Posted in ART, DRAWING, TIMEOUT FOR ART
Thursday “Timeout for Art” challenge….using one’s left hand. Since I don’t really have the choice of which hand (it will be the left) for the next couple of weeks…we’ll all just have to grin and bear it as my left-hand gets the full monty of use.
Check out artist Lisa’s ZEEBRA DESIGNS & DESTINATIONS for more Timeout for Art….and more “just for the challenge’ left-handed artistic attempts.
Posted in ART, Collage, Pen & Ink, Watercolour
Tags
ABBA, Agnetha Fältskog, flamenco dancers, Leonard Cohen, Mr. Obama, President Obama, press conference
If You will take your seat we’ll get started. Let’s pretend this is an unofficial White House (“room”) Press Conference and…Mr. Obama won’t be coming because he doesn’t know anything. Clarification: he doesn’t know anything about my injury and why I’m now delivering this press conference address and most other comments in…lower case…and why I won’t be entertaining much of anything but my [now] usual afternoon nap.
Remember my previous post MYRNA AND ME? For My Reader who did read that missive…thank you so much.
You didn’t? Yes, I’m talking to You the other person in the room seated in the last row. You go have a look-see at “Raye’s Portland Sunrise” picture…and then imagine me tripping [envision crashing hand/face first] over a moored ship’s line on the west side river wall right about…there…that dark spot down in front. See? If there was a question and answer time, which there is not You might be asking, “What were you thinking…?”
ABBA. I was thinking ABBA and listening to “Dancing Queen” and making hard-fast time: 3.5 miles in under fifty minutes. Satisfied?
No more questions for You. Period.
Right hand will be in a cast contraption for a long while. Pavement burns disappearing. Bruises once purple and ugly now yellow and ugly.
Left hand working overtime:
+There are good hair days and bad. It is difficult to tell which is which.
+Have given up wearing anything with zips, snaps, small hooks.
+Elastic, spandex. pull-ups and pull-ons are my best friends.
+Along with Morphine, Valium, oxycodone, Tetanus injection…and aspirin shooters.
+Hoovering is not a priority…which means my cats who sow kitty litter like Ohio farmers planting spring corn…leave grains of litter everywhere: floors, rugs…my knickers…since I fall down while pulling them on with one hand. You can be sure that’s an ouch on the cheek and I’m not talking face…..
+Piano-ing Haydn, Beethoven or Bach, Joplin or Brubeck two-handed…a long slog away according to my twelve-year-old-looking hand surgeon.
This White Room Conference sans Mr. Obama is now officially closed…not to be repeated, regurgitated, reviewed or re-examined. It does not surprise me that My Reader, and now You, are better informed on not only my hand injury…but…most everything else.
On that extreme high note (no pun) indulge my Left-Hand in celebration of a left-handed attempt at pen & ink, watercolour and collage’ in recognition of: E.R. and Hand Surgeon Docs who give care, healing advice, hugs and some wee drugs; perfect strangers for helpfulness; friends for assistance; family for unconditional love; ABBA for reminding me that the “Dancing Queen” crown belongs to someone else…temporarily.
I am calm and yes..I will always carry on….
“Dance me to the end of love…” leonard cohen
Posted in photography, REQUIRED FIELDS
Tags
East Bank Esplanade, Myrna, Oregon, Portland, Portland Waterfront, Sesame Street, Sunriise, Willamette River
Remember Myrna? Electric Company? In early days, Myrna was the Queen Instructress of the Possessive Noun. Here’s a refresher……
Capitalizing on Myrna’s possessive nature, I’m going to take you with me on my six-in-the-morning, 3.5 mile fast-walk along the Willamette River.
Mind you, in possessive Myrna style…
Raye’s Portland Sunrise
Raye’s Steel Bridge Over the Willamette River
Raye’s Walkway Underneath the Steel Bridge
Raye’s Morning Walk With Others
Raye’s Burnside Bridge
Raye’s Morrison Bridge
Raye’s Hawthorne Bridge
Raye’s Map
Raye’s Mis-Matched Trainers Because Raye Dressed in the Dark…
Myrna’s closet has a matching pair of these trainers…!
Posted in ART, Pen & Ink, Watercolour
Tags
Art, passion, pen & ink, retirement, Self-Portrait, watercolour
EDIT: LIFE. ERROR.
Due to a recent editing error in Friday’s Review stating the gallery was slated for an April opening, the article should have instead read: April closing. Lively yet wrong speculation over this now closing event begat rumour-mill drivel. I apologise for any circumstance in or beyond my control this may have caused. Even though I tried to make this closing event not about me, it became as such. To the point: My Reader would like me to… move on.
Abbreviated version: my job is moving to another location. Actually, another state.
Additional abbreviated version: My job is moving. I am not.
I have been pathetically confused and lost. Honestly? Mostly pathetic.
I find myself sitting at the breakfast table well into the noon hour still wearing pajamas instead of my sleek and snappy three-inch Franco Sartos tucked neatly underneath my computer desk in my stylish art gallery. It has been several slogging month-long, pajama wearing afternoons coming to terms with (dare I say it?)…retirement, she whispered through pursed lips.
Three years ago, at the younger age of sixty-two, I drew the blinds and locked my dressmaking studio doors for the last time. My small dressmaking business became [yet] another victim of an unforgiving and devastated US economy. My handmade products were caught in the shipping lanes between here and all foreign out-of-country ports selling garments/wearing apparel for women and children.
Not one to wallow in a broken-hearted stupor for longer than necessary, and finding that swearing was actually cheap and beneficial to no one except myself…My Reader once again encouraged and harangued me to…move on. Very quickly I found another job as a research assistant to owners of an art gallery within walking distance of my flat.
My job: research signature authenticity, provide provenance, explore unknown artists for historical information, and correspond with major museums and historical societies throughout the United States. I answered the phone. And, yes…got the coffee. My master’s degree is in art education. I’m an artist. This was a perfect job. Yes, it was I confess, all about me and my life-long passion for all things about, to and for…ART.
This was such a perfect job…I worked for free. Yes, River City residents, again I confess, I volunteered. My bosses were absolutely the toot’s potatoes and going to work was a joy. The job had purpose. So did I. It was educational. I was swept up in an artistic vortex. My mingling amongst those who extrapolate their view and then transpose it into something new and different was not unlike an emotional experience of falling…up. It was THE perfect fit.
Consider me…fortunate.
EDIT: LIFE. OPPORTUNITY
What this means, I say, is a younger-old life staring at me square in the face.
And again this is what I see: opportunity.
Again a confession: It took a wee-while to get to this place.
I can now look in the mirror and see my view not only for what it is but, and better still, for what I can make of it.
Yes, consider me…fortunate.
Very.
Posted in ART
HAND OUT
“You must do the thing you think you cannot do.” Eleanor Roosevelt
Everything was familiar because she had been there before. The fingerprints on all past-life surfaces paraded front and centre. Even the smell, born from uncertainty, was familiar. The odor permeated surrounding spaces and began to crowd out logical solutions. So it seemed. But yes, she had been there before and reading what was on the wall was clear. This had to be done. Again.
The closet-floor cogitate wasn’t a process or a conversation held publicly or shared aloud. It was her very own private place of dark. This was an unspoken fear. This was the unspoken confidence. The question of why again was not asked.
Really, she thought, what was the point? It would not make any difference, nor change the outcome.
Was this some form of mind-suspension, or perhaps this was what permanently stunned felt like? It was just so obvious, however, that sitting on the floor of the closet with the door closed was not the answer. Seasoned from experience she knew that if she kept looking at what appeared to be an imminent future as a measure of purpose, her purpose, she would be swallowed up. It was after all, she realized, just one more year added to the calendar, and so what if it was one more time around the block?
