Art Attack Central
Fixing stuff, myself included…
Tuesday Too # 13
1.) Do you have a “little kid” adventure story? Consider the term “little kid” relative to your age.
2.) What issue would you like to see the Supreme Court of the United States grapple with, or perhaps there’s a case you feel they should re-think? Why this particular issue or case?
3.) What is the URL of the most weird site, or the URL of what you consider a dangerous site? If it’s a dangerous site, why do you think it’s dangerous.
4.) You wake-up on death row, and you realize it’s not a dream. Even though there is copy of Death Row for Dummies on your bed, you decide to question the guard. What do you ask, and what advice does he/she give you?
Post your URL in the comment.
Comment Tag
Okay, I might manage to post something if I can stop playing comment tag with Chad.
Continued from yesterday:
For what seemed along time the farmer just stared at us, the little dog on the rope, and the horse standing behind us. He called out to his wife, “June, come see who’s at the door.” June arrived at the screen door complete with apron, and flour on her nose and hands. “These here two girls are looking for a job”, he said. “Well” she said smiling, “maybe they can help me out in the kitchen a bit, but we can’t pay much of anything”. “Oh no” we said, “we want to work outside with the horse, and we don’t need any money.” “Humph” he said, “I don’t think rightly of girls doing farm work”. Trish piped up, “We won’t be any trouble; we’ll do whatever you tell us”. “I’m not promising anything, but you come on by on Saturday, and I’ll see if there’s anything you can do. But don’t be bringin that dog; Sue don’t usually like dogs.” “Who’s Sue?”, I said. Finally he smiled and said, “That there horse you gots hanging out behind you.”
Trish and I got home an hour later than when we were supposed to. No problem for Trish; her mother worked, and wouldn’t know what time Trish got home. However, I saw my mother waiting out in the yard for me as I came over the hill. I knew she was going to be mad, because I was late. Little kids don’t get it they’re mad, because you scared them, your parents I mean. So into the driveway, I come pulling the, now hungry little dog along with me. “You know your father won’t let you have a dog, but lets hook him up to the clothes line and give him something to eat.”
“Maybe daddy will like this one”, I pleaded with my mother, as we rummaged through the refrigerator for something the dog would like. “Why doesn’t daddy like dogs anyway?” I asked. “When he was little like you he got bitten by a dog, and had to have lots of shots in his stomach.” “In his stomach?” “That’s what happens if they think a dog might have rabies and they can’t find him.” “But this dog doesn’t have rabies.” “Here” she said, “take this out there and give it to him.” I peered down into the bowl, “Are you sure dogs like mashed potatoes?” My mother gave me her most I know everything look, and said, “if they don’t have rabies they like mashed potatoes.”
To be continued…
True Confessions
Okay I confess, even though horse racing is not where my heart is, I did end up watching the Preakness at PJ’s Pub. The sun managed to break through the clouds at the last the gasp. War something, or other won. What kind of name is that? Anyway the guy next to me and I were screaming for War something or other, because since Seattle Slew died (May 7, 2002) there’s no triple crown winner living. Well after finding the link for Seattle Slew I now know the name is War Emblem.
Why are you telling us this; we read the news?
Because, I want to tell you a story from when I was a little kid.
My friend Trish and I, (prior post on Trish and little kid stuff with dogs) would walk home from elementary school with “stray” dogs we found at school. We were supposed to ride the bus home, because, not only was it 3 miles home, part of the way was along a highway (it’s the fifties so it was only a two lane highway). I was probably 8 or 9 and didn’t have a dog, and desperately wanted one. At the time I had a cat named Buttons, who was an unaltered male cat. Buttons wanted nothing to do with me; his sole occupation, besides working at the KittyKat Super Market, was sniffing out where the female cats in heat were hiding. Mostly I think they were hiding in the meat packing room at the KittyKat Super Market, but Buttons was so busy at work; he didn’t have time to think along those lines. He was mainly in charge of the produce section and had little contact with the meat department folks. Anyway this was long before I realized I was a cat person, rather than a dog person, if you know what I mean. So, on one of these long walks home dragging someone’s poor dog behind us, we decided to take a short cut across a farm, which would cut off probably a mile, from what seemed at the time a very long journey. While crossing the farm we encounter a huge black horse, wandering aimlessly about. Being astute little kids, and “girls who by their very nature” love horses, we made friends with the horse. We patted her and prodded her along up toward the farm house, where we knocked loudly on the front door, and asked in our most respectful voices if we could have jobs on the farm.
When I think back on this I’m astounded that we did what we did. Those were the times, when being naive and innocent could get you a very long way if you didn’t get into trouble. We never got into trouble; we got a very long way indeed. To be continued…
I finished my red pepper painting today, and I’ll take some pictures of it tomorrow, when I have access to my Dad’s digital camera. I feel pretty pleased with the painting, although when I first started it I felt like, “OMG! have I forgotten how to paint?” I’ll try to finish up on this horse/dog story tomorrow.
