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A prowling Avatar . . .

27 Oct

The photo below was posted by one of my three daughters, the one that lives, loves, laughs, labors and languishes in Northern Virginia. Click here for her posting and for the comment I made on the photograph. I am so pleased with my comment that I’m bringing it out of the Stygian darkness of comments into the bright light of day in order to share it with my host of highly erudite visitors.

This is the comment I made on the photo:

I can’t believe that no one has seen the various animals in this photo. Even with my limited imagination and poor eyesight I count ten clearly defined figures. I see a yellow French poodle peering over the top of the center blossom, and below and to the left of the poodle is a setting quail, and behind the quail is a small creature peeping out of its burrow with nose, eyes and ears defined.

To the right, perched on a green leaf is a marine animal, perhaps a salamander or similar aquatic dweller, out for a breath of fresh air. Above and behind him a floral cobra lurks, its hood flared out and head tilted forward, probably ready to strike the salamander. Below and to the left is a yellow long-beaked fuzzy animal, rather plump, with a side-mounted eye showing and a curiously curved beak. Above that fellow is an elongated animal with its front legs encircling the fuzzy one’s beak, its eye, nose and mouth clearly defined.

There are several fish, one at the left of the center blossom and one at the left of the bottom blossom. Both are swimming toward the left of the photo.

And finally, the cutest and most amazingly proportioned animal is in the center of the lower bloom. He has a long body with only two legs, both clearly defined, and what resembles a propeller at the tail end of his body. He obviously uses the propeller for water travel and drags himself along on the two front legs on land. He has a cute face with his forehead, nose, mouth and eye clearly defined, and he has really long laid-back ears.

I count at least ten creatures in this photo. What say you, readers of this blogger and viewers of her photographs? Do you see these ten, and can you find even more?

Nice shot, Cindy. Keep shooting, but watch out for the wildlife among the flowers.

Oops, I found one more. Check out the hooded Avatar standing upright in the center, carrying some sort of pouch and reaching up to the little guy peering out of its burrow. Looking for dinner, perhaps?

Unless I miscounted, that makes eleven  creatures living among this group of blossoms. Who would have ever thunk it?

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

 
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Posted by on October 27, 2010 in flowers

 

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Pearls of wisdom, or pearls before swine?

21 Aug

Pearls of wisdom—self-explanatory.

Pearls before swine—idiomatic: To give things of value to those that will not understand or appreciate them.

Etymology: From the Bible—King James version—Matthew 7:6:

“.  .  .  neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you.”

As of my last posting I have contributed 265 posts to Word Press, covering 53 categories and 3,988 tags. The 265 postings have attracted 7,324 visits and garnered 349 comments. That’s an average of 27 visits per posting—that’s not too shabby, but the number of comments averaged less than one per posting.

I have worn my fingers to the bone in my efforts to attract readers and subsequent comments. Have I worn my fingers—and gnawed my knuckles—to the bone and bitten my nails well past the point of picking my nose or scratching myself, all to no avail?

Am I tinkling into the wind?

Should I cease and desist?

I am considering inserting one or more naughty images into each posting—anything to improve my stats—I realize that Word Press would probably disown me, but if that should happen this corruption of Edna Saint Vincent Millay’s poem would be appropriate:

My candle burned at both ends; It did not last the night; But, ah, my foes, and, oh, my friends – it gave a lovely light.

I readily admit that my writings fall a bit short of the works of Charles Dickens, O’Henry or even Jack London, but at least I have not  begun a posting with, It was a dark and stormy night . . .

Statistics are sustenance for any blogger—they are the meat and bread, the necessities of life—they give support, endurance and strength to aspiring writers. And trust me, if you choose to render unto me that which I feel is my due, namely cogent comments, do ye also unto other bloggers as well—they crave comments as much as I do—they just hesitate to admit it.

Si mi hace el favor—if you will do me the favor—comment! Tell me if there is something you like and why you like it, and tell me if there is something you don’t like and why you don’t like it. You might want to consider beginning with this posting.

I’m rather partial to positive comments and criticisms, but I will accept and respond to negative comments and criticisms, provided they are expressed in good taste—and my responses will also be in good taste.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

 
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Posted by on August 21, 2010 in friends, Humor, Writing

 

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Declaration and covenant—dad and daughter . . .