With recaptured energy and resolve, the closet door opened. With fleet-of-foot steps she hurried out, down the pavement sure of the minutes and hours, days and weeks ahead that held great opportunity and purpose-full designed meaning. Not only was she embracing her recycled yet renewed resolve of that infamous unstoppable affectivity, she accidentally embraced or literally ran into a fellow bounding down the pavement from the opposite direction…bearing down on her with similar yet heavier fleet-of-foot falls and with the same steely unstoppable resolve. Brushing herself off-of the man with the big red nose, she could not not notice he was dressed as a clown? Red nose? Le Clown? What the…?
Qu’est-ce qui se passe ici?
“Hey, Jots!” He said.
“Hey! Jots said, “So! “Let’s bump fists, swap triple Swiss cheek kisses, and call it a good done-day?”
“Done again.” Le Clown said.
“Yes. Done again.”
Tags
Do Not Wear A Shoe That Pinches…
Posted in ART
Tags
“I would only believe in a God who knew how to dance.”
Nietzsche
Posted in ALL THINGS ENGLAND..., ART, ENGLAND SWINGS....
Tags
All Things England, Coastal Paths, EAST SUSSEX, England, jdtphotography.co.uk, photography, South Downs, watercolour, Writing
What can you write about…a bench?
Why would you write about a bench?
It is something you sit on.
It comes in all shapes, sizes, and materials.
Bench.
Ordinary.
You can sit on a bench alone.
With a friend.
With many friends. Old and young.
With strangers. Old or young.
Benches can be found…anywhere.
In likely places.
In unlikely places.
In surprising places.
Benches relieve tired bodies after long walks.
Benches give moments to view the view.
Benches evoke memories of words spoken…
And sometimes words left unsaid for silent reasons.
This bench reminds me of home.
The England home I left behind.
My lovely and cherished friends.
Who remind me,
Yes, I can
Come home again.
OUR BENCH
Accreditation: All effort has been made between James, jdtphotography.co.uk and myself to meet all copyright laws and honour his professionalism. Please click on the provided link to visit his website and view all his work. My admiration for his view of the view is understated and…endless.
Thank you, James.
28 Friday Dec 2012
Posted in REQUIRED FIELDS
Tags
2013, friendship, Funeral, Happy New Year, Llangollen Canal, London, Normandy, Writing
Well, hello there, Friend!
Hey, Saint, whatcha doin’?
Playing with my iPad.
Again? Still? I wonder about you because that’s what you always say. So, how’s Mrs. Saint?
Taking her usual morning-afternoon-early evening nap.
You’re really not so busy, then? Got a minute? I’ve got something of great importance to say…something I thought I’d never say.
And, put your “I-Pad” away…or whatever…because I’ve also got a favourite to ask of you.
The Moon for You, M’Dear. Just say. Just ask.
Here’s the importance part: I love, love, love shopping at Wal-Mart.
*gasp* with pause and a snort.
Wait! Let me finish.
Yes, of course, My Lovely…audible sigh…
Well, it’s like this: whenever I ask Babe “Do I look fat in these pants?”…she just looks at me with adoring eyes. Not much of an answer, but most days the adoring-eye trick works.
Babe’s adoring eyes….
*gasp* with [another] snort and [another] pause…
Let. Me. Finish.
Shopping for The Mother today at Wal-Mart has lifted my spirits, my waistline, my bust line, my knees and bum. Dare I mention the crow’s feet around my eyes are gone, too? When in Wal-Mart I care not about my pants or how I look. Pants or sans. Why? You ask? I look great. Not only do I look great… I look greatly small. Really! Greatly Small.
Isn’t that…for lack of a better word…..GREAT?
You done?
No, Saintly Friend, not yet. I have THE Favourite-To-Ask…
The Sun-and-the Moon for you O’Greatly-Small Wal-Mart Shopper…
If I die this year, My Friendly Saint, will you speak at my Little-Dead-on-Party? And before you think I’m crackers…hear me out….
Remember when we were canal boating on the Llangollen Canal with The Wanker and the other couple? Quarters were close. We slept on
19-inch wide total body numbing boards. Not you and I sleeping together. But, same room. Remember? And, we all shared the loo. Not as in loo togetherness but as in only one loo…and…I saw you in your boxers, without a shirt after your shower…and didn’t scream. You told me then, “But The Wife screams when she sees me sans shirt, and in boxers.” And, to my benefit, I didn’t scream. You owe me for that non-screaming moment.
Remember The Waiter in Normandy who wanted to kill you because you kept asking him stupid menu questions in “fake” French? Remember that?
I saved your life by telling The Waiter in “real” French, “He’s difficult and crazy and the rest of us hate him.” Remember when The Waiter smiled and put the knife back on the table? You owe me really Big Time for that one!
What about all the lunches you paid for just to listen to me snivel and whine when The Wanker did his Leave-Me Dance? Oh, right…that’s My Owe. Never mind.
Here’s my idea for your Saintly Speech…keep it short and simple but please mention how and when we became best friends: Flying to London and you…YOU forgot your passport. Noticed it missing…WHEN? At the airport Check-In counter two hours before boarding. That superior brain-fart should have ended our precious friendship, and I am and will be forever grateful that it didn’t.
Also, say something along the usual lines of: She came, she saw, conquered her fears, played one heck of a piano, loved her kids, grand kids, friends, etc. etc. You know the usual stuff. I’ll leave it up to you to put everything in their correct order. Oh, add dog, cats, and that I always wanted to be A Star…and became one in spite of…mostly myself.
Becoming a Star….
Order take-away food…and please, don’t forget the wedding cake: white cake, raspberry filling with lots of white icing…and the Mariachi band. Your Saintly Speech would be a tribute made by you, but scripted by me to our Friendship…lo these many years.
Our Adventures.
Our Journey.
So…are we clear on your speech duties at my Little-Dead-on-Party should I unexpectedly wing my ghostly, ghastly way back to Wal-Mart wanting to delight my pant or sans pant soul forever-more in Greatly small surroundings?
Too much to ask?
I can’t ask this Favourite of just anyone can I?
Has to be someone Special.
Someone Saintly.
In my eyes.
You know you are absolutely crackers.
Absolutely…but in a Greatly Small kind-of-crackers way. You think?
Absolutely.
14 Friday Dec 2012
Posted in REQUIRED FIELDS
Enough…the loss.
Enough…the politics.
Enough…the unspeakable grief.
Enough…say it.
Say it now…
Enough!
05 Wednesday Dec 2012
Posted in REQUIRED FIELDS
The limousine came to a smooth, slow stop along-side the curb. Her fists, tightly closed, pounded each side of the seat on which she sat. This was it. It was, so to speak, show time. If there had been a moment to avoid this time, this space…it was long gone. It may have never existed. She couldn’t decide. She certainly didn’t agree with The Reader who said the recognition was long over due. She didn’t agree. Not one bit.
Not one iota.
Visible from the car passenger window was a bright red carpet. It appeared to stretch the length of forever. There weren’t very many watchers congregated along the edges of the carpeted walk which she thought was just fine. Crowds had never been her long suit. Fewer were better. Walking that red carpet seemed an impossible trek for this reluctant award receiver. This was, she thought, impossible. There was no way in hell she could get out of the car and walk that walk. All she wanted was no fuss. No muss. No awards.
Just. Show. Up.
The car door opened. She planted her neon-bright colored wellies on the curb. Then stepped to the edge of the red carpet.
She took a few tentative steps forward and then…stopped.
