Fast Fade

One email today. Six yesterday. I had to return briefly to Facebook to say I am here, not there. 

Treemie

Tonight I got to thinking back to Melanie and my first Christmas. We lived in the upstairs garage apartment of Mr Emory Gray on Camp Street in Lake City. I had as a bachelor finally secured the quaint one bedroom for $125 a month after being on a waiting list. I believe it was Vicki Morrell who lived there before us.

At the time, Landon was not due until August 25th and Melanie worked in Gainesville as a RN at Shands in the NICU. That is where we got the name for our little live fur tree, Treemie, after the preemie babies she nursed. In the painting one sees the trappings of bachelorhood in place, the running shoes, the barbells. On the curtain rod is her Cockatiel Hank. On the Sony 13inch TV is Barney from Andy Griffith. Her cat she bought from her apartment in Williston Callie and Andy my black cat.

The oil of the fisherman, my first painting at age eight behind Treemie along with the oil of Renoir painting from my Florida Southern days. It was a grand first Christmas in that wonderfully cozy garage apartment.

Much has come full circle in many ways twenty six years hence. With Melanie now working back in Williston at the hospital she began in, Monday thru Friday, it is like the old dating days of only seeing one another weekends.

I cannot say I am enjoying our arrangement. I am not working, being a houseman. I have not even the desire to set up our many snowmen we have. 

Perhaps we will find the time this Saturday. With our son and grandson away in Japan, having heard nothing from them in nearly two years, we sag terribly this year. We desperately need our garage apartment back!

Far Fence

As runners we always recall our first race. Monticello was the second move of my young life. The first was from Vicco, Kentucky to Sopchoppy in Wakulla County, Florida as an infant. This move came as a shy third grader. I missed my friends Sam and Robert. We could go and do as we pleased all over town with no concern for safety. We had the river and plenty to occupy our Mayberry like days. Monticello was cultured, historical and too large to wander. Making friends was difficult for me.

I did not fit in well and really did not know how. But I could run. 

The day came near the end of Easter break when our PE coach announced we were going to hold a race to determine the fastest runner in third grade. Everyone knew that was going to be Jimmy Haines. They did not know me.

The day came when coach lined us up with instructions to run from the building, down the hill, touch the fence and return.

I had no illusion of winning, I just wanted to not finish last. The whistle blew and I was in the pack but soon moved up near Jimmy. By the fence I had pulled along side him. We touched together. I was being noticed. By midway up the hill, I pulled ahead. I won by several strides.

There was some celebration, but mostly confusion that someone had outran Jimmy.

It was the in that helped me find new friends in Monticello. 

I went on from Monticello back to Kentucky to begin Fifth grade in Wilmore.

There were no races needed to fit in as I was now the confident champion from Monticello.

Board Walk

It was always a joy to land on Boardwalk in Monopoly as long as no one else owned it. Well, today after visiting Bob, I just needed a boardwalk to land upon. I thought immediately of the long, low winding walk on the Florida Trail at the entrance to the Ocean Pond Campground. I have been going here for years. I have shots of Landon, my estranged twenty six year old son, as a toddler on the walk.

Arriving, there was a sign on the trail. Boardwalk removed, swamp impenetrable. I had to hike in to see. Sadly, only a few remnant boards remained. Another destination spot gone. Bobs mind gone. Judy's plaque gone. What is happening here? A photo of how it was:

Judy's Tree

Several years ago Steve Williams and I had Bill Sepko route a nice wooden plaque that read Judy's Tree. We rode out in the Osceola off Still Road and attached the plaque high out of reach.

Judy Hancock was a passionate defender of the forest and all things wild. She died of cancer nearly ten years ago. She was Steve and my friend.

Today while riding back from Ocean Pond, I slowed at the crooked pine, given the name by the Forest Service, and I noticed the plaque missing. I poked around the base but found nothing.

The road has been resurfaced and possibly some worker was amused or had a girl Judy he thought would like it. Someone several years placed a mocking sign Mary's Tree down from Judy's and I tore it down. Perhaps Mary was exacting revenge.

I will know it was Judy's tree. I doubt few will. Just another among thousands.

Robert

Today in order to deflect all the pointed toward self lately, I drove out West 90 to Turner Road to my old friend Bob Jones.

Since last visiting several months ago, there was a difference in how he carried himself, his arms almost stroke like, limp to his

side. But what was marked different, was his advancing dementia. I tried my best to carry the conversation, trying to help him recall things. It was a futile effort. I hit a few times, but mostly it was long pauses. 

Bob and I used to travel all over, doing so many things. Running in and training for races from 5k to marathons. Going all over photographing. Painting, diving for artifacts, biking centuries, kayaking and canoeing all the streams and ocean. I had no other good friend, next to Bob. And now he is fading before my eyes.