22 May

Away back in 1995 my daughter, the one living at home at the time, slipped her bonds from her parents in San Antonio and migrated to Dallas to accept a position with a real estate corporation. She met a really nice guy and married him, and they now live near Dallas with their two children and a puppy. Before she left home I wrote the document below for her to sign—she never got around to signing it, but had she signed it she definitely would have compromised the conditions outlined in the covenant, and would have accepted and been subjected to the punishment outlined below.

I am posting this covenant to remind her of how far she has come, and to offer it to any father that may find himself in a similar position. I offer it freely, without need of recompense—just say thanks.

Declaration and Covenant

To any and all presents, to all who have gone before and to all who may come later, let it hereby, forthwith and forever be known that I, Kelley, being of sound mind (?) and body (!) and in no way under stress or duress on the part of any person or persons, known or unknown to me, living or otherwise, do hereby, hereon, herein and forever promise and swear that I will treat this magnificent sum of money (which is being tendered unto me by my omnipotent, beneficent, munificent and prescient ol’ pappy) in such manner that it will not hold itself at its present amount but that it will  increase under my administration, although it may from time to time be reduced in varying amounts for varying periods of time due to the many vagaries and exigencies of life, but it will then be restored to its original amount in the shortest length of time possible, but in no event later than one day following my next paycheck, said restoration to be accomplished by returning to the account (which I will establish) the amount withdrawn, plus an amount equal to ten percent of the amount withdrawn from the account, with the initial (and entire!) tendered amount of $500.00 to be placed in a Money Market account with Security Service Credit Union, San Antonio, Texas to draw interest at variable rates depending on the economy and to be maintained without charge to me provided my withdrawals  are limited to three or fewer per month, said withdrawals to be for nothing other than the purpose of paying just, legal and due (never overdue!) debts, and I most solemnly and sincerely promise and swear, without any hesitation, mental reservation, or secret evasion of mind in me whatsoever, that I am firmly determined to follow and perform everything to which I have promised and sworn, and if I fail to abide by the terms of this covenant I promise that I will, filled with remorse and shame and clad only in a smile, push a peanut with my nose from my father’s house to my sister’s house, a distance of one mile, repeating loudly all the way at 10-foot intervals (to be measured by my sister Debbie and witnessed by my friend Thelma) the phrase, “Pappy, you da most!”

So help me Hannah and keep me steadfast in due performance of all the above.

Signed __________________  Date ___________

Witness  ________________   Date ___________

An afterthought: Who would have thought it! Some folks actually push peanuts with their nose, as shown in this photo. I found no female peanut pusher photos, but I did find a competition that ended in crowning a king and a queen in a peanut pushing contest. Had my daughter acquiesced to the punishment outlined above, she may well have entered the book of Guinness World Records as the first naked woman to push a peanut with her nose, regardless of the distance involved.

Alas, fame is fleeting, and one should reach for the brass ring at every opportunity! The fellow pictured here pushed a peanut with his nose seven miles to #10 Downing Street in England to protest his student loan debt—I understand that he is now known as The student with no nose, and adding insult to injury, his protest was ignored by the Prime Minister of England.


 
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Posted by on May 22, 2010 in Uncategorized

 

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Wylie, Texas possum saga, cont’d . . .

19 Mar

This posting was prompted by an e-mail from my son-in-law in Wylie, Texas concerning his running battle with possums in the attic. Other postings related to that saga can be found here, and here and also here.

Here is his e-mail:

The possum saga, continued:

Possum returns to attic after fraternizing with rabid possums and skunks recently highlighted in the news.

It takes even better food to entice possum into trap because he now knows what it is. More fruit and peanuts fail—bait escalation includes pizza, fried chicken, mahi-mahi and rack of lamb with mint sauce—still no possum in trap.

Finally $150 Chateaubriand meal from Three Forks and glass of Baron de Rothschild ’57 claret does the trick. Possum decides he is ready for another trip to visit his country cousins and enters the trap for the meal.

Brantley shoots possum while still in trap, rolls same in plastic bag and places in the trash.

I just received your e-mail concerning the demise of a possum in your attic, and I feel compelled to tell you that it was not the same possum you released into the wild “a mile away” from your house. This was definitely a different animal, obviously a female, and obviously accustomed to the finer things in life, particularly gustatory delights. Given her appetite for fine wine and Chateaubriand, she was probably a procreating Parisian possum in Plano’s possum population (I just love alliteration!).