11 Sunday Nov 2012
Posted in REQUIRED FIELDS
Tags
Agent Orange, Bloggers for Movember, Health, heart attack, heart disease, Heart Health, Men's health, Prostate
There is no better place to start than at the beginning. Sixth grade. Art lesson: draw a picture of a tree. My inspiration? Colours. Purple, brown, green and a bit of blue. 
Mostly purple. It was what I saw when I looked at the bark of the tree. Textured. Rough. It was definitely purple. This one memory I savour. It was the demarcation of how I viewed the view. Then, and now. Inspiration was colour, form and shape. In Art and in words…
Again, there is no better place to start than at the beginning. The present. A life lesson.
The Magical Movember Tour has combined Canadian/American efforts to talk about men’s health issues. Le Clown…is my inspiration.
THE HEART ATTACK…
There is no better place to start than at the beginning. Twenty-four years ago my husband, nineteen years married, died in the passenger seat of our car while I sped to the hospital trying to save him. His heart stopped twice, as he sat next to me, on that 14-mile Mr. Toad’s wild ride to the hospital. Even though I screamed at him “Don’t do this to me! “ repeatedly, he died anyway. He was forty- one years old. No matter how loud or how long I screamed during that fateful ride, I could not save him.
Something happened the last two years of Himself’s life, and here is where I am required to be honest…daily life had become a harrowing experience. Just not right would be an understatement. He became ill tempered, explosive, and paranoid. My renaissance, kind and gentle husband and father appeared to be going mad. Closer to the end an option for escape to safety was seriously considered days before he died. I did not know until weeks post funeral how perilously close to Himself’s irrational behavior was pushing him over the edge of reason. The gun we kept unloaded… unloaded and bullets safely hidden I found loaded with an extra loaded cartridge sitting along side. I knew then. I could not have saved him.
The colour orange. To be specific: Agent Orange. You see, Himself was drafted into the U.S. Army along with a cajillon other young people during the late nineteen sixties. Most of them, however, were not bivouacked on the DMZ for two weeks while Agent Orange was sprayed close to, near and on the DMZ zone where the Army had security and observation outposts in the forested hills separating North and South Vietnam. After two weeks, Himself came back to camp encrusted with Agent Orange: uniform, boots, and every skin pore on his body.
Two plus two did not add up to four in the Army then. I am certain it holds true today. No need to go there but it does answer just one part of that “Could I have saved him?” question.
I have asked myself all the “if only would have could have” questions. Even the cholesterol count was questioned. It turned out a negative factor in Himself’s death. Weight? Drinking? All considered. Exercise? We built a home and a 300-cow dairy…exercise, or lack of, was definitely not a factor.
Medical check-ups? Never. Now there is a “….if only….”
Seems as if this is the sticking point for awareness to all health concerns: medical check-ups. Men, Himself included, was too busy, too healthy, too ornery, and too damn stubborn to make and keep a doctor’s appointment.
The question becomes: “Can you save yourself?”
THE PROSTATE
There is no place better to start than at the end. So…I am going to be brief on this because the Wanker I married three years after Himself’s death does not deserve anything more than brevity. It took me a bit longer than fifteen years of marriage to the Wanker’s Prostate to figure out that everyone in the world, including The Prostate took priority in the Wanker’s life. I was so near the bottom of the Wanker’s priority list that he often forgot my name at formal functions. That last statement may be an exaggeration. You decide. I must admit I was slow to see The Prostate for what it really was…an excuse to whisper sweet nothings in my ear that ran something like: “You ready Darlin’ for my bi-weekly pipe clean-out?” I would not want to wish ill health on anyone or skewer The Prostate that my ex-Wanker owns. I would not laugh aloud if his dingle-dangle fell off while mouthing sweet-words of The Prostate’s mission in someone else’s ear. You can bet, however, I would be smiling….
Be smart.
You are all important.
Each and everyone one.
23 Tuesday Oct 2012
Posted in REQUIRED FIELDS
Tags
The keeper of my triumphs, near misses and failures is fading away. Time is no longer allowing the two of us to share forty-seven more years of friendship. Time is now dictating the days we have left to tell each other how important we are. To each other.
If I were the praying kind or believed lemony, cake frosting words, I’d hang on to the adage that everything does have a time and a season.
Reality? We all our going die. Sometime. Especially if we’ve lived, in numbered years, a very long time.
She has just always been there…and that’s the difficult part for me.
She has always been there. Here. For me. Always.
We share a lot of history…
She helped me bury my husband, and I was with her when she buried hers.
She told me once that she wanted to live no longer than ninety years.
She’ll be ninety-one in less than a month.
Only the history we share is fading. Not the spirit of our history.
She will always be here. With me and for me.
Always.
My Eloise on our 2009 Alaskan cruise…
11 Thursday Oct 2012
Posted in REQUIRED FIELDS
Tags
Endless Summer, Oregon, Pacific Northwest, Portland metropolitan area, Rain, Reflection, Winter Weather, Writing
Just ONE reason (and there are many more) the Pacific Northwest state of Oregon is so beautiful is because…we get a lot of rain. True Oregonians don’t measure our annual rainfall in inches. Forget that. We go for yards or meters. That is a lot of wet, and when our yards/meters of precipitation begins to number in the seven, eight or nine month’s duration…that would be (traditionally) September through April, May and/or June… white flags of surrender begin to appear. Enough becomes…enough. Usually to no avail.
This year, however, the bar was raised on the normal and usual expectation of the golden months in our north, Northwest area ending August September. There was a spritz of a sprinkle one day in September and then…nada. Blue skies. More blue skies. It was a stupendous reprieve. An endless summer, if you will. Smiles and frown less brows were every where, as were sleeveless t-tops, bare legs and flip-flops. Euphoria.
Heaven on earth…and no sign of letting up.
Until now…today, Thursday, 10.11.12.
Yes? There’s a comment? About those sequential numbers? I hear you…..
Predicted rain totals for the Portland metropolitan area and surrounding rural area for tomorrow and throughout the weekend could total 1-2 inches rain. There could be 2-5 inches in the mountains and maybe 2-4 on the coast. The flood alert has been sounded. Snow chain advertisements have begun to appear.
We all knew our open windows, warm breezes and lingering sunshine couldn’t and wouldn’t last….which brings me to some visual reflections of where I live…and today begin to hunker down for the dark cave of days to come. Gawd only knows My Reader and I are going to have to remind ourselves, come February 2013, what the sun looked like only months before…and what we did for fun before it began raining yards and yards and yards….with maybe some paralyzing “close down the city” snow… thrown in for good measure.
Let this be fair warning…come February when my white flag begins to wave…a ticket to anywhere but here will be gladly accepted…
07 Sunday Oct 2012
Posted in REQUIRED FIELDS
If there was a way to thank the fine, fine people who showed up Friday last for President Obama’s rally on the Cleveland State University soccer field…and hear my sincere thanks… you know I’d be there. I would thank nine thousand plus fine, fine Ohioans.
Personally.
Each and every one.
Reporters Henry J. Gomez and Brandon Blackwell of Cleveland’s The Plain Dealer reported that the weather did not co-operate with the President’s planned outdoor rally. It was very cold…and very rainy. Some audience members were dressed for wet, cold weather, but many stood for hours in casual clothes and business suits, drenched to the skin waiting for the President to arrive. Waiting to hear Mr. Obama speak.
To them.
Nine thousand plus strong.
Michelle Finney-Kofron, of Lakewood Ohio, came to the rally with her son, Gabe. They arrived at 10-30 a.m. The rally began at 2-30 p.m. You and I know these Presidential rallies never begin on time. I can only guess that they waited longer than 4 hours…in the rain and in the cold…to hear our President speak.
