Photos

Photos In & Around

And right now I’m cleaning this up. I’m removing the published photos of others. The photos should only be the ones I have taken. This is going to take a bit of time as I posted way too many! They are appropriately posted in THOUGHTS.

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Manitou Trail

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Cactus along the trail as we climbed up the mountain in front of the condo. This part of the trail went along behind the school that was also up above us. It was a beautiful trail.

Last night was movie night here. We watched movies far too late into the night. The cat was the first among us to fall asleep. She only watched for a short while. We all fell asleep with a movie still playing, each to our own movie. I awoke thinking of Manitou and the wondrous trails we would follow and play along as they wound up and around the mountain. They were good thoughts. It was a good trail.

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Bow Wow Lake

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So the kid and I went to Bow Wow Lake for a romp and a swim. We had a fine time there and I earned back my Good Mum status. She is like the little kids whose lips turn blue and they stand shivering with arms crossed, insisting that they aren’t cold, aren’t tired, and certainly haven’t had enough time swimming. She would swim after a toy for hours and insist on just one more throw.

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Tula returning the kong

Here she is, returning the toy for the hundredth time at least. I think it’s curious how dogs aren’t interested in just swimming as we humans do. Dogs need a purpose for the swim that they love.

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And then, on a not so side note, I spent hours, days, trying to bring the iPhone photos in “My Photos” into WordPress.  It was an easy thing, a simple thing. It only took an “Export Photo” under File to do it. Snap.

Sometimes my penchant for not reading instructions or trying the obvious—you know, that thing where you slow down and read—sometimes that is not at all entertaining.

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Wet Dog=Happy Dog

IMG_1877This is an old photo of the current love—Tula. (Of course that’s only one name of many—a shortened form of Talulah.) This is in Colorado where we played in the Manitou stream. Alone or with others, sometimes many others. Where she first met moving water. And became a child of the creek.

We don’t get many chances to do something like that here. But there is a place—Bow-Wow Lake—where dogs can swim and play. And that’s where we’re going today. It’s been too many, many days where she has gone without a swim.

So today she’ll get the joy of the lake and I’ll get the joy of watching her. Double blessed.

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Dying For An Award

Denis Johnson

LitHub

Photo by Lit Hub

The obituaries for the novelist and poet Denis Johnson, who died in May at age 67, mentioned his National Book Award, his many rave reviews, his almost saintly status as “a writer’s writer’s writer.” Now he is collecting another prestigious accolade. He’ll be awarded a posthumous prize on September 2, as part of the National Book Festival in Washington. It’s the award from the Library of Congress of its annual Prize for American Fiction.

I always wonder. Does it matter to the creator of art when he receives an award after he has left this plane of existence? It might, I suppose, depending upon one’s view of the after life. I personally don’t think so. I think that any belief—or none—would grant a level of something, a something else, that would remove any earthly desires. It’s sort of the equivalent of winning a million dollars without the ability to spend it. Yet it is nice for those left behind. They get to know that their loved one mattered. That it mattered in a way that counted for him. His journey here is noted. I figure that’s good stuff.

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When You Love Something

Or, The Acrudements Of Passions

coverWhen you are immersed in something, all aspects of it are a part of that whole, the whole of it that you love. In books it’s the scent of new books, the scent of old books, books to be read, books already read, stories of authors, stories of stories, manuscript pieces, marginalia. I have several moleskin notebooks. I have Blackwing pencils and a hand sharpener. I have good pens, used pens, old pens—those that perform well. And a trunk full of my own writing. All of these things, sacred.

In music it’s the same. Even the photos of music scores. I have my childhood music books and my current books. I have the flute my son used to play. I have an old manual metronome. Books about Glenn Gould. (Of course his records.) And here, above, is something I ran across on the internet, so I had to print it. I wish I had the real thing here, to hold in my hands and place on the piano stand. In the meantime, a photo will do. Isn’t it beautiful?

 

P.S. 1. There were more words attached; there were more posts and pages; Nothing Worked Right! Maybe later. I could not Save or Publish. But Titles to the posts published.

P.S. 2. I have no idea what the Likes were seeing.