Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Sand Castles

So, I am about to take off for a week again, but thought I'd leave you with something. I took this picture, kind of liked it and was playing around with something to write about it. Then, in the far recesses of my mind, a memory stirred and it seemed to me I once wrote something called Sand Castles. Lo and behold, I went straight to the right old journal ( I mean, we are talking decades here) and found it on my first try. So here you go. From a very young, work-in-progress me.......to you. It's kinda sweet....
 
 
 
Sand Castles
 
I built us a castle
of the finest sand my love could find
I made it our kingdom
our paradise, our refuge
We were king and queen
Untouchable
Nothing could come between
you and I.
 
Monsters, demons and devils
they all passed our way
our castle held strong
weathered every gale
withstood every storm
We didn't have much
but for a spell
it was enough.
 
We lived each day as a fairytale
Cocooned in a shell
of gilded dreams
our love the finest pearl
or so I thought
 
For Time has a funny way
of changing the face of life
And what one day
seems so real
The next
can seem the strangest dream.
 
So it is
my fine castle
vanished before my eyes
In the single swell
of an oncoming tide.
 
As I sat and watched
helpless to the change
A sweet voice
whispered in my ear.....
 
It was just a sandcastle,
no more
no less real
Than your past and your future
Reality is now
It is here.

Friday, August 23, 2013

Tough Life, huh?

 
You know how sometimes you just feel like life is no fair, and why you, and why me and why does it all have to be so hard and hurt so bad? And what have I done to deserve this and why does God hate me?
 
And couldn't just one day be easier than the rest, and one piece of luck fall in my lap, and one day be my lucky one, one little bitty miracle come my way? And why do I never win the lottery or even at Bingo, not even the freaking raffle at the fair, why doesn't anyone, especially God, ever pick ME!?
 
Come on, Luck, God, Serendipity, pick ME!
 
Yeah, I have had those days. But I have a new antidote. I just think of these two videos, and Bam! I know, no matter how bad, how hard, how challenging.....I've got it good.
 
 
 Happy Friday and Happy Weekend.
 
 
 

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Does Having Birds on my Brain Mean...

...that I am a birdbrain? Actually, once that would have been an insult, but now that neuroscientists are finding out that bird's brains, while small, are so incredibly complex the scientists can't even figure out how to map them yet, I am thinking it might just as well suggest a brain that prioritizes quality over quantity.

So from now on, if someone calls you a birdbrain - say 'Thank You'.

 
So, birds on my brain. I've got them. It had to do with my practicing with that fine new camera of mine and my fancy new 400mm lens, and suddenly seeing birds up close and personal and in a whole new light. It has to do with being there and seeing just a blur, but then having that blur slowed, frame by frame, to reveal the grace and beauty hidden in the flash of movement.

 
I am left thinking about their incredibly bright and piercing eyes. Their exquisite feathers that lay perfectly or ruffle sweetly, stick out stiffly or invite a touch to their soft as cotton downiness, feathers that look so fragile and yet imbue their master with the ability, the power to take to the air. Their poetry in flight and their vulnerability when grounded. I am thinking of the astounding intelligence of nature that produced thousands of distinctly different birds with just one thing in common. They can do something our bodies alone will never be able to do and that mankind has envied them since the beginning of time - they can fly. And I think they know it. That we envy them, I mean.


So while at the beach, (in between photographing pelicans), I photographed every other damn bird I could find. They don't tend to stay still much, but I got a few. Kind of.  Allow me to introduce:

Darron the Heron. I call all herons Darron, unless I call them Aaron. That is my prerogative as a bird brain. Lately, I have been meeting lots and lots of Darrons and Aarons, I am happy to say, because they are really very handsome specimens, and I enjoy trying to catch them at their best. Darron was quite the poser.


Remember Jonathan Livingston Seagull? Good book, though my personal Richard Bach favorite was and always will be, Illusions. But I thought this fine fellow could make a splendid Jonathan. He looks so pensive and thoughtful and all...and I think he's a seagull. Isn't he?