Apo and Eis

Wednedsay of day one from Facebook began as all others. Zoe the little Tuxedo female who sleeps on my bed waking me before light to be fed. Buster and Orange Blossom, Melanies Orange tabbies, likewise. JT and Rocky, the lopsiosa and golden too. Callie Curtis the outside cat with the two Rhode Island Red chickens, Rosie and Roger. 

Then the coffee, Maxwell House in the Kreps, manual fill. Hazelnut creamer.

Today was Hebrews 12. especially laying aside all weight, distraction, and looking toward the author and perfector of our faith, Jesus.

Thus the Greek aphorontes eis. An averting or drawing off the eye from one object to another. Apo, a turning off the eye from all other objects, the other, eis, a fast fixing of the eye upon such an object and only upon such. 

So both a looking off and a looking on.

I am thankful for the three who took the time last evening to email me: Rosemary, Paul and Trisha. Rosemary an old friend from Florida Southern days, Paul, who I met while working at JCP, hiring his daughter and Trisha, whom I have never met, but through another FB friend, became friends. a kindred spirit with mine.

And so the sun arises gently, I must be off to greet the first Rays.

Grace

By Grace, the flower soared beyond the vase.

Or, the day daisy said I shall fly beyond the vase.

What would you caption it?

Originally this was used to signify my wife Melanie, suffering with H1N1, near death, as representing the lone flower, apart from the family.

What think ye?

This is with the flower in color. It tends to attract attention. Rosemary felt it distracts. I like subtle understatement.

What are your thoughts?

Hiatus

Today was one of those epiphany type days. It was not supposed to be. It began as most days had of late, getting up, feeding the cats and dogs, checking Facebook. After that a series of cleaning the house, the pool, the yard, checking Facebook. Two cups of coffee, posting a photo. Some food by noon, posting a poem or two. More housework and checking Facebook. Lately I had been growing angrier than any person should over a lack of reply, like or comment. People have lives. I don't. After posting a photo of Melanie's hand in Orlando with a time exposure of me resembling an angel above her, I broke down. It was brief but valid. I called out, Lord deliver me from this that I am. 

One offshoot was an immediate determination to cease Facebook, if for awhile, if not more.

And so I deleted all app's on my Four devices. 

I will try and go a month.

We shall see if I am led thus from the fix I  am in.

Crist... ians

What is it with my fellow nature photographer friends? What makes these purveyors of such beauty through their lenses, such liberal idiots when it comes to politics? And yoni a further note, why do they not believe in the Creator God, His Son Jesus and the Holy Ghost, instead giving descent to Gaia or evolution?
Beauty is beauty and God in his mercy bestows an eye to behold it to these artists. It is sad that they are blind.

Rivers of Life

I stood upon the Orange Hill Cemetery, beside my fathers grave, in a driving rain storm. Below me, flowing downhill, the middle road through the monuments became for a brief moment, a flowing river. And soon, the storm moved on toward the sand hills over Gulf Hammock and on out over the Gulf. Wet from the waist down, I walked with the flowing water down to the intersection where Melanies family members rest. I brushed the wet, newly mowed grass from their graves, pulled a few weeds, righted the vases blown over.
It was a quiet gesture. Soon the sun appeared and the river turned to road again. The clouds gave way to a clean blue. The memory of the river remained. The few slabs of those I once knew could again reflect the evening light.

As artists we are often desperately in need of recognition. We are gregarious types in our shy, reclusive natures, in conflict with the need to share our visions and at the same time, our hesitancy to reveal our inner visions, wanting to protect them. Some are not as timid, and throw it out for all, come what may, hardened ones, confident ones.

When I showed this photograph to one, pulling it up, my enthusiasm in no way matched his lack of. It was just another look and move on, another ho hum moment. One who would never consider getting out of the car in a cemetery in a storm with an umbrella and walking the entire length, enthralled with it all.

I just could not convey that. It was just a photograph that was not that special. What was I to do? Upbraid him for his lack of interest in walking with the dead beside rivers soon to disappear? A certain pity on my part, for me, for him, that I was 'this way', that he and most of whom I move and breathe with are, 'that way', an oddity among the normality, trying quietly to fit in, to sit in vehicles when rains come.

Beneath blue heaven

The last few evenings have been full of lightening and thunder and rain. Dramatic heavens. I have been for the most part unsuccessful in capturing lightening like I envision it. Long dramatic streaks. I try and anticipate and count between flashes, but miss every time. I try long exposures, but if too long, it wipes out the streaks. This was taken with the Canon S110 at 15 seconds on the limit of its exposure, since the idiotic Canon technicians put a limit on the ISO for long exposures, limiting it to ISO80, effectively negating properly exposed long exposures. The S95, which died, did not have this limit.
Some photographers use a lightening trigger that detects motion and trips the shutter. Perhaps I need one.
Nevertheless, it has been interesting, if not for anything, but to be out watching the awesome display of God's power. A power that caused the opening Gator Game in Gainesville to be cancelled.