A “Happy” New Year from a Slightly Disgruntled Sir

Tags

2013, Black and White, Cafe, Daughter, Dry, Family, Father, Florida, Fun, Hats, Humour, New Year, Photography, Photoshoots, Portrait Photography, Relationships

Hello, this is Sir. Happy New Year, you say? More like Crappy New Year… Why so dismal and dreary, so deplorably dark? Well…life is not the easiest to live when it consists of a series of endless photo-shoots. Yes…living with a paparazzo protégé has its hardships…

First off…she picks out horrid outfits for me to wear, like I’m some kind of doll-like thing…I mean, look at this! The torment…and she has about 23,000 hats to put on my head. All to appease that dratted camera Eye clicking in my face, glazed over like that of a predator’s before the pounce…

Sometimes, I pretend to fall asleep and pray that when my eyes open again, she’ll have lost the camera….but I know it isn’t so, because I can hear the camera clicking incessantly the whole time I’m wishing in darkness

Even when I start to cry, she doesn’t get the hint… “Why Sir, you’d make a perfect Scrooge with those sideburns!” (they were HER idea, by the way, so was this ridiculous coat, and all these blasted hats) She continues, “Aye, arg, you look like you’ve strolled right out of a Dickens novel!”

“Brilliant!! You look just like a mobster, some horrid beast from ‘On the Waterfront’, ooo yes, work that gritty magic, fabulous! Woo work that aquiline nose, too perfect!” Is that supposed to be a compliment? Must gently remind her later she might not consider becoming a model-photographer…

“There’s the calculating, gritty and arid city-slicker, oooo what a glare! Yes! You look just like a hit-man!” More flamboyant flatteries flow forth…

Sometimes, she finally stops shoving her beloved in my face to take a photo of something a bit more practical. I get some relief to brood.

Sometimes, I can steal away whilst she’s busy falling into the river or something. Maybe even while she’s occasionally photographing something of interest…or something not so interesting…

Drat! The ambulating camera found me…”Oooo Sir, you have a Bogart look going there, I MUST capture it!” Another thing this camera-fanatic lacks whenever the “eye” is poised in hand, is decorum. See…car-fanatics or motorcycle enthusiasts or avid surfers still have a lot of time where they must be apart from their beloved darlings. They cannot tote their surf-boards, Corvettes, and Harley Davidsons everywhere they go- they can’t take them into the middle of the farmer’s market (hmm…some might try), to the theatre, or into a quaint little bistro or café for their dainty tea-time appointments. But the camera fanatic is different. She drags the thing everywhere with her like Linus and his blasted blue blanket. Her beloved is glued to her hands and poking in my face everywhere I turn…

And the hats….Here our demonette was photographing so avidly that some nice lady came prancing up and giggled into my ear, “You must be quite beautiful to have so many photos taken of you! Haw haw!!” Her husband, a huge hulking guy in a fleece jumper, was beet red. Then the lady kissed the hat…I don’t know how she could stand it, darn things reek of cigar ash. Where does Babs find these blooming hats, anyway, and how did she accumulate SO MANY of them?! Meanwhile, Husband looks like he’s gearing up to beat my face so hard the darn hat will go sailing clear across the room…

When she’s not having me break up marriages, Babs also likes to “pose” me around downtown, to do a “noir” shoot… “Brilliant, brilliant Sir!” she chimes at me all the time, “You look suave, perfect, so smooth, so noir!” I know what she’s really made me look like…a panhandler…

Or this guy. She’s not fooling me…

So, now a New Year is rolling in. I suspect 2013 is going to be filled with more and more of these “brilliant shoots” with Babs and her dratted pet camera…so, I’ll cry here in the blue light and think of days of old when she was only so high and gave me licked-dry doughnuts for a gift and thought it was funny to throw footballs in my face, call me a “bobo” and draw unflattering pictures of me- but did not OWN A BLASTED CAMERA! P.S. If any future prospective employers find these infamous photographs (that I know my tormentor will slap online with chop-slaking glee), the possibility of obtaining such job will become…toast…

A most content and deeply chuffed New Year to all, happy 2013 from a slightly disgruntled Sir and a wee smiling toad, Autumn Jade.

Cheers!