Then there's Busy Lizzy. I call her that - though for all I know it's a he -  because I don't know the bird, but it sure was busy, and catching her at a standstill was near impossible as she ran up and down, up and down the beach on her skinny little legs. Till she had an itch. God Bless that itch.


Now this one I call 'The Alarm' - because it was very alarmed at my approach and made sure we all knew it.


I was kind of sad to leave the beach and all my newfound friends. I guess they knew and the jungledrums went out, because when I got home, look what I found in my own back yard ! A Darron, Aaron extravaganza! With a few egrets thrown in for good measure...


 
So there you go. Hope you enjoyed the show. Go forth, be happy, and remember - being a birdbrain ain't all bad....

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Revolution!

 
 
Viva La Revolution!!!
 
 
OK, just had to get that off my chest. I hear the word revolution and I immediately feel very French. Not that I can claim a drop of French blood, though my father did spend a few years in France as a small child. Nor can I claim any Canadian blood, eh, though I have learned from a few Canadian acquaintances the pleasure of saying eh, eh?
 
Moving on. This is one film I can't wait to see. I love it when art meets fact, beauty for the sake of beauty meets purpose. Since I can't see it on the big screen, I am off to order the DVD. Thought you might like to do the same. Check it out. Looks awesome, dude. Magnifique!!! Eh?
 
 
 

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

The Pelican Blog

Not to be confused with The Pelican Brief. (Just in case you did not catch the reference.)

So, pelicans, huh? you may be thinking. Oh yes, I will respond, having read your mind with my astounding telepathic abilities. Pelicans. Allow me to introduce you to the splendors of pelicans.




See, I recently spent a week in Port Aransas on Mustang Island (not a horse in sight) off the coast of Texas, just across from the thriving and historical metropolis of  Corpus Christi. Mustang Island is the only island I know that has a name for each half. The eastern half is Mustang Island, the western half is San Padre Island (where I actually saw horses). How this came to pass, I have not the faintest idea. It was quite confusing and in the end, I was really more fascinated by the pelicans.


Yes, I repeat, pelicans. I found myself fascinated by pelicans. They are an extraordinary bird, embodying an endearing appeal of a comically ponderous dignity while exhibiting a flat out exquisite and graceful power when airborne.


I was not expecting to fall in love with pelicans. I was expecting to be on a relaxing beach holiday where I would read bad novels, go swimming and possibly work on my tan for the first time in....too many years, let's leave it at that. How white? You don't want to know. Think lilies.

However, I did pack my bad ass camera and my brand new, bad ass 70-400 mm lens. I figured it would be the perfect time to give it a whirl, pearl. It was, though I had hell getting it right, especially since I have yet to pick out the tripod that I really, really need to work with this kind of lens. Because the longer the lens, the more any teeny weeny shake shows. Apparently, I shake worse than a life long drunk on Day 3 without booze.


But I bravely ventured forth into the unknown and assigned my long suffering husband the status as honorary tripod. "Hold your breath, honey, don't move, DON'T move!! Hold it, hold it, hold it! What do you mean you had to breathe!!??? I missed that shot! You have all frigging day to breathe, and you choose THAT moment to do it???!"

It also didn't help when I realized -  belatedly -  that my early morning conviction that I had set the camera to Auto the night before so I could just worry about figuring out my new lens turned out to be erroneous. I actually had it set to Aperture while I played with the evening light. Oops. Not so great for the sunrise extravaganza.


Oh well. I will likely cringe at having shared these publicly in a few years. But what the heck. They are not perfect, but I like them anyway. Fortunately for me, my husband seems to feel the same way about me. At least, we are still married and living in the same house.


So did I play around in photoshop with these photos, you may well be asking yourself. Hell yes! I had to do SOMETHING to make up for my husband's inconvenient habit of breathing while tripodding.

P.S. Why some are showing up small and some big, I have not a clue. I am no tech goddess. But if you want a better view, just click on a picture.

