Archive for Show and Tell
Show & Tell: In which I meet an International Film Star
Posted by: | CommentsGather round and sit criss-cross-applesauce for Show & Tell, hosted by the lovely Mel of Stirrup Queens. Find more circle time people on here blog, here.
Every-other August, my dad’s parents would fly my family from Denver to Houston. Gamps would pick us up in the Cadillac with the air conditioning, or sometimes the white Oldsmobile station wagon, then drive us three hours east to Lake Charles, Louisiana. We’d stay with them for two of the hottest, most humid weeks of the year.
Luckily, their house was on Prien Lake, a large salt water body full of fish and shrimp and crabs and petroleum refinery run-off. We children couldn’t have cared less about being poisoned. All we wanted to do was stay cool and have fun.
The first several days were a blast, full of swimming and waterskiing and catching crabs off the warf. When the weight of the day was too heavy for even 10 and 5 and 2 year olds, we’d lay, gap-legged on the air conditioned sun porch, my brother and sister playing games and me reading my grandma’s endless Danielle Steele library and beginning my sexual education.
Inevitably, by the end of the first week, we’d be bored. Usually our whines were met with our parents’ requests that we go outside and play. The two-screen movie theater offered short relief. The mall was nothing to speak of, but I’d walk it with my cousin Nancy or my Lake Charles friend Annette. Atari hadn’t been invented. The Internet was still a glimmer in Al Gore’s eye. VCRs? No such thing. Bor-ring. You can only get so waterlogged before becoming a puddle of misery.
Until one day, Ganny asked if we’d like to meet a movie star.
We piled into the Caddy, stopping in town to pick up Annette. The Caddy took a little bounce as we sped across Kiss Me Quick Bridge on the way to the bayou. There, we found the shrimp restaurant where the star was making an appearance. We got into line and waited. And waited and waited. And then we saw him. Or was it her?
It was the International Film Star, Benji! We were so excited! To see a dog! Who had been in a movie! And done all sorts of tricks and stopped bad guys!!
As you can tell from the photo, I am the only one who thought it was cool. My brother Billy has perfected the Fuck You look at age 5. My sister Katy, age 2 here, obviously needed a nap. My friend Annette is distracted by something shiny to the left as she fingers her “personally autographed” photo of the star. Benji cannot drag his/her gaze away from the tantalizing view of tons and tons of raw shrimp being unloaded just over there.
It was a thrill.
The other day, I ordered Benji on Netflix and watched it with Lauren. When I was a kid, I LOVED that movie. Today, not so much. But Lauren loved it, and when I showed her this photo of Momma, just a couple years older than she is now, with the International Film Star, I rose up at least one notch on the scale of maternal coolness. Or maybe a half-notch.
I also once hung out with American Idol finalist Ace Young in the VIP area of a strip club and somewhere have a photo of him leering at my tits. My tits were covered, by the way. I don’t think I gained any cool points for that one.
Show and Tell: Teddy Digs for Treasure
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Show and Tell isn’t just for kindergartners anymore. Join in circle time over at Mel’s blog.
I’ve always been an animal person. Mostly a cat person, and sometimes a dog person. In November 2007, I unexpectedly became a ferret person. Don’t tell the cats, but I think ferrets are my favorite pet ever. Dogs are loyal and cats are generally good companions, but ferrets are entertaining. Playful. Silly. Clownish. Three things I am not. Ferrets came into my life to get me laughing more. They are like perpetual kittens or puppies (and about as housebroken, unfortunately).
Teddy is the newest addition to our household. Unlike our other 2 ferrets, Teddy came to us young, innocent and unscathed. He is sweet and gentle and cuddly. And, he loves to dig. L-O-V-E-S. Unfortunately, one of his favorite places to dig is in the carpet at the base of doorjambs, as if he can tunnel into the places we shut off from him. He’s ruined the carpet in several spots. (It needs to be replaced anyway, but still, ka-ching.) We tried giving him a box of dirt to dig in, which was, um, quite dirty. Then Steve volunteered at our local ferret rescue and discovered an excellent solution: uncooked rice. Off I went to Costco for 50 pounds of plain white rice.
Teddy is in heaven with his digging spot. Yes, he makes a huge mess. But the mess is worth the joy it brings him. He’s always so certain he’s going to find treasure. (And sometimes he finds it because the cats? Think it’s a special litter box. Fun.) See for yourself!
Teddy Digs for Treasure from Lynn on Vimeo.
Show and Tell: Her Morning Elegance
Posted by: | CommentsSteve found this video on YouTube while randomly browsing the other night. I’ve watched it a dozen times, and it has yet to lose its charm, beauty and grace. The song itself is lovely, by Oren Lavie, a folk-rock singer-songwriter. But it’s the video that captures me, makes something soft and beautiful rise up into my throat–my physical sensation of joy. This creative expression makes me want to create something, write a poem, tell a story, take a photo … give rise to that feeling of joy in my own throat, and in the bodies of others.
Art like this is what gives me hope for humanity.
Show & Tell: Bird Invasion
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Just as spring was promising to explode from fat buds on my neighborhood trees, we were invaded by a swarm of birds. Hundreds of robins, woodpeckers and other smallish–and noisy–birds weighed down the Chinese Elm in my front yard to the point the branches sagged. The scene was out of Hitchcock as the birds dove at me, aiming for my hair, my face when I pointed my long lens at them. I ventured further beyond my front yard and noticed every tree on my block was laden with birds. I stopped and counted 20, 30, 40 on on small maple, just planted the previous autumn. Even the shrubs were covered with birds–like someone had scattered them into the air by the bucketful and they landed where they might.