A Winter’s Day, Long Ago

Tags

Black and White, Cats, Fire, Memories, Photos, Snow, Story, Winter

I remember a winter’s day, long ago. My mum and I had completely finished our hearth project, with its peachy-tan grout and smooth-textured, ash grey tiles. Buddha, the large, black cat with marble green eyes, instantly sprawled on those cool tiles before a freshly-built, impassioned, late-morning fire of orange ludic flame.

As early darkness swathed the little room, shadows began to swim across the pale walls and stream along the textured ceiling.

A little copper pot with patterned slats carved in its raised lid, bubbled and hummed gently atop the coal-black, wood-burning stove. Mesmerizing plumes of pale steam crawled through the air and dissipated over us.

The room smelled of wood, cranberry and cinnamon.

There was charcoal on my hands.

Wee sparrows and chickadees floated just outside the window. They underwent a final prance in the frigid air and suddenly vanished- to roost for the night in the quiet forest just beyond our little abode on the hill.

We painted together, that day, as evening descended.

Snow was flitting in coy wisps outside and an ardent wind was whirling around, sculpting sharp-edged snow statues in the yard.

Cats pranced about us as we painted on the floor. The wily felines attempted to surreptitiously dip their paws in the white and the blue, for snow and sky; the slate grey for shadow; and the hint of smoky evergreen for glisks of spruce.

The tuxedo cat, Katey Blue, managed to succeed, her white socked foot with the little black spot, coated in vibrant red, for cardinals. She deposited wee red paw-prints on the great slab of wood we were painting, quickly covered by an evening sky filled with tortuous flakes of snow, creating a pinch of flowing purple.

We finished our acrylic mural, Kate smiling as she left more prints on the floor that were quickly mopped up, the house reverberating with our chiming laughter and Kate’s haughty feline chortles.

We carried our collaborative work out back onto the snow-swathed deck to spray it with an acrid-smelling sealant. Buddha escaped onto the snow-clad surface, gliding and sliding like a child, and proceeded to make snow-balls with his giant, furry black paws, batting his creations up into the air playfully in a flurry of snow.

When we had completed our task, we opened the sliding door to recede back into the warmth of the house. The giant cat bolted back inside beneath our feet as we stumbled along and instantly flobbed before the fire in a serene and palpable peace- as if he had never left.

We continued toward the front door with our mural and soon were out in the gelid snow-scene once more, Kate looking on, with the air of a feline prophet, lime-green eyes gleaming through the glass of the side-window.

We set the mural of four gruntled, spritely carolers out front, before the silent white flowerbed cast in blue shade, illuminated in the beam of a spotlight, where flickering flakes of snow could be seen cursitating and swirling swiftly in the night.

 

Goodnight Greetings from the fire-side,

-Katey Blue

These Days at Sea

Tags

Black and White, Carl Sandburg, Florida, Nature, Ocean, Photography, Satellite Beach, Surfing

“All day long in fog and wind,
The waves have flung their beating crests
Against the palisades of adamant.

My boy, he went to sea, long and long ago,
Curls of brown were slipping underneath his cap,
He looked at me from blue and steely eyes;
Natty, straight and true, he stepped away,
My boy, he went to sea.
All day long in fog and wind,
The waves have flung their beating crests
Against the palisades of adamant.”

-Carl Sandburg “All Day Long”

A December Walk with My Delitescent Self

Tags

Abstract, Abuse, Black and White, Introspection, Loss, Melancholy, Nature, Night Photography, Personal, Photography, Sea, Thoughts, Writing

December. The Sea has cooled, a bit. The sand feels like chilled velvet ‘neath my stumbling toes. Rubigenous seawrack trickles in. The seethe crackles and I suddenly catch a wee glisk of my delitescent Self abiding there in the reflection on the glass sand. It is the meek, quiet one within, the one that harbours all the pain and grief I have ever known.

An intangible being created long ago, and like a gentle chum, has ever-remained. It is there when I go sprawling, overturned, writhing in the spitting sand, rabid wind flinging shards of broken sea glass and shattered scallop shells into my eyes. It flits in and swallows every splinter of chaos, calmly, silently, so I may clamber back to my feet and stagger on. And then, I am reminded, Chaos is a Choice.

