johannsen’s dam were taken. She and my sister were the ones who had driven us to the dam to swim! And, in a remarkable coincidence, I’ve heard from Douglas Johannsen, whose uncle owned the dam!
Long story short, I’m not accepting the charge that I am writing a blog purely out of ego. Yes, in writing it I am recording a life, but I am also making one. And what a big big life it has turned out to be!
Thanks to all my funny, smart, loyal, dedicated, varied, weird, uncategorizable blogging friends. I wish I could send you all a piece of cake or glass to lift. Instead, I send you a slice of my life because you have sent to me so many slices of yours, and they were delicious!!!
And so, on to the next 1000!!!!
# (Today’s prompt is to pledge allegiance to what you believe in, so I pledge allegiance to the United World of Blogging!)
Off-Day
Definitely an off-day, both in choices of costume and mood. I’ve recently been going through old photographs. This one was undoubtedly taken by my 11-year-older sister Betty Jo. I’ve been trying to remember what may have prompted my mood. Maybe I detected that she was not overwhelmed by what my mother would have called my “funny little outfit.” My sister Patti and I heard this term countless times over the years, usually when we thought we looked just fine.
This photo was checked with creases and cracks, and although I tried to deal them, I finally had to resort to cropping or it would have taken me all day with the means I had at hand. At any rate, here it is–an early odd ball side of myself.
http://ceenphotography.com/2015/08/16/cees-odd-ball-photo-challenge-2015-week-33/
King of the Mountain–Thunbergia Taking over My World
Backstory. Because of the overhang, it is possible to get behind the flower for a different perspective on the Thunbergia world.
More outrageous flowers here: http://ceenphotography.com/2015/08/16/flower-of-the-day-august-16-2015-dahlia/
“We are not retreating. We are advancing in another direction.”
–General Douglas MacArthur
General Con-fusion
If he advances while retreating,
is throwing up just reverse eating?
Can he freeze ice cubes by unheating?
Is standing up simply unseating?
I didn’t litter. I’m un-neating.
When we press clothes, are we de-pleating?
He left , so are we now un-meeting?
For some reason, WordPress is saying this was published two days ago, even though I just published it on Aug 16 at 1 a.m., so I’m reblogging my own blog because I’m afraid no one will find it buried that far back. Hope this works!
The Proposal
How did you make your way into my heart?
Quick, tell the answer before we next part.
Come into my comfort, then comfort me back.
The way of the pair beats the way of the pack.
Reasons are given for all that we do–
For the ways that we love and the ways that we woo.
Approving my actions in loving you is
What wins you my love and wins you this kiss.
We swear to each other that we will be true
Like all the lovers in storybooks do.
Like brides and their bridegrooms and lieges and kings,
We shall swear our obeisance and seal it with rings.
What others have done is what we will do.
Approving tradition will make one of two.
For the rest of…
View original post 90 more words
Upset Hat
It’s just a piece of cardboard rolled into a cone.
It really doesn’t make me look like a witchy crone.
I think it’s just a party hat—not really very scary.
It will not cause a single soul to commit hari-kari!
These masks are a formality– they really aren’t inspired,
but last year we liked our costumes ‘cause our grandmas both conspired
to make them more original, but this year just our dad
had time to help and so we know we’re looking kind of sad.
And after all his fussing and running out the door,
we find that all the candy’s gone and so we’re kind of sore.
They gave us bags of potato chips. They haven’t any candy.
And that is why our faces show that we’re not feeling dandy.
Don’t flip your lid, our papa said,
for you are better than that.
So I am trying to be cool…
It just upset my hat!
I used this prompt generator to generate the prompt “Upset Hat” Try it it is fun! http://jennifernicholewells.blogspot.mx/2015/08/jnws-writing-photo-prompt-generator.html
http://jennifernicholewells.com/2015/08/13/topic-generator/
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 