“It’s just a little rain,” Ms Finney-Kofron said, “but it was worth it. We’re still smiling.”
A little rain, but still smiling.
Worth it.
Still smiling.
Me, too…
25 Tuesday Sep 2012
Posted in REQUIRED FIELDS
There’s something to be said about the English language. Language can be directionally challenged. Final destination or designation unknown. Which brings me to My Reader who is currently knee-deep in the “to-ma-toe” versus “toe-may-toe” dispute. Having said that…add nuance, syntax, stuff and other stuff.
The question is: Is it allowable to be knackered in your knickers but never knicker-knackered? I do have it on good authority…one could. However, even My Reader advises against it.
Further more…single cream is not double cream, full cream, clotted or cotillion, and half and half, and half is where we started…the English language…directionally challenged…destination and/or designation sometimes unknown, add to that the The Final Question-able Christine’s arrival from Yorkshire, England via Seattle to Portland this Monday last. Sans the written word.
12 Wednesday Sep 2012
Posted in ART
Tags
It is difficult to fathom that summer is quickly but quietly eroding into another season. “What happened to all those sun-filled days?” will soon be a question asked by all true-blue Portlandians who long for sun weather, but also wet weather…and then continually complain about both. No matter. My Reader is polishing the wellies (including my Yellows), digging out the brollies and unburdening the rain jackets from the darkest recesses of the wardrobe.
First, however, we get to watch and participate in the grandeur of the annual colour show of leaves and celebrate their appearance. Eventually, on all surfaces…
Chapman Square Park Bench
Bench Pressed with Morning Dew
Bench Pressed Dew Two
Benched…
05 Wednesday Sep 2012
Posted in ALL THINGS ENGLAND..., ENGLAND SWINGS....
Tags
City of Roses, England, Friendships, Pacific Northwest, portland oregon, Seattle, TRAVEL, Writing, Yorkshire
English: Waterstones and Fat Face, Northallerton (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
A year ago, my best bud Jane and I traveled half-way around the world, London, England, to visit three of my best girlfriends and their families, travel the South Devon coast, and soak up the love of lasting friendships…and satisfy my longing of a country I once called home.
My Reader knows where to find those posts (here, here and here) therefore, let’s continue…
Our Last Day in Town…
Jane and I had walked the very last and long ten miles in and around London town and it was time to catch the tube back to our hotel and pack for the Portland Oregon flight home. However, one last stop, the bookstore, Waterstones.
One of Waterstone’s rules, which I think is the only rule: look like you are going to buy a book, or, look like you are going to buy a book, or, actually buy a book.
We didn’t need a book.
We needed the loo.
Question #1 & 2…
She was standing in front of the travel book table. A travel book in each hand: Chicago in the left, Seattle in the right, talking quietly to a man (her brother-in-law) and a handsome young man (her nephew). The conversation was mostly Christine…until Jane and I asked in our distinct American accent: Are you going to Chicago? And…why would you be going to Chicago when you could go to Seattle and then…come see us in Portland?
From then on the conversation was mostly Christine, Jane and I. No. It was all Christine, Janie and I. The men in Christine’s life became statues.
Question #3…
After a spirited and protracted discussion, Jane and I convinced our new “best” friend into first going to Seattle…and then spending a few days with us in Portland, which is a mere train-ride south of Seattle. Actually, after writing my name and address in the Seattle travel book…I did ask Christine if she was actually going to purchase that particular book I’d just defaced with “For a good time call…..” in big, block printed letters….all my personal details.
THE MOUNT RAINIER PASSENGER TRAIN BEING DIRECTED ENROUTE FROM SEATTLE, WASHINGTON, TO PORTLAND, OREGON. UNLIKE MOST… – NARA – 556126 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Question #4, 5, 6 & 7…
When you purchase that book, Christine…may Jane and I use your receipt in order to use the loo? The three of us laughed like the best friends we had become…whilst her brother-in-law and nephew stood in postured disbelief and with mouths ajar. What had just happened here?? they silently asked. Christine, have you gone crackers? This one and that other one are perfect strangers and you are going to stay with them???
Question # 8…
It seemed a perfectly normal situation to Jane and I. We are nice. We are funny when sober. We live in the same building. Jane and her husband live a couple of floors above mine, and we were going to divide Christine up, not physically…well, I guess physically, too…between our two flats. We would show her a very good time in our beautiful city…much bigger than her hometown of Yorkshire. In the final planning stages of her holiday, Christine decided to spend only a few days in Seattle and then spend the major part of her holiday with us! So…what’s wrong with that?
We’ve been emailing for a year. Christine’s holiday starts this month. Actually, her holiday starts NEXT WEEK! Jane and I anxiously await her arrival at Portland’s Union Train Station. She’ll meet all of our friends and families, and doesn’t know it yet…but there’s a “waiting list” of friends who definitely want to wine and dine her and, of course, ask her about her To the North English accent. We have all taken a leap of faith…coming to strangers (so to speak) and coming as a stranger (so to speak). Think of it as bigger and better than “couch surfing”…this is foreign country surfing. What bravery. What courage.
The Final Question… Jane and I did ask the unasked: “You’re not an axe murderer are you, Chris?”
We are winner’s all!
South Park Blocks Rose Garden
Welcome to our City of Roses, Chris, and to Jane and Raye’s home…Portland, Oregon.
What a hoot!!!
30 Thursday Aug 2012
Posted in REQUIRED FIELDS
Tags
Book Review, Christopher Moore, Gail Collins, John Irving, Robert Fulghum, Texas, Thad Carhart, Vincent Van Gogh
Imagine how I felt when I saw my bedroom nightstand on display. Not only had it not been dusted or the books arranged “artfully” (it is never dusted or arranged artfully), the shock of it all…seeing all my books, all MY dust…on public display caused me to swoon.
Jot’s nightstand. Not Myrna’s nightstand.
Yes, swoon. I know a swoon when I have one.
How could he? How did Hugh know to shimmy up this particular brick building to the seventh story and peek into my bedroom window? Was it to ferret out my nightstand book-stacking, non-pro-dust habit? How could Hugh know that I read a lot? It is an embarrassing trait: anal-retentive nose-to-the-grind-head-in-a-book syndrome and I can be replete in saying, I have never, ever divulged that. To anyone. Not even to My Reader. How could Hugh have known? Was there a motive beyond the brick-burned shins and bleeding finger tips, or…
Was it a case of peeking for peek’s sake? Which begs the final and most important question: does peeking count?
Professor C’s personal yet intrusive answer: The {Booker} Award.
Probably thank you. Maybe very much.
LIST FIVE FAVOURITE BOOKS
(My editorial and/or personal comments are italicized.)
As Texas Goes…So Goes The Nation by Gail Collins. [Or…How The Lone Star State Hijacked The American Agenda.] This book hit all my “hotter than a Texas drought” angry buttons. Texas should be granted their three wishes, in this order:
1) Secede, 2) secede, 3) secede.
Piano Shop on the Left Bank: Discovering Passion in a Paris Atelier
by Thad Carhart. Love Paris? Pianos and piano history? Looking for passion?
My recent purchase of a new-to-me piano, recognizing that playing the piano was/is
the essence of me…had everything to do with reading this book.
A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving. Chapter 4 is a beautiful, sacrilegious rendition of the nativity scene and stars The Little Lord Jesus aka Owen Meany. You will laugh until it hurts. I seldom cry. Especially when reading a book. Chapter 9 brings me to sobs and to my knees. Every time.