Monday, August 19, 2013

Jacob's Widow

So in my last blog I promised you something totally different, and here it is. This is a piece I wrote many years ago, inspired by some little thing I saw on TV that grew into a sudden outpouring of this woman's story as if I was possessed by her ghost. God knows I was way too young to relate to her suffering and dreams, yet I felt every nuance of her story as if it was my own. I hope I managed to do her justice. You will be the judge.
 
 
       Jacob’s Widow
                                                                 
 I am yet
    a woman
My breasts mold softly, firmly
          to my chest
My hips flare under this
                   dust drenched dress
And sometimes, late in these
                              deserted nights
I dream
    and awake sighing
  to the curving of my flesh
 
 I am yet
    a woman
  although at times
            I do question this belief
    My hands knead dirt and dough
         with like determination as
      flour and dust mingle
        in stripes of warpaint on my face
 
    My children laugh
                 I laugh with them
  They are my will, my joy, my respite
 
 Jacob.
     What guise of fate met him on the trail
                            to Buffalo’s Gate
    3 years now, a mountain a piece
          I watched him ride away
                 through windhassled sheets of sleet     
 
   He was good
                     Jacob
       Salt of the earth, I whispered
          to the creases of his tanned neck
        when we lay close
                       as my mothers silver spoons
                                      in their velvet bed
 
 
                                     Jacob chuckled then                                                                                      always
   between deepening breaths of sleep
       and pulled my arms tighter
                  around his chest
          his breaths slow and deep
 
 He would have come back
               were he
                      alive
    with or without the bull and heifers
           around which we thought to ply our lives      
                     
        He was a good man
                and I
                     was a good wife
 
 At times I dream
     with my eyes open wide
  I dream of a man
              of his roughhewn hands
 
   Sometimes he wears a face
                 like Jacobs
      blond and broad and tanned
           and I -
                 am his good wife
 
 Sometimes he wears the face of a stranger
   slanted steelgray eyes resting
            in glittering danger
       over curving cheekbones
         in a countenance
                   marked, enhanced
             by the wilderness
       that surrounds us in our naked dance
 
  And I am no longer - Jacob’s good wife
 A dream alone, he is not, this stranger
 
     I saw him once
         spare and rawboned
                     astride his rustic pony
                              rolling a cigarette
          at the edge of a field, freshly sown
                   by which we passed
                           on our way
                                 to the unknown
                          A trembling passed through me                                                                          
       under his peruse
          I felt no longer
             fumbling
                towards
                     womanhood
         with innocence yet to lose
                                                     
I was there
    a womans heart pumped
         Venus blood
       through aching breasts and loins
 
  Then flushed my face with shame
             and internal strife
      for I  was newly
                    Jacob’s good wife
 
 I am yet a woman
   the young girl long outgrown
       as children outgrew
                             my womb
 
  Two now
          in the ground
     two still safe and sound
  they have Jacob’s good heart
              strong body and fair hair
          but in their faces,
     I claim the lion’s share
 
In the boy
      I see my father
   gentled by the innocence
                 of youth
 
   Yet firm as his
           in determination to be a man
                      fight nail and tooth
                             hand over hand
 
The girl-
        she is all mine, as I was
             before this ponderous demise
 
    Dark arching brows
       over almond hazel eyes
     aquiline nose
           fine and freckled by the sun
                smooth skin browned
                          around lips rich as ripe plums
 
                Her smile aches in my bones                                                                                      
       so sheer
                  and unlined
      A robustness there
              no longer reflected
                            in mine
 
 My sweat soaks this earth
           that feeds me
                  at a price
   I am still young
                             am I not?
 
