Sunday, June 30, 2019

Smacksy Sunday Links


Photo Credit Oracle of Mystical Moments Divination Card Deck

The deliciousness of dealing with a negative person.

The myth of the "one thing" that will change your life.

Find an organization to support like Together Rising for emergency response to and long term accountability for childhood imprisonment atrocities at the border.

I'm in love with this guy's apartment.

Three no recipe recipes. Yes, please.

And a baby dik dik. Who knew?

Happy Sunday.


Saturday, June 29, 2019

Smacksy Saturday Photo: Snoring


So much handsomeness, so much snoring.

Faded

Photo Credit Jeff Stroud

I'm taking an online writing class this summer with teachers Robin Rice and Emily McDowell at https://www.bewhoyouare.com/ The writing prompts are pictures and we are free to write whatever we'd like to as inspired by the photo. 

Here's what I wrote to go with the photo above:

I knew he was a bad idea from the beginning. Like being dealt a 2-7 offset hand and moving all your chips to the center, bad idea. But I had always run to a difficult situation, especially if the situation had blue eyes.

The first time I saw him, he was standing at a pool table holding a beer and another woman. If they still allowed smoking in bars in Hollywood, he would have been holding a cigarette. In my stilettos, I was three inches taller than he was. The man I was with, I’d already left in my mind, even though it took me a few months to let him in on it. No matter. These other people weren’t obstacles. I always knew how to get what I wanted without trying too hard.

By July, we were a fast motion movie scene of fights and sex, break-up and make-up with trips to Vegas and the track and more than one night in a strip club. We had late night phone calls that left me with mascara tears streaming down my face. We made out in the alley behind my apartment. You know, the usual drama. But tonight, on my seventy-fourth birthday, the last thing I expected was to fall in love with him.


Thursday, June 27, 2019

I'm Running


This is my fourth week of running. I'm doing it on a treadmill at the Y because if I'm going to exercise, I appreciate air conditioning.


Wednesday, June 26, 2019

Including Josephine Baker

Photo Credit Jim Chapman


I'm taking an online writing class this summer with teachers Robin Rice and Emily McDowell at https://www.bewhoyouare.com/ The writing prompts are pictures and we are free to write whatever we'd like to as inspired by the photo. Over the next few weeks, I'll post some of my homework. 


Here's what I wrote to go with the photo above:


Frida Kahlo had heard his reasons forever. Diego Rivera put calla lilies in his paintings as a “symbol of celebration,” or “purity,” or as a “connection to the Virgin Mother.” He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of the truth.

The calla lily has a deceptively simple form. A sleek single petal hides the pistil containing a single ovary, and the stamen completing the area of meiosis. Frida knew the real reason Diego painted the bushels of lilies carried in the arms of indigenous women. She was sure of the meaning behind the lilies held in great sheaves by naked women.


Anyone could see, the tender lily reflected the secret garden of a woman. Frida had held many women in her arms, some whose names she couldn’t even remember. Her husband would never, could never, forget any of these women. And so, he painted them.


Tuesday, June 25, 2019

This Will Do

Photo Credit Eve Hannah

I'm taking an online writing class this summer with teachers Robin Rice and Emily McDowell at https://www.bewhoyouare.com/ The writing prompts are pictures and we are free to write whatever we'd like to as inspired by the photo. Over the next few weeks, I'll post some of my homework. 

Here's what I wrote to go with the photo above:


“This will do. I can make this work,” said Olivia. She brushed her calloused hands, along the brick wall and splintered door frame.

“It’s yours if you want it, Miss Jenkins. This parcel was in her will, left for you, free and clear. You can tear it down and build something better. Whatever you want,” said Hank.

As the oldest son, Hank had been chosen the executor of Gert’s will. The ranch had been left to the family. This broken down house and old paddock had been ignored for years. He didn’t know Gert’s reasons for leaving it to Olivia Hart Jenkins, but of course there had been rumors.

“That’ll be fine,” said Olivia, her voice breaking. She looked away to hide her tears. She gazed out at the good green earth of scrub and acacia that reminded her of Gert. Their long days in the heat of the sun. The smell of the soil as they sowed corn and sweet peas. Her Gert. What would she do without her?

“All right then. They’ll just have some papers for you to sign down at Tom Horn’s office,” Hank said.

“As soon as you’d like.” Olivia would sign her name as Gert had taught her, in her careful handwriting. Gert, who read to her in the evenings as they lay in bed. A bed that was now too big for just one person.

Olivia took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She had known love in her life and for that she was grateful. She would re-build this house. In the garden she would plant corn and sweet peas.