Sacre’ Bleu by Christopher Moore. A satirical look at the life and death of artist Vincent Van Gogh and other Impressionist painters. In addition, for your added colour tint- illation…the history of colour (pigments) and a bit of ART history with colour plates. Bonus: Even more satirical and sacrilegious is Moore’s Lamb. An in-depth (and probably true) account of Jesus and his best friend, Biff, as they tumble and travel through puberty…and then some. You will laugh. You will hurt. With pleasure.
All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten by Robert Fulghum. My brilliant, creative, rocky upside-down life has seen its share of game playing wizards, dwarfs and giants. As have we all. However, being a non-obliging participant in wizardry, crown-me-king or make me feel smaller activities oft-times left me standing…left out.
The question (found in Fulghum’s book) “Where do the Mermaids stand?”…
was finally answered, and answered by me.
I said, “Mermaids stand tall.”
And, they do.
ADMIRABLE WRITERS
http://zhongguojumble.wordpress.com/
23 Thursday Aug 2012
Posted in REQUIRED FIELDS
Tags
cheesecake, England, Oreo cookies, Vera Wang, wellies, Writing
My Reader is looking over my shoulder looking at me with me in the mirror. We are both squinting our eyes, looking at me first, then each other’s mirror images. We are looking for a “new and improved” image. A Beautiful new and improved…me.
Not going to happen, I say.
Maybe? No. You’re right. That‘s a definite. Not going to happen. The trouble is you haven’t been keeping up with keeping up since the last Beautiful Blogger award, and now you have to be Beautiful again. The way I see it this is a no way Jose’, situation. You are, for sure, going to have to slip out the back, Jack, and make a new plan…
Wait! Wait juusst a minute. How can you say that? How was I to know you could be Beautiful twice, or you even needed to be Beautiful twice? If anyone deserves to be more Beautiful than once OR twice…it’s Pat at patwoodblogging. After all, she’s got the summer-house. In England. A summer of a hummer house in England.
You are such an ignorant. Remember: Pat lives in England. She can have a summer house. Now that’s what I would call Beautiful!
Thank you Pat, for your twinkly eyes, your wonderful sense of humour, and especially for your writing….but…sorry, Pat, just not for my Beautiful award. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
I was Beautiful once. Harder still to be Beautiful times two. Just ask Vera Wang.
I’m almost afraid to ask, but here goes: what is this about Vera Wang?
I don’t think she eats Oreo cookies which makes…keeping up with keeping up…a lot easier for her. Translated: Life is less complicated for Vera, which would make keeping up keeping up…easier.
See? EasierEasierEasier.
Were you aware that you eat Oreo cookies as if they were, and are, necessary yet health improving vitamins?
That’s what I’m talking about, however, only the necessary part you mentioned is actually…necessary.
I give. Tell me, is that necessarily you in the yellow wellies? And, please, say it isn’t so…
JOTS yellow wellies. Not Veras
Please? Paleeze-shmeeze…it’s not about me…it’s about cheesecake. It’s all about the cheesecake of life and keeping up with keeping up.
Probably and just ever so more than likely…not my thing. Really.
However, if I dazzle, sparkle and shine in living colour this one last time maybe, just maybe and perhaps it won’t matter anymore.
To who, Vera?
Yes. Her, too.
12 Sunday Aug 2012
Posted in REQUIRED FIELDS
A while ago I posted a piece that was scornful of all the SPAM I was receiving in my personal-private email address. Comments to that particular post from lovely WordPress “family” members [also] telling of their tales of SPAM woe, affirmed and consoled.
no spam! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Responses felt like a real down-to-earth-get-together. You know…where relatives sit outside underneath the shade of the ancient tire-swing tree, bring favourite pot-luck dishes, share a meal, laugh, eat, reminisce about the good and the bad ole‘ days…all the while being attacked by pesky flies and waspy yellow jackets.
That post truly became one of those bucolic, summer afternoon sharing moments…almost perfect.
Only if you ignored the blow-fly bites and wasp stings.
El Guapo warned me. His *comment* about being “less worried about the spam and more concerned about the searches that will bring people to your blog”…was, for the most part…ignored by me.
My Reader warned me, too.
The question is: Did I listen? To El G? To My Reader?
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Grab a drink from the fridge and let’s sit outside by the tire-swing while I give My Reader this update.
Oh…and bring that rolled-up newspaper…there…by the door…the blow-flies are still bad and the yellow jackets are swarming…..
VIAGRA (Remains at: Numero Uno)
I import my all my dates from foreign countries. Most are “into” illegal something or other. They are on the run and for the most part…can’t hang around for any length of time…or tom foolery. I like it that way. A speedy pill would only slow things down. Know what I mean….?
FREE LOBSTERS
My Reader is [almost sure] that I should see what this is all about. I continue to *delete* only because we have non-native, run-away craw-dad issues in Oregon streams and rivers. I’d hate to think I’d become the source of non-native, run-away lobsters…free or not.
CREDIT CARDS
Probably notices from Bank of America that they continue to hold my seventeen cent bank account hostage. Seems I might owe them interest?
HULU
I’d rather learn to tango in high, strappy heels while wearing a black, bias-cut, flowy silk dress. I thank the generosity of the GIF (Google Image Factory) for making me look so good!! Yes. That’s really me….
No hulu dancing for me…a grass skirt would make my hips look two-blocks wide.
LEVITRA+VIAGRA
Marketing ploy: adding +….go back to top (Numero Uno)
My Reader says I’ve saved the best for last.
JESSICA WANTS TO SHOW YOU SOMETHING
Sometimes a person can “sense” when things are about to go bad. I just knew Jessica (probably not her real name) wanted to show me her boobies…for free. (Don’t confuse free lobsters with free boobie peeks.) No matter. Jessica could probably win any body-beauty contest between the two of us, and she’s probably earned the fake-diamond tiara she wears on special occasions. However, I’ve tried to further her quest for more friends (excluding mine) and have forwarded her SPAM message on to the VIAGRA and the LEVITRA+VIAGRA friendly people. My Reader thinks they might be able to compromise…at the very least bring up some issues that might be beneficial for all concerned. She’ll more than likely thank me later.
In fairness to My Reader, a peek at Jessica’s boobies
could do no harm…even though it may seem I’m making a political statement.
Which, of course, I am.
Once again, GIF provided the G-Rated image of Jessica’s two right boobs.
No doubt, My Reader says, I will pay for this…Ouch!!
24 Tuesday Jul 2012
Posted in REQUIRED FIELDS
Tags
Awards, beautiful, BEAUTIFUL BLOGGER, castles, kilt, Lyle Lovett, Scottish, Texas, Writing
My Reader is again skeptical, again over another recent award: the BEAUTIFUL BLOGGER AWARD. The absolutely wonderful, I wish we were neighbours and good friends, but must also mention talented, singer-song writer, novelist Lisa Ann Hayes who choose Jots From a Small Apt. for being beautiful.
I’m guessing not beautiful as in me personally but as in an award?…well, like my Reader…I’m skeptical, too.
Go figure.
Neon sign (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Trophies and 1st Prizes go to the shiniest person who stands closest to the edge of the stage and who receives the bouquets and applause.
Trophies and Prizes seldom go to the shadowy figure wrapped up in the folds of the stage curtains just waiting for the play to end.
The shiniest person blinks on and off like a neon light that shouts, “See me! See me!”
The shadowy figure lights the candle and waits for all to come home safely. Soundly.
The shiniest person loves drama and IS drama.
The shadowy figure likes spare and simple.
So.
Thank you, Lisa Ann.