This service performed without complaint, little shamrock-infused Soul. Nothing spoken, lurking reticent and Daphnean- alone, without yearning. But I can feel it, ever-present, and am zapped with its vital energy- how can something dormant feel so ardently alive? Is this where Passion is derived? Attitude and Perception? Is this what converts Grief into Peace? Agony into Understanding? Despair into Art?

I amble on, in Memory, gazing through the Abstract: the hum of the fluorescent lights hovering over an infinite hallway; the sharp light polished on the gossamer surface of a muddy puddle; the buzz of a drill in the background, staring up at the pocks in the grey ceiling, tracing constellations of galloping stallions and peculiar faces; and the keening sound of the groaning flowers as they die on the frozen prairie, brushed by the aching wind-

Abstract memory has a way about it, washing things in a thrilling,
pensive kind of melancholy. Even the hideous and the terrifying can become
beautiful. The fracid and sulfuric scent of Death, black-red, sticky on the
sheets, is an oil-painting-flashback, a sad observation. Her vitative laugh, unique and impossible to replicate, is no cultellated recollection, but evokes joy recalling having known such a gorgeous Soul.

There is damage, but no distortion, feeling pain, but no torment; stumbling crippled, but not suffering. The wounded and mangled inner being that smiles coyly through the detritus of childhood abuse, of loss, and pain- I see it in the flicker of a blue shadow, the crunch of a dead leaf, and I know, I can feel it all, euphorically.

It provides Peace. It reveals fragile humanity, even in those others have named Monsters. Understanding comes, fear being vanquished. Is it the breath of Forgiveness?  How could it be, if I first do not feel wronged? Compassion and Love, the Beast with Gentle Eyes?

I wander on into the now dark, December night, Sea a distant hum behind me. Christmas lights and stars illuminate the way. I think about my brother, his addiction, our differences. I wonder if he has a hidden Self within to absorb the blows. I have seen him staggering in obscurity- searching for Beauty and relief in drugs, self-esteem in crime, atonement in masochism. I see him for what he is- a beautiful human being, worthy of forgiving himself. Aye, I think of him, as I ooze along, deeper and deeper into the lovely December night.

Love is a Beast

Tags

abused animals, Black and White, disability, equine, Florida, horse, Photography, rescued animals, therapy, volunteering

Love is a Beast with Gentle Eyes

It was crisp and tranquil that November evening. We galloped beyond the
boundaries of HorseSisters Common Sense Ranch with carrots in our pockets.

We came upon the name-plaques, sniveled around, and came upon some horses and a man. The lone volunteer with a grizzled beard frilling in the wind, clad in red attire, was bustling about with the night’s feeding. We approached the horses happily.

Gorgeous black horse named Spring (I think that was his name, the horses do like to play “musical stalls” at feeding time) and I instantly toppled in love. As he munched his hay, Sir noticed that Spring resembled one of our rabbit companions at home, named Bunion. Then Sir mused, “Wow…These horses are just overstuffed rabbits, then.”

This fine, russet bloke, by the name of Nova, I believe, was most intrigued by my camera. He sniffed it a bit before resuming his evening hay. He seemed amused by me when I began to crawl about on the ground- a little show to go along with his fine dining.

We departed from the males and went skipping over to the mares where we suddenly discovered carrots in our pockets. The lassies were most animated and gobbled them up avidly. Sir was scared of their leathery, probling lips. His visible fear was amusing to observing horses and humans, alike. And with that, the night’s chores were done, the moon had risen, and stars pierced the navy sky. It was time to dolefully depart. No better way to spend our Thanksgiving than with such wonderful creatures.

HorseSisters Common Sense Ranch:  Equine Assisted Therapy and Rescue is located in Titusville, FL, and free to the public on Thursday nights. Abused or aging horses are rescued and brought to the ranch, where they participate in providing riding therapy to disabled individuals. It is all volunteer-run, and it is groovy!

http://www.horsesisters.org/

Cheers,

Autumn Jade

Porcine Wings and Flower Skulls

Tags

Abstract Photography, Drear, Night, Night Photography, Photography, Poetry, Rain, Thoughts

Door swinging in wind

Waiting for the midnight train-

Possum waddles by

In street-puddles swims the moon

Water oily black

Wandering in rain-sloshed thought

Roads brushed in silence

In the grimy windowpane-

Fog and memory