THE CHILD It was a whirl-wind romance fraught with complications. No one knows for sure because no one talked even though asked...but The Child could surmise the complication was a drunken night on the town with him shipping out the next day to fight the end of a war, and her rebounding from a heartbroken,... Continue Reading →
GIRL WITH CHAIR He is sitting on the rim of a wood planter box that houses a smallish palm tree providing no shade on this warm day, and looking away from where I am standing. My camera is a second away from capturing this perfect shot. An image photograph for a potential sketch. One... Continue Reading →
He salutes me every morning. Him…that old guy…the early morning walker. Like me. Although, I know that I’m not the only one. I imagine he salutes every one he passes whether on the same side of the street, or not. Ex-military, for sure. Crisp camouflage pants, green jacket with emblems on the sleeve, name... Continue Reading →
IT'S A TOSS UP NO IT'S A COW Both of my kids have a picture of a framed cow that graces a wall in each of their respective homes. They were born on a family dairy farm and know the value of hard work. They also know the value of working together and of... Continue Reading →
NUMBER FORTY-SEVEN "All his own geese are swans, as the swans of others are geese." Horace Walpole (1717-97) British writer Referring to Sir Joshua Reynolds. Wait! Wait! shouts My Reader. Geese? What geese? That's a cow...I don't see any geese! Point taken...
CONVERSATION CUL-DE-SAC She wasn’t an easy person...understand not in the infamous being easy sense, she just wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Safely said, her glass was always less than half-empty. Who is kidding whom? It was empty. My Reader might think this a rather harsh and hard-to-tell recollection of The Mother. She was exactly what... Continue Reading →
SHACK and PUMP HOUSE The telephone would have exploded had he not answered it. The Stepfather knew who it was. His mother. She never minced words. She demanded and commanded. The Old Man was getting old. No, he was already old. He was getting older. There was debt. The Stepfather had to come help... Continue Reading →
Grandmother’s house was always dark. That’s what I recall anyway. The heavy drapes were always pulled shut which swathed the living room in darkness. The living room became an unmistakable cave when you entered through the front door. Grandmother’s house was always dark, but it also always smelled of blackberry jam. The scent was pungent.... Continue Reading →
Normally, I’ve been reluctant to besiege My Reader with facts, that particular part of my art researching profession that requires accuracy closely bordering the edge of boredom. However, just this once and feeling safe in the “historical fact” arena because I’ve taken liberal liberties with wording and comments…the curious art researcher and enquiring mind bubbled... Continue Reading →
WHITE CHAIRIf I wrote to you would you answer?Not because you won’t but because you haven’t.Is it because of all those things I said on pages? I don’t know what else to say that would erase all those words expressed with pen to paper. On those pages euphoria of time and place got the better... Continue Reading →
“What a strange thing is memory, and hope; one looks backward, the other forward. The one is of Today, the other is the Tomorrow. Memory is history recorded in our brain, memory is a painter, it paints pictures of the past and of the day.” Grandmas Moses, primitive painter RED CHAIR
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.... Continue Reading →
I’m going through old photographs looking for clues of a life now almost gone. I can see that The Mother was a beauty, but not the 1940’s Hollywood type beauty. Yes, the pleated and wide-legged slacks, fitted-waist peplum over-blouse, the burnt-red henna hair but not quite the Lucille Ball colour, the bright red lipstick. All... Continue Reading →
As those two memories go they are sharp and clear because they happened on the very same day. That is what cemented both. Into solid childhood ground. I think The Reader has, probably, had some incidents or events that they can almost smell because they’ve remembered them so well, and for so long? I’m hoping... Continue Reading →
Jots from a Small Apt. 