Seven TWO Random Acts of Nonsense Which May Be True:
1. I’ve given up ever meeting Lyle Lovett, being taken away by the boys in his band bus, deposited on his Texas ranch, and feeding his cattle. I’m fairly certain that’s just not going to happen. Ever. Lyle Lovett, his boys on the band bus, his ranch and all the cattle are now crossed off my Christmas “wish list.” Oh, and the state of Texas.
I Love Everybody (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
2. Still on my “wish list”, however, is meeting a Scottish person, preferably a man person, yet preferably the Lord of a castle, who wears a kilt, who will take me away (perhaps by the boys in his band bus), deposit me in or near his castle, let me walk the hills and dales…feeding [any] cattle along the way…and preferably leave me. Alone.
An old castle I once knew…but not in Scotland.
Below are several friends I put in my [own personal] category of beauties. I know them through their words or through their ART or…both…and I like them.
A lot.
Meditative Mutterings
This is pretty much all the beautiful stuff My Reader can deal with in one day.
Me, too.
18 Wednesday Jul 2012
Posted in REQUIRED FIELDS
Tags
I’ve been given an award. Not to be confused with being given a prize.
Besides My Reader…sarajanelives (counting: two) thinks I have had my head in the clouds for an inordinate amount of time, and would like to dis-spell the notion that I don’t “do” awards by giving me…an award. It is called the Lovely Cloud Award or something Lovely…about clouds or an award apparition looking too much like a cloud to mistake it for anything else but a…..cloud.
[Place Photo of Cloud Here]
It is a Lovely. Thought. Award.
Thank you.
[Questionable cough here.]
Seven One Items of Interest Regarding My Most Private Thoughts and/or Introverted Life That Would Make Good, Mediocre, or Just Really Bad Fiction (or Non-Fiction) Story Plots For NON-JOT Readers Should They Ever Stumble Upon JOTS Posts. I’m not holding my breath…
1. Pleeaazzee keep this to yourself: I just love love love power tools…Allen wrenches are not “powered” but I bought a set today.
They sit right beside JOTS water colour brushes, JOTS cat, JOTS printer on JOTS massive IKEA power tooled-put-together desk in JOTS flat.
Fifteen Some Other Writers Who Might or Might-NOT Be Interested In Participating in this Lovely Award and Passing It Along…or Not.
I enjoy these writers very much and hope My Reader (and SaraJane) will pop in for a look-see….
My sincere apologies to the above listed. SaraJane said she would take away JOTS new Allen wrench set AND power drill if JOTS refused to play her stupid stupid lovely award rules and participation “game”.
No one touches JOTS tools……
02 Monday Jul 2012
Posted in TOUCHE'
Tags
contest, melismatic, melliferous, mellifluous, prize, words, Writing
I’ve won a prize. Not to be confused with an award.
Emma, from In Other Words had a contest even though at the time I “commented” on her post I didn’t know it was a contest…or I wouldn’t have entered Emma’s non-contest now contest. Truthfully, I don’t think she did either…that is… mean to start a contest. With or without prizes. She just made it a contest because…simply…I was the winner. At least that is what she says. She wrote to me, not personally….on, no…more like a form letter from Publisher’s Clearinghouse…and made me the winner.
Huh? Is that legal?
So there you are. I’m a winner.
What else could I do , now a Winner, but wonder how much money (or whatever) I’d won?
So. I. Asked.
What’s my prize? Is there a prize? A small token of appreciation? Medal? Statue? Statuette….?
No.Nada. Zip.
NO PRIZE!!
So I called Emma on my non-non-communicative dead-celled cell phone.
“Emma Sweet-Tea…what gives?” I asked in my dead-pan MELLIFLUOUS voice…dripping with un-melliferous MELISMATIC tones.
Emma said: “Choose a new word, and work it in…..”
That’s my prize?
Emma said: “Winner’s don’t complain. They accept. Graciously. Say, Thank you…..” 
Huh?
Put your thinking cap on, My Reader, I’ve upped the ante and have chosen not one but two words…and worked them in.
MELLIFLUOUS 1 : filled with something (as honey) that sweetens)..and
MELISMATIC 1 : groups of notes or tones sung on one syllable in plainsong.
It is My Reader’s turn.
Just remember there are NO PRIZES… No. Nada. Zip….
….and no complaining.
I thank you.
24 Sunday Jun 2012
Posted in TOUCHE'
Tags
Art, Meditative Mutterings, Nowan Zen, oil pastels, Poetry, the Sea, Tribute, visuals, watercolour, words, Writing
Not too long ago Nowan Zen wrote a poem entitled “And The Sea Rolls On” in Meditative Mutterings. Those poetic words struck my fancy, not only in word sounds but visually.
It was as if Nowan’s use of words created sound and then painted a picture…a picture that I would have to put on paper.
So, I have.
With permission I have included that picture of words NoZ wrote with my own.
A tribute to words that sounded so loudly…they became visual words.
…the Sea Rolls On…
The tides roll in
Leaving sands behind
Taking sand out
Clouds slide
Mountains stand watch
And the Sea rolls on.
The boat gets beached
The barnacles scraped
The rust removed
The paint freshened
Sails patched
And the Sea rolls on.
Day passes to night
We sleep
We dream
Night eases into day
And we arise
To do it all again
Yet the Sea Rolls on.
The winds come
The trees wave
The waves shush against the shore
The birds cry
Time sneaks by
And the Sea rolls on.
18 Monday Jun 2012
Posted in REQUIRED FIELDS
Tags
Awards, Cacciatore, COOKING, Friendships, inpirational, Italian, Italy, recipes, Writing
Sabato una ricevere un invito a fare da Mr. and Mrs. Guido…extremely good friends of mine who excel in being all about good friends…and who also excel in being all about cooking squisto Italian food.
Mr. Guido, of 100% Italian ancestry made Chicken Cacciatore…the way his Mamma taught him how. Mrs. Guido also received Italian cooking lessons from Mamma but Mrs. G’s. specialita’ is polpette (meatballs). However, Saturday night was Mr. Guido’s moment to shine, and perform solo in the Guido cucina.
As we began to tuck away the delizioso cacciatore, Mr. G. began to recount how he learned to cook with his Mamma and her ever-present, long-handled, wooden stirring spoon. Famiglia recipes have been shared generation to generation, with each region of Italy adding or subtracting its own personal touch. Cacciatore means “hunter-style” in Italian. It is a simple (peasant simple) method of cooking fresh-killed game: hens, rabbits, lamb, pork…whatever ran around in the forest…or on neighboring property. Mind you, this could be called poaching or stealing from one’s neighbour. Perhaps in certain particular circumstances it was poaching. I didn’t bring this up, but from the raised eyebrows on Mrs. G’s face I could tell she wasn’t too pleased where this “folk-tale” might end. Leave it to subtle looks between spouses…and Mr. G. rearranged his thoughts on family lore. We moved on.
Chicken cacciatore, made with mushrooms, onions, and tomatoes, garnished with parsley, and served over pasta noodles. Photographed in the Oakmore neighborhood of Oakland, California, USA. (Photo credit: Wikipedia
The cacciatore (gamely acquired?) was then sautéed with wild mushrooms, onions, and other foraged vegetables, covered in a simple red wine sauce or crushed tomato based marinara sauce and served with a heaping serving of pasta, again covered in sauce. I’ve been sworn to secrecy not to reveal specific ingredients or methods, and My Reader does not have the option of asking for those above mentioned specifics….
