I couldn’t find a reblog button on Forgottenman’s post, but he gave me permission to quote a bit and give a link. This is a fun essay. Check it out!
A Hamburger for Breakfast
Dad and I were apparently very close when I was a baby, based on the photos my mom took. But the disengagement came later, when I was about three, when Mom took control. Control.
I grew up right here where I type this, in this very house. Playing outside here as a kid there were always summer crickets to be found, to be chased and caught, and to be kindly released. Occasionally, one would make his way inside the house, but his song made it easy for us to track him down, to catch him, and to release him outside. It’s different today.
In the summer of 1960 I was eight years old. I was a smart kid but (therefore?) floundering in what to make of life, of family. One day Dad mentioned he and his buddy Carmack were going fishing Saturday at Duck Creek (not really a creek, but rather a man-made cypress swamp created by the Missouri Conservation Department). Somehow, he gauged me and decided to ask if I’d like to join them on the excursion. I nervously accepted. I had never been fishing before.
I had already disappointed him, and he had disappointed me. When I was four I was thrilled when he promised he’d take me the next day to pick up our new 1955 Chevy Bel Air at the car dealer, but he “let” me sleep in instead. (I still can’t forgive him, though he is ten years gone. I was devastated.) A few years later he would take me to little league baseball sign-up night, but I couldn’t get up the nerve to go inside. A few years after that he stormed out at me when I relayed a message from Mom that made him mad – and she made him apologize to me when he returned. I knew early I wasn’t the son he had hoped for. I know now that I never would be, exactly, although we would eventually, um – accommodate. But Dad invited me to go fishing with him that day in 1960, and that moment was perfect.
….read the rest of the story HERE.
These San Francisco Chronicle shots are some of the most amazing photos and videos that I’ve ever seen. They really bring us eye-to-eye with the tragedies of the California catastrophic fires.
And they are still refusing to Inoculate children against flu in the camps:
Earlier tonight, I was surprised to see Kelley Farrell’s blog entitled “Pin Cushions Look Like Tomatoes” because the pin cushion she pictures is exactly the pin cushion I developed an entire large retablo around a number of years ago. Below is my retablo and the story it develops.
This retablo, which includes a number of pieces of embroidery as well as tatting by my grandmother, also is an homage to the fine handiwork of so many Mexican artisans. In Michocan, there is a church where on the altar, an image of the Virgin Mary is surrounded by elaborate aprons sewn by the women of the church whereas the statue of Christ is surrounded by men’s serapes. I had a woman make the miniature aprons and then I decorated them myself. The humor of the piece, however, comes from the pincushion on the top. Two of the figures have cut themselves free from the pincushion. The one in blue has almost completed its escape, using the string from one of the spools as a rope. A second figure clad in red is going over the side, using a needle it has taken as a weapon to threaten a third who is cutting itself free with tiny silver scissors to come try to stop them. That scenario is depicted below. Various antique sewing supplies including an old pattern marker are included in the retablo. If you want to see details, click on the first photo below and then the right hand arrows to enlarge all of the photos.
HERE is Kelley’s story about the same pin cushion!
If you are interested in learning more about my retablos and seeing others, go here: https://judydykstrabrown.com/2017/08/27/paying-homage/