 Jacob’s Widow
     the words stall, sour, in my throat
         startles me, urges me to flee
 
    Such antiquity
              they seem
                    to lay over me     
 
  At night  
      I walk under a stardusted sky
        it lifts above me
              farther and farther
     rising with the exultant cry
                        of my heart
 
  I watch with the wind
                 drawing grim tears
                      stinging my teeth
                            whipping my hair
Banishing the years
 
   I feel life
        well up in me
      like a woman stirring
                     from a deep sleep
             to her lovers touch
 
 I am yet a woman
     I remain unspayed
             by this unforgiving labour
   Alone though I am
         with my children and my soil
      This flesh slowly hardening on my bones
 
         And to Jacob
                this wilderness holds me
                        relentlessly loyal
 
               In the harsh night wind                                                                                         
    I sense the slanteyed  rider
         I tie wishes to tumbleweeds
            with bright ribbons of hope
  That he may find them in his travels
                   and know
                         I am waiting
                                    waiting
 
 For I am yet a woman
   awaiting plucking by hungry hands and mouth
       I hang full and ripe from this twisted vine
                that is my life
 
  And life flows, back and forth, surges
       between myself and this meter of  Time
    But in the whitewashed glare of day
             I feel the scales tip
                   and not
                        in my favour
 
         I watch my fullness shrivel
                 drying in the sun
            my lips pale and cracked
               where they, too, once
                        wore the richness of plums
 
   Such days, I sense with relief the
               falling of the night
        wherein I may reclaim, under it’s cover
                   it’s swelling sky and cruel winds
           that, around which in daylight
                         I dare only hover
 
 In  it’s void
        I am anywhere, anytime, anything
  I am woman
           all softly clinging shapes
                   of half and full moons
               aglow with the tingle of anticipation
                       of a lover expecting a lover soon
 
  I am no more
            Jacob’s good wife
 
 
     There is no Jacob to whom to be good
   I am Jacob’s widow
          and the dry, raspy loneliness
                     of those insipid words
                cover me like a tepid dust
                                                                                                        
from which I awake choking
                my dreams cracked and broken
                    my bones hard and poking
                under toughened skin
 
 I am Jacob’s Widow
           I am a woman yet
      Still, I awake sighing
                  to the curving
                         of my flesh.
 
P.S. A few lines objected to being copy/pasted and just won't quite behave themselves. My apologies!
   
 
 

Saturday, August 17, 2013

The Blog is Back, and the Bitch, too.

So I popped out of the office for five minutes and almost three months went by. Oops. That's what happens when your routine goes haywire and life takes off in 18 different directions all at once. Especially when travelling is involved, and there has been a lot of that, I am delighted to say. But the blog is back and so am I. And - You might be wondering about the title of this blog, at least, I hope you are. Truth be told, so am I.


 

That is to say, I hope I am not commonly referred to as a bitch, though I am sure by some I am, and who can possibly understand them? I am all sweetness and light, don't you know? A little zany, at times, but that's the fun part of life, right? Rightrightright?!!!!

OK, so like anyone, I have my moments, though I like to think they are few and far between and generally require a concerted effort at harassing and abusing me first. Moments when my ability to suspend disbelief at the perpetrators ill intentions finally run out, my retractable claws pop out, my fangs descend and my tongue reveals it's forked end. That is generally a good time to hit the road and don't look back. I might be frothing at the mouth and it's a sight to haunt you for life. Or so my husband will tell you. Of course, he is Mr. Perfect, so it's NEVER been aimed at him.....he has only ever been an innocent bystander (and collateral damage).

All that said, that really was not what I sat down to write. That is just what came out when my fingers hit the keyboard. Funny how that happens. But now that I have confessed to the existence of my evil twin, let me just reiterate that the title of this blog just came out, sounded kind of amusing, so I left it.

All I really wanted to say was 'Hi. I'm back. Do check in and see what my keyboard drags out of me in the days, weeks and months to come. Hope you'll enjoy it and tell your friends. Bye!'

So there, I've said it. Bye!

P.S. I am thinking about starting out in my next blog with a whole new thing I have not done on here before. It's a whole new side of me you've never seen.

And it's not the bitch. I promise.

And that's the teaser. Hooked, yet?