There is, however, a famiglia secret I can share since the names to protect the innocent were changed years ago…
…Un segreto: “Guido” isn’t Mr. G’s autentica famiglia surname…it was changed when Poppi immigrated to New York from Italy. The change wasn’t made by a hard-of-hearing U. S. Immigration Officer but on request by…Grandpa Guido. Apparently, Poppi left Italy under shadowed circumstances…and felt a new and improved name would be in his every best (or not best) interest. Mr. G. didn’t utter the Mafia word, I was the elephant in the room that did…but only as a mumbled comment that sounded more like a muffled sneeze. And, since the M-word wasn’t really mentioned…0nly implied…that would then make Poppi now-a- Guido… a Mafioso…an implied Mafioso. I’m just guessing. All speculation…shadowy circumstances? Name change? When isn’t a chicken a chicken? When it’s dressed up and stewing in the famiglia dinner pot? Dare la propria parola d’onore. My lips are sealed. Finito.
My Reader thinks I’ve gone the longest route possible via Poppi Guido, to give voice to Jensine for awarding JOTS FROM A SMALL APT. 
The Very Inspirational Blogger Award.**
She is the sweetest of Sweet-Teas and I do appreciate her following, her comments…and her friendship. Her personal columns of wisdom are always inspirational…..way more than words and thoughts coming from JOTS.
From my side of the world Jensine to yours…. Molto bene’!
And…to Mr. and Mrs. Guido, un invito a cena grazie per il nostro cortese invito!!
**Consider all the rules that go with receiving awards. Consider 99% of those rules broken. Consider finito…as good as it is going to get.
13 Wednesday Jun 2012
Posted in REQUIRED FIELDS
Tags
Buster Brown, CIALIS, Cyber-Space, Froggy, Innuendo, Non-fiction, SPAM, VIAGRA, Writing
For the umpteenth time in too many months…I’ve rubbish-binned VIAGRA and CIALIS advertisements from my email in-box. I’ve complained, moaned and groaned to wax-plugged ears…mainly My Reader…only because I am not talking about a few penis-related SPAM entries… I’m talking about a lot…an embarrassing…A LOT!
What gives?
I’m female. Of a certain age. Old enough to have had…My Reader interrupts, ” Focus…..just get to the point….”Right!Perhaps it was something I said but most certainly only in jest that has put my writing and written vocabulary on the watch-list for all things penis-related. Personally, I don’t think so. Then again, perhaps…just maybe… any kind of sex or sex-related innuendo I may have jested about has played a part in the cyber-spaced, job-related word-spy thingy.I’m not big on computer spy technical terms and *thingy* has an appropriate ring to it.
My Reader is positive…almost positive…that I don’t do innuendos. I don’t think I do innuendos either but…here-in may lay the big but (albeit butt?) frustration of SPAM up-loads which could, or might be based on my supposed (yet innocent and jest-full) use of innuendos and perhaps just perhaps the use of all things penis-word related and…which could be probably is the resulting SPAM I receive…and true story is driving me absolutely *nuts!Walnuts (Photo credit: Wikipedia) Every jest intended. I’m innocent.
Is it just me or do you, too, hear that rumble…
…that SPAM space-loaded rumble of butt, tush, bum, rear, and all ass-related innuendo-type words which could most likely would not only include but or butt, and all things ass related but-butt four-legged pack animals sluggishly, spiraling down the Grand Canyon on steep trails which mean I could and probably will be receiving unwarranted information from animal lovers AND animal savers, not to mention every world-wide Chamber of Commerce that produces tourist information brochures about every canyon and mountain trail kiosk that has anything to do with ass-packing or ass-carrying animals, and which now is compounded by the use of the word *nuts (used above) which could and probably will be SPAM innuendo-counted in the Anything To Do With Category of squirrels, trees, hiding food in trees for winter, recipes using nuts or tree branches and bark, all reality TV food networks with nutty and/or squirrelly chefs.Say what??At this juncture I know that I’m in deep doo-doo. Whatever I write will be used against me…not that I seriously think I’m a persecuted person or a victim, but-butt could use the shite-word only in innocent jest to loudly declare my frustration….but no telling what that would bring to my email SPAM receiving in-box. In an attempt to clear the cyber air…I can categorically state that I’m not a persecuted squirrel asking My Reader to send me a victimized chef who doesn’t know how to
toasthisnuts over an open fire using innuendo-type tree bark for flavor or fuel. Nor do consider myself a potential VIAGRA or CIALIS user…..and this I know for sure…I’ve never had to spell check the word pe-nis.In closing, I plead “…Twang your magic thumper, Froggy…,” and make the SPAM go away.
In closing, My Reader says, “Fat chance…..”
09 Saturday Jun 2012
Posted in ABOUT RUTH
≈ Comments Off
Small prayer: “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray my soul and marbles I get to keep. If I die before I wake, take my freckles and throw them in a lake…..and make The Mother be nice to me.” I was little. Seven years old. Maybe eight and nine. Even older than that.
This is hard. It took a long while but I finally learned that, in time, my freckles would mellow so to speak…but The Mother wouldn’t. She would be exactly who she was. Then. Always. Even now.
The Mother was a tough nut. A rough and ready-move-a-barge-and-lift-a-bale semi-truck driver. A swaggering sailor. A swearing, swaggering sailor. Let’s not be too harsh. Mother never smoked, and I never saw her drink alcohol, and she did make the best tea-parties for The Sisters and me…fresh squeezed orange juice (instead of tea) and cookies. The Mother was an excellent cookie baker, that is, until I could reach the kitchen counter and read a recipe…then I became the excellent cookie baker.
This is hard. I came to see The Mother as a vending machine. A vending machine that sometimes gave you your reward. What you asked for. What you wanted. What you chose. What you needed. Sometimes not. Mostly not. It was easier to expect nothing from The Mother…the vending machine…rather than be disappointed with losing the quarter. My Reader doubts that the vending machine ever worked properly.
It did work. Just not often. Or regular.
English: Snack Machine (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The easy part, over my lifetime, has been accepting The Mother for who she was…and is.
The hard part, over my lifetime, has been accepting The Mother for who she was…and is.
She will be eighty-nine this year. Getting around is difficult. She forgets words and names but, so far, not my name. She’s collected a lot of my quarters and after yesterday’s telephone conversation I see that I’ve become the repository for The Mother…I’m getting my quarters back one-by-one. The Mother is remembering stories of long ago. Stories of the old times. She remembers when she was that tough nut, that barge-moving and bale-lifting truck driver with the potty mouth. I’ve got quarters in my pocket for each story told. Stories I’ve heard a million times plus two.
I’ve become the repository for all the quarters…my quarters…and the stories…her stories.
Listening. A small price to be paid to keep The Mother’s vending machine working.
Not often or regular…but working just the same.
My name is Ruth.
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of any Jots from a Small Apt. material without express and written permission from this writer is strictly not an option. Please give me credit when and where credit is due.
28 Monday May 2012
Posted in ENGLAND SWINGS....
≈ Comments Off
Tags
36ixty5, Art, England, FIGS, Mike Drummond, passion, photography, watercolour
BLUE CHAIR WITH FIGS
Re-posted: Tea For Two, Day 196, by Mike Drummond of 36ixty5
Time off for good behavior (defined loosely) has its benefits: time to organize and re-organize whatever needs to be moved, washed and dried, thrown-out, recycled…or just left alone.
Once upon a time, after becoming a widow at an early age…and finally finishing my Art Education degree so I could keep family and soul together…it became quite apparent that Art teachers never leave their jobs…they die AT or ON the job. Which meant, essentially, I’d be teaching…but not Art. Plan B was then super-imposed over the best of intentions, and as usual, life moved on. However, no matter what My Reader says…creativity is ageless. Creativity is timeless.
Mike Drummond’s “Tea for Tea” appealed to my linear sensibilities when I first saw his submission Day 196.. Tea for Two.
