Take me out

Take me out coach...set me on the bench..between the blackness... take me from the ball hogging...my vain dribbling...just so Kenny...or Penny...or Calvin...can throw it up...the gym isn't even the same...not even the game...all shook and jive...each man for himself...no limit they say...to the me...me....me....take me way, way back...when I was a cub in Kentucky...the boys rotated through the options....waiting for the open man...at the end of the play...not the first pass...after crossing center court....to Orville and the JV...a West Virginia protege...of West and how to play....telling me...you could go far....far....and then the blackness came....and I was no longer the answer from Kentucky...just another spastic white boy....out of place...in this place....of such blackness....

Oh March

Oh March, come not again...we have yet to recover from the taking...of two-eleven...eight-thirty...Luther Ray...daddy....preacher...too large in life to die...Oh March...come not again...I have written...to Japan...and...nothing...over there...is a grandson...who loved me...more than his own....gone....a year since seeing him...this March....Oh March...coming for Melanie...taking the job...perfect for her...making her...return to the fields...the highways...the hedges...leaving us again....wondering....from whence comes the groceries...Oh March...we are in lock step with you...boots laced and breeches tucked....goose stepping....saluting....obeying....parading...tears hiding...prisoners of March....march...march.

In A Gallery It Sold

In a Circle they met sold today for $65 plus tax. I had planned on selling it for $97 since I did valued the frame higher than the print. But, the fellow said I told him $49, which I meant if it was in a black frame, so we compromised. Frame cost me nothing anyhow, since it was copped from sister.
Anyway, printed another to take down. Nice just to sell anything and make up for the rental and club dues.
Yet to see commission check though from Mike. Must mention it tonight.
In a circle they met seems to be about the only thing I can sell lately. Oh well, at least something is selling.
Took another poem down from John Clare facebook page and re-posted it at Poetry of Image blog. Miffs me to no end to post stuff only to have it ignored. I think it is all in the friend mix. Most are probably out working and aren't always checking Facebook like I am. Not all as addicted.
Tonight is the Spring Reception at the college. I do not hold out much hope of winning. I do think the ladies hands sewing in black and white will win overall or first in photography.

The Azalea Gala

It did not look as if the sunset was going to appear. Most of the late afternoon was gray overcast. I was inside and as I looked out the back door, noticed a redder sky opposite the sun. I thought that unusual. I went out back with the Canon S100 and took several shots, nothing of note. Turning, I was amazed. Over the pool and house a brilliant red appeared seemingly from the gray suddenly. I took a few shots and rushed inside, telling Melanie on my way to the front yard to look at the spectacular sunset. I went out to the azalea's by the road and tried to get a good shot balancing the flash with the sky. Usually, I over-expose the flowers. I got two correct before the brilliant sky faded. It came quickly and was over as fast.
The photograph was then placed on Facebook without little if any work. The comments were slow to come. Johnny Bullard was most kind, saying I need to make note cards and enlarge it. And yet, as nice a shot as it turned out, it has so far come no where near the shot of 170th Avenue lane. It depends greatly on who shares and sees. Friends of friends see and it grows. I cannot emphasize this enough to my friends.

of wind and rain

Wallace Stevens stopped by today and left two poems for me. Gerald, Melanie's step father in law stopped by to say hello, in town selling toilet paper to fire stations and jails. Things we need, poetry and paper.
And so Melanie types out her resume, while Frank, the Vietnam vet pool man puts a new mother board in the salt generator. Needs 40 pounds of salt, yellow stuff and chlorine. Always in need of something, that pool. Do not buy a home with a pool. You will grow old and tired of its demands.
It is eternally interesting to me the things that reverberate. The photograph of 170th Avenue was not particularly a grand shot. It was not even the main reason I told Gerald suddenly to stop! It was the fruit upon the Japanese plum beside the old oak that did. I offered to pick some, but they said it was on private property. I said, looks to me no one even lives there. And so, in the getting back in, I took this and two other lane shots. And that is the way it went. The three occupants in a particular hurry to get somewhere, with me, not. But, as I posted already, I resigned myself to the speed and tried to snap as we flew past places I once walked upon slowly.
And we never made it to the cemetery, detouring instead left at the intersection of the trees to go up toward Blue Grotto. I told Melanie that next time we come, it probably will be just me coming. No one else could stand my slow driving.

First Impression

I always find it a bit disconcerting when first presenting work to the volunteers for entry and processing. It is usually a good indicator of how the work will do, as invariably, they cannot contain their opinion as to what they think of the work. An awkward silence and you know you are sunk. A oh my and wow and still you feel you are sunk. It is a tough gauntlet to pass through. I prefer to have everything completed when I arrive so all I have to do is pass it to them and run. I prefer not to know the prints I have selected are again the wrong choice.
Usually the works we choose in some way, on some level spoke to us. We did not select them out of others speaking. Thus, when others speak of our personal choice, it is as if they are speaking of us personally. I know this is taking a print to too personal a level, but that is the way it is.
Well, we shall know come this Friday night when the two judges decide if it spoke to them.

Curves Converge

Taken from the dock overlooking Kings Bay at Crystal River. The lady was waiting for the next boat to load so she and boyfriend, husband, lover or whoever could load their 150hp watercraft. The curves from both naturally caught my eye, the exact intended purpose of the designer of such powerful craft, women and boat.

Today I take the three prints to the College for the show this Friday, to hopefully win something. Sam Reed, the volunteer in charge of hanging wants me on hand for awhile to take photographs of the volunteers. Said I would. Then, from one until five will be at the gallery volunteering.
The blow out from Olustee really cooled my interest in volunteering, with seven of my works messed up.
Maybe today will re-kindle some interest. Dale Tompkins put me on a Camera Club page I assume is part of his church. They plan to meet periodically and go on outings and such. I assume I will be the senior member of said group. Oh well, young ideas always good to be around. Lord knows we get the extreme opposite at the Art League.
BTW, the third print decided upon was Catscape, the distorted picture of Zoe our cat upside down.