No one else was no the street. Just me. The whole scene was otherworldly, with the grayed out late afternoon sky flashing above me turning trees and birds to silhouette as I squinted up. For a moment, all was silent. And then, as if a conductor raised his baton, the entire flock levitated and flew.Flew! Raucously and with great fervor, they took to the wind and became a dark gray mass overhead. They headed east away from the mountains. Minutes later, rain began to fall, erasing any trace that the flock had camped on my block.
See who else is in the sharing circle this week over at Melissa’s Blog. And if you want to play Show and Tell this week because you saw it here, leave me a comment before adding your link to Melissa’s Mr. Linky.
Show & Tell: Tyson and the Goldfish
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First semester sophomore year in college, I took Photojournalism I with the Pentax K1000 I pilfered from my high school photography class. We bought Fuji c-41 black and white film in bulk and rolled our own film into canisters. I learned to work the darkroom–kind of. I am impatient, and the precision the darkroom requires made me nervous and uncomfortable. To pass the class, I had to turn in three photos that I processed and printed, photos that told a story, which would be judged by my 20-odd classmates in a final show.
On Thankgiving Break, I brought my cat Tyson home with me. Tyson–Ty-bo-san, kitty love of my life–was a stray kitten my college fiance and I found and adopted and raised together. But he was always my cat. Handsome, smart, funny, I adored him and he adored me. I couldn’t leave him in my apartment alone for the holiday week, so in the carrier he went. When he arrived at my parents’ house, he immediately found the goldfish bowl my brother had hung in a Mom-crafted macrame plant holder over his dresser. I could hardly drag him from the spot. That fish tank became his personal TV for the week.
Thanksgiving morning, as the sun streamed in through the window, I caught this shot with the K1000. It’s grainy and imperfect (also scratched from being in a “bad” album for years), but this photo so wonderfully captures his intelligence and intensity. I love this photo, so much. As much as I loved him. I have dozens of pictures of him–as a kitten, in the last days of his 18 years, being silly, hiding in boxes, cuddling with teddy bears and my other cats, you name it. Most are of better quality, in color, in perfect focus. But this shot remains my favorite.
I wound up turning this shot in as part of my final project. It won 2nd place in the student photo-storytelling competition out of 60 entries, making it extra-special for me.
Want to join the Show-and-Tell circle? Visit Mel’s site and come play with us!
Show and Tell: Farkle
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It’s only a dice game. An addictive dice game, introduced to me by the slyest of dealers: Aunt Pat. Sure, she seems innocent enough, with her long blonde hair and her special-needs classroom. And the little plastic box in her kitchen appears harmless. Until, that is, you notice the skull and crossbones on the lid. A sign of poison. A mark of bad times ahead. Unlike Yahtzee with his complicated patterns, farkle is simple. Only a few combinations let you score, and even fewer let you score big. Perhaps that’s where it hooks you–the elusive 1500 points for a straight on the first roll. Or 1,000 points for three 1-dots. You pick up the dice, shake them in your cupped hands, perhaps say a wish or a prayer, blow on them Vegas-style and shoot. For hours and hours. Like sex, it’s fun solo, with a partner or in a group. And on Facebook, where you don’t have to lay a hand on a cube, just click a button to roll. On that site, I know who the other junkies are because they send me free “chips” — 100 at a time — that will eventually upgrade me to “pro status.”
I’ve started and I can’t stop.
Someone, please hide the dice.
Join in the Show and Tell fun. It’s not just for 1st graders anymore.
Show and Tell: Marigolds
Posted by: | CommentsMel over at Stirrup Queens and Sperm Palace Jesters puts up a “Show and Tell” challenge for bloggers. I thought it would be fun to play this week. Click on over to read others who are playing, and to join in.
These are my marigolds, the ones that have survived.
I did not grow up with green thumbed parents. In fact, the only plant I know for sure my mom kept alive was a silk plant she mistook for real and watered diligently every week. Gardens would wither and die. Houseplants would turn yellow from overwatering.
Our neighbor Marie was a natural-born gardener. From Belgium, she grew up with her hands in the soil. Even in Colorado’s clay, she could create masses of summer color that added distinctive charm to our tract-housing suburban cul de sac. I most remember her marigolds, the vibrant yellows and oranges and reds. Their spicy aroma tempted me to pluck the heads from spindly stems and put them in my mouth.
I’ve always wanted a garden like hers. I’ve tried. I’ve taken xeriscape classes to learn how to work with the drought-tolerant plants that survive best in our high desert landscape here in Denver. I’ve visited the Denver Botanic Gardens and quizzed the master gardeners about why my roses get blighted, why my hydrangea never blooms. I’m a miserable failure 50 percent of the time, and the other half I’m only partially successful in keeping things alive.
Part of the issue is a theme of my life: sticking to it. This summer, I planted 96 marigold plants. Most went into pots,and three dozen went into the ground. Our abnormally wet weather saved me–and the marigolds in the ground. Because for the past 6 weeks, I’ve mostly forgotten to water the potted flowers. When I went out of town three weeks ago, I reminded Steve to water them for me, and I’m afraid they were goners by then.
I love the process of planning a garden. I love the process of planting. I just don’t love the upkeep of a garden–the watering, fertilizing, weeding. It’s not exhausting. I always seem to have better things to do. So my garden–succulent and vibrant in the beginning–is bedraggled by August. If I weren’t gardening mostly in pots, I’d put in a drip system on a timer, which has worked for me in the past. Or, maybe next summer I’ll pay a neighborhood kid (or maybe my own) to water my plants for me.
This weekend, I’ll toss all the dead flowers: bad feng shui to keep them around, and plain ugly. And I’ll say a little prayer to the goddess of all things growing to forgive me for slaughtering her beautiful children. And I’ll pledge to do better next year.