The watercolour and ink interpretation, especially the figs, is through no one’s fault but my own….actually, not a fault…
…more like a passion.
Yes. Definitely a passion.
28 Monday May 2012
Posted in REQUIRED FIELDS
≈ Comments Off
Tags
Awards, Dublin, England, friendship, Oregon tland, Portland, Willamette River, Writing
My Reader reminded me yesterday that Christmas is coming. That reminder can only mean that My Reader has begun to make THE LIST. A numbered list. A many numbered list.
Not a good sign.
Which brings me to…numbers, and while I’m at it….might as well mention some unfinished business and…pesky rules.
Again.
Neither of which (as you know) I’m exceptionally good at, honour or reverently care about.
First…a lovely, lovely Dublin friend jensinewall dropped by for a chat and left not only her gift of friendship but an award…
Thank You to Jensine for the award, but mostly, also and too, for being so wise well beyond your years.
Here is The Factual Numbered List With Facts About Me that should not be confused with My Reader’s Many Numbered Christmas List
1. My 10-year-old Yellow Lab, Babe, I rescued when she was three. She is now a REAL dog. A dog-dog. It makes me incredibly happy that she is a happy, dog-dog.
2. I’ve lived in England and travelled. A lot.
3. Loved living in England!
4. Love travelling.
5. Paddle on the Willamette River, Portland OR twice a week with GFriend Jane, and 10 others in a Hong Kong-style dragon boat.
6. My job as an Art Researcher…is the berries!!
7. Portland reminds me of London….with the river running through it….and my girlfriends (and their families) who live here/there…and other stuff…
At this juncture I think that there are supposed to be links to seven other websites that I find wonderful, delightful and too good NOT to pass along.
That would include you, My Reader. You know who you are.
This is, honestly, an easy-out for me….primarily because I subscribe to the thought that when I see a number by my name…as in stats/followers…or age…
I don’t have to have that number go up.
I just think My Reader thinks the same.
You’re welcome…..
02 Wednesday May 2012
Posted in REQUIRED FIELDS
Beaching my boat…..
It came to me several bed-times ago. It was a blazing, full on coloured, screaming in the night…..nightmare.
I had lost my way. Essentially, I was lost and fighting my way back to being found.
There are some events in life we can attempt to control. Conscience. Controlled. Choices.
Which ice cream to buy: light, churned, no fat-no-taste OR get out the churn and help me herd the cows into the milking parlour. So-help-me I won’t tell if you won’t.
Knickers today. Or, NOT. Again…I won’t tell if you don’t.
Turn right. Turn left.
Stand still or stand in the middle.
In other words and worlds…small, uneventful choices made everyday with little thought, academic concern, or magnanimous care. Daily life caught up in the waves but with oars in the water.
Then there is the other stuff…the major stuff.
Stuff that is going to count…or be counted…or needs to be counted.
Major stuff that could possibly swamp the boat if more care isn’t taken to keep the oars moving, the horizon in sight, and safe harbours sussed out should the need arise.
With My Reader’s help…I’m beaching my boat for a while in a safe harbour. Seems to be a good time to lay in the sand and look at cloud formations….
…and rearrange the barnacles that have been ignored.
The oar slips need repair and a paint job is in order. Might take a while.
My Reader wants to know when I’ll be back.
In good time.
25 Wednesday Apr 2012
Posted in TOUCHE'
*gasping* times two…this just isn’t helping me at all and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful because I am. My Reader is beginning to nod affirmatively over the plethora of awards to be awarded, award “badges” (similar to Girl Scout achievements…however not to be sewn on to any body part…and Warned: DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME caveat), award thanks from recipients and soon-to-be-receivers, plus all the resulting fallout to the “awarders” and the “awardees”…*gasp* *gasp* plus, one *gulp*.
Girl Scout in uniform (Photo credit: Wikipedia) I used to look like this without the glasses...but had waaaay more badges. This GS obviously is NOT badge-motivated. Just sayin'.......
Need I say more? Yes, apparently.
Rules are important. Necessary…yet…made to be dare I say broken?
My Reader is going to have to deal with…changed.
I’m Not Lost, Just Weird and jensinewall bestowed upon JOTS the KREATIVE BLOGGER [award] and the I’M IT [award].
Jots is thanking both NoZ and Jensine posthumously…as opposed to anonomously…because *gasp* you are [true story] killing me softly…
TIME FRAME:
Hour 1: Read award. Shower off sweat. Read award again. Print out.
Hour 2: Read award. Curse. Curse again. Sweat. Shower. Read again.
Hour 3: Figure out rules. Curse. Throw away print-out of rules.
Hour 4: Print again. Change rules. Curse. Make new rules.
Hour 5: Break for lunch. Take much needed nap.
Hour 6: Interesting answers (about me)to KREATIVE BLOGGER questions:
1. Yes, most of the time.
2. Never…but sometimes.
3. All of the above so far.
4. Voracious.
5. Right is always left. Left is sometimes right. Depends.
6. Perhaps.
7. All of the above.
Hour 7: I’M IT answer to favourite artist and why:
1. Vermeer. Nothing extra is always more.
Hour 8-15: I kid you not…linking, cutting, pasting, editing, drafting, re-writing, re-cutting, accidentally deleting, re-writing and….
lots and lots of cursing. Over. The. Top. Cursing.
Hour 16-36: Post first draft. Repeat hours 8-15.
TODAY: Post final copy.
P.S. My Reader is hoping JOTS gets black-listed for rule breaking and changing and other major infractions.
P.P.S. Pleeeeze………………
20 Friday Apr 2012
Posted in REQUIRED FIELDS
Tags
Art, England, Liebster Blog Award, music, SUNSHINE AWARD, Thank you, Writing
I already know that My Reader is not going to believe what I’ve done to keep from writing this much-needed award recognition from: I’m Not Lost Just Weird, jensine, Zen and Genki, and last, but not least, BASED ON A TRUE STORY.
Below is a bone fide list of “working avoidance tasks” I’ve used and perfected to keep from sharing the fact that I’ve been given the following awards: LIEBSTER BLOG AWARD
and THE SUNSHINE BRIGHT, SPARKLEY YET SHINEY AWARD….
KNOW THIS TO BE TRUE: Weeks later am now responding to the nice words and affirmation showered upon me. Instead of timely groveling gratitude straight away I, JOTS, have done the following:
1. Watched for falling trees. Potted trees. On balconies.
2. Dug holes. Close to, near by but especially in cemeteries.
3. Re-washed and re-dried clean laundry.
4. Napped.
5. Rearranged furniture at A Furniture Store.
6. Turned the calendar page back to March…..
“Why?” My Reader asks, “Why the angst?”
WHEREASS: It is down to those pesky rules, and because I don’t do rules very well…but do so enjoy breaking them….
HOWEVER: Please do consider this my act of supreme contributory contrition and confirmation of contrite conduct…
THEREFORE:
1. Favourite colour: Mark Rothko, Vermeer, Van Gogh, David Hockney, Mary Fedden and Michael Morgan…to name a few.
2. Favourite number: It’s a crap shoot…
3. Passion: Music…not the least because I’ve just acquired a new piano in celebration of my upcoming birthday, which means I have to practice more and live a long, long time even if it is [just] to rationalize the expense.
4. Favourite flower: Sweet-Peas…when they wave in the wind they remind me of noisy children on a playground at recess.
5. Favourite place: I know my soul was born in England. Every time I return, my heart remains.
6. Favourite pleasures: Breaking rules, et al…….
...and of course a cuppa shared with My Reader.
END OF MY ROPE….