And...my how we are growing...up to 15 followers. At this rate I will have to start watching what I say. No more, mamma took a bath today and I am about to shoot the next door neighbor's.....

Take it quickly

We had just finished eating an early supper at Charlies seafood in Crystal River. I was still full from the large pork and fries lunch at Frogs in Williston. Everyone else had eaten small Frogs BBQ. At Charlies I had the catfish, Gerald and Melanie the Maui Maui and Billie Earl the fried mullet. We walked out to the dock and as I approached, I had the little Canon S100 camera out and ready in P mode with a minus one exposure compensation. I had seen this lady sitting by her boat and knew immediately it would make a good composition between the two palms. The lady never saw me take the only shot I was able to get before she noticed us walking up and changed position totally, getting up to load the boat from Kings Bay.
Point is, had I not been scanning ahead, composing as I walked along mentally,  approached quietly and quickly, camera out and ready, I would have missed the shot. It is satisfying when things fall into place ever so often quickly.

Do you think you can tell?

Tomorrow is the entry day, the day to take the art work to the Gateway College Performing Arts Center to enter in the Spring Art League Show. Last year I missed the deadline by an hour. The year before that I got an honorable mention. Each entrant is allowed up to three works. Two I had chosen simply out of laziness and the fact I have no other 11x14's on hand. Suwannee Burning and In a circle they met. The third? Do you think you can tell what judges will like? I cannot. Do I go black and white, shock value, conservative and pretty? Perhaps the third will be something I do not usually do, perhaps the shadow selfie.
Intrusion of Illusion. Whatever it is, I went to Office Max and again came away with 80.00 in ink and paper. If time frames were not of essence, I swear the sending out for printing has to be less expensive. And I say that I want to move up to at least 16x20 and larger, with fancy frames and mats? No so fast cognoscenti.
Sam just called and he wants me to be on hand tomorrow around noon to take photographs for the club. I will likewise be at the gallery from 1-5 tomorrow. And around 1:30, Melanie is having an executive conference call. She feels tomorrow they will tell the people of the layoff. And we will definitely be printing 8x10 and 5x7's.

Who Shot Jackson?

by john clare stokes

When our evening sinks and we stand in the great assize,
to give an account of our earthly words and deeds,
stand not too proud, smug in the blood covering,
for the Great Judge has His own ways of revealing,
and when He asks. "Why shot ye Jackson?",
do not glibly say, "Why would you ask such a question?"
"Everyone knows it was the 18th Carolina volley,
upon the Plank Road on the night of May 2, 1863."
And the Master will continue his long, SMH stare,
"IT WAS YOU! YOU WERE THERE!"
Do not at this point, try and win the argument with God,
He simply wants to hear you say, "I was the one."
He knows you shot Jackson on February 22nd, on a Saturday,
He knows you never understood His speaking in mystery,
He knows you thought all your deeds were past history,
He knows you hadn't a clue that Jackson was a mutt,
He knows you hadn't a clue it was his master,
who took your bullet.

It is finished

And so the ministry of Russell Taylor plays out in Lake City, forbidden of the Holy Ghost to preach the word in Lake City. The final sermon text was Acts 16:6-10. The Spirit suffering them not, Come over into Macedonia, to help us. Assuredly gathering that the Lord had called us for to preach the gospel unto them.
We shall not re-tell the story of the journey from the panhandle back to the panhandle. Those who lived the journey know it all too well.
The Christ's Fellowship that Russell leaves met following the service in order to share that John Cleveland, the once Youth Pastor with Russell, after two weeks prayer, was led to remain in place with his youth group in Brooksville. Ken, Tony, Gary and Scott were appointed as a pastor search committee.
In my mindless messing with the camera last evening, the sermon was erased. Mercifully so, for Russell called upon me to offer the closing prayer. In my stumbling, bumbling tears and broken voice, I embarrassingly threw out some gibberish. But, those there know the journey all to well and understood I trust the difficulty in getting those words to flow.
The small fellowship is on the boat to regions unknown. The man who troubled the city is on his ship to Navarre. It remains to be seen if we land another babbler who will come and set forth strange gods, preaching unto Lake City Jesus and the resurrection.

Behold the Crunch

I need some humor to keep from weeping. Today the Taylor's lost their beloved dog Jackson, the Pit Bull Terrier that came to them when we were first meeting in their home on Sundays. Jackson was part of the Christ Fellowship family. When he contracted parvo we all were with Christina, Russell, Nate, Ben and Ashlynn for his recovery. It was a long and drawn ordeal. We rejoiced when Jackson pulled through.
Tomorrow will be Russell and Christina's last Sunday at Christ Fellowship. They will soon be moving to the panhandle, to Navarre, to start a new church plant. Our prayers and heartfelt sorrow go with them, in the leaving of Jackson behind. I know that when we moved from our previous locations, we wanted to exhume our pets and bring them along as well. I told Christina on Facebook tonight that while I have attended many human funerals over the years, never have I cried so hard as over the graves of our beloved pets.
In a way, the death of Jackson, like the death of Stonewall Jackson, was a final blow that ultimately ended the war for the South. This is a metaphor for the final blow that Russell and Christina have endured while in Lake City. They have stood, like Jackson, as a Stonewall. We salute Russell and Christina and their family who will move to greener and friendlier pastures we pray. They need a respite from the battle. Grant it Lord.