Link
Where the Heart is
What exactly makes your heart swell and you eyes spill over with tears of joy? Sometimes I think I know. Sometimes it’s a dream. I can tell you where it’s not. The Preakness, although I’m sorry that it’s raining for those folks who dream of horse racing. The Inner Harbor, while it’s a lovely place, it’s not the “real Baltimore”. It’s no accident the TV series Homicide was set in Baltimore, although that’s another story. I like Baltimore for the small town community atmosphere, within a big city environment (crime statistics not included).
So where’s your heart?
I’m getting to that, and I’m getting to that because of an inspiring post titled “Sweet World” by Jeneane Sessum. She said, “Everywhere there are people with hearts open.”
What does that mean to you?
It’s a place within each of us. If the whole world lived in a place such as this. The vulnerability would overpower the aggression and peace would take her rightful place on center stage.
That’s quite a mouthful.
I know, and for once I don’t have my foot in it! It’s the vulnerability one experiences when allowing one’s self to fall in love no matter what the consequences. Perhaps, we don’t allow ourselves to fall in love; it just happens, and we are powerless to prevent the vulnerable state we find ourselves in. Power and vulnerablility are odd companions; unwilling bedfellows sharing the same pillow. Bedfellows, now that’s an odd combination as well; are they gay?
Of course they’re not gay!
Okay then, I’m getting off topic here.
Getting off on, or from what?
Having an open heart, and the vulnerability, that openness per se entails is a key element in being alive. So I guess I’m saying it’s dead people who are antagonistic, or more precisely, it’s frightened people who cause the boat to rock in such a way that we may all be capsized at any moment.
I’m not sure I’m following you.
My heart is not always available to me. Sometimes I don’t know where my heart is. What does that mean? It means that openness or joy come unexpectedly, and if I embrace that openness as she passes by, I am capable of going along and experiencing a better world. Openness invites openness in others. So when I catch a glimpse of her in me or you I hold on for dear life. This is a place where solitude is shared; however, odd that may be.
“Children love to be alone because alone is where they know themselves, and where they dream.”
–Roger Rosenblatt
DEAR ABBY STUMPERS
These too funny cries for help arrived in my email this morning, and I can’t resist passing them on. The following are actual letters that Abigail Van Buren (Dear Abby) admitted she was at a total loss to answer:
Dear Abby,
A couple of women moved in across the hall from me. One is a middle-aged gym teacher, and the other is a social worker in her mid twenties. These two women go everywhere together, and I’ve never seen a man go into their apartment or come out. Do you think they could be Lebanese?
Dear Abby,
What can I do about all the sex, nudity, language and violence on my VCR?
Dear Abby,
I have a man I never could trust. He cheats so much I’m not even sure this baby I’m carrying is even his.
Dear Abby,
I am a twenty-three-year-old liberated woman who has been on the pill for two years. It’s getting expensive, and I think my boyfriend should share half the cost, but I don’t know him well enough to discuss money with him.
Dear Abby,
I suspected that my husband had been fooling around, and when I confronted him with the evidence he denied everything and said it would never happen again. Should I believe him?
Dear Abby,
Our son writes that he is taking Judo. Why would a boy who was raised in a good Christian home turn against his own?
Dear Abby,
I joined the Navy to see the world. I’ve seen it. Now, how do I get out?
Dear Abby,
My forty-year-old son has been paying a psychiatrist $50 an hour every week for two- and-a-half years. He must be crazy.
Dear Abby,
Do you think it would be all right if I gave my doctor a little gift? I tried for years to get pregnant and couldn’t, and he did it.
Dear Abby,
My mother is mean and short-tempered. Do you think she is going through her mental pause?
Dear Abby,
You told some woman whose husband had lost all interest in sex to send him to a doctor. Well, my husband lost all interest in sex years ago and he IS a doctor. What now?
Blog Sisters
I’ve added Blog Sisters to the permanent links on the side bar. It’s a pretty amazing place, where women “talk” with women of all ages about issues ranging from individual concerns to global problems and possible solutions. Sometimes they’re hilarious, and sometimes they’re dead serious. They are always “in your face”, and they don’t hesitate to shout out about what’s going on, and what to do about what’s going on. Now that my thesis is mostly behind me, I plan on being a more frequent contributor to the ongoing dialogue/discussions. Check them out; if you’re a “sister” maybe you’d like to blog there.
I’m also adding a group called the Baltimore Blogger to the side. These are folks in my city who blog; I haven’t yet met them in person, but this too figures in my plans.
What happened with the red pepper painting?
I got side tracked with various organizational [crapola] yesterday, but it’s on schedule for today. I’ll post a link to it when I finish it. Here’s a link to one of the paintings I did last summer.