This lady (?) possum was very likely a one-time companion—well, perhaps more than one time—to the one you captured and released. That teenage possum was in a blue funk, trying desperately to understand the loss of his one true love. That’s why he paced your attic—he couldn’t sleep for thinking of what had been, and what could again be if they could only be reunited.

Other than mere physical attraction, he had little interest in the one you summarily shot, placed in a plastic bag and consigned to the trash. She was just a temporary diversion while he continued his quest for the one trapped by your next door neighbor some time prior. The fate of that possum is unknown, but your neighbor took a snapshot of her (pictured at right). She is gorgeous, and one can readily understand why the teenager you released into the wild had such strong feelings for her!

And I’m sure he was fed up with the Parisian possum’s constant whining and complaining about his inability to satisfy her materialistic needs, such as a bigger house, better food, etc. Otherwise, he was probably doing okay for himself in their relationship. Through an intensive online search, I found an image of a female Parisian possum, pictured at right (there goes that alliteration again!). Judging by this image, it’s likely that a friendly relationship with a lady Parisian possum would be exciting and memorable.

Congratulations on your latest feat, and I assure you that it detracts in no way from your “bring ’em back alive” status. Even Frank Buck, when faced with death or injury to himself or to others, dispatched elephants, rhinos, lions, tigers and other such wildlife to another world, far away from zoos and their natural habitat—and he probably also sometimes shot them simply because he was—well, in such instances, he was referred to as Frank “just got pissed off at ’em” Buck.

 
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Posted by on March 19, 2010 in Uncategorized

 

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Possum in the attic . . . got ‘im!

19 Mar

My favorite attorney son-in-law and his adventures with wildlife—specifically with possums— prompted this posting. I have two other sons-in-law, one of which is my favorite computer whiz son-in-law and the other is my favorite truck broker son-in-law).  My favoritism fluctuates among sons-in-law depending on my needs—whether legal matters, computer related matters, or matters related to the international transportation of goods (I also depend on the truck broker son-in-law and his son—my grandson—to assist in moving weighty goods to and from my home).

A related posting, Ode to a Possum, a must–read, can be found here.

More possum info here.

And even more here.

This is the e-mail I received from the son-in-law that luxuriates in marriage with my princess daughter in Wylie, Texas:

Here is the update on our “Possum in the Attic”:

Night 1:

Trap is carefully set; loaded with peanut butter, peanuts and an old banana.

Next day trap check:

Banana is mysteriously missing, trap was not sprung, peanut butter and peanuts untouched. Trap is adjusted for sensitivity, as it is suspected the possum is very cleverly eating the banana from outside the trap or tip toeing into the trap and slyly leaving the peanuts and peanut butter to confuse the trapper (which has had considerable success).

Night 2:

After trap is adjusted, it’s re-baited with a nice bunch of canned peaches. Peanut butter and peanuts from night before are left in place.

1:00 AM:

Kelley hears a rustling in attic and suspects the possum is up and about. Brantley stays fast asleep, hearing nothing.

7:00 AM:

Kelley checks the trap and THE POSSUM IS NABBED!  Curiously, the peaches and peanut butter and peanuts are gone completely. He’s rather large but seemingly docile and even appears friendly. Kelley demands that he be set free unharmed.

7:15 AM:

Brantley sets possum free a mile or so away in the woods. Possum seems pleased and in a good mood—Brantley wonders whether a mile is far enough.

Thus ends the possum hunt.

Or does it?

I think I’ll keep the trap for a few weeks—just in case!

 
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Posted by on March 19, 2010 in Uncategorized

 

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Ode to a possum . . .

19 Mar

Please note: There are several other postings related to this literary examination and elimination of possums in attics. Such problems are commonplace in our state, in fact in most states, and perhaps these postings will enable others to handle such problems more effectively and efficiently. The other postings can be found here, and here.

Oh, and also here.

Following in the footsteps of Keats, Shelley, Robert Frost and other exalted poets, I have penned Ode to a Possum. An ode is defined as, A lyric poem of some length, usually of a serious or meditative nature and having an elevated style and formal stanzaic structure. My Ode to a Possum conforms to that definition perfectly.

As with many similar lyric odes, this one is meant to be sung. My list of preferred singers would include Toby Keith and Diana Ross—perhaps even George Jones or Whitney Houston, depending on their current medical status.

My first choice would have been Tiny Tim and his ukulele, but that worthy is long gone, both from the music scene and from this world—may he forever happily and gracefully tiptoe through the tulips.

A perceptive reader of this posting will note the absence of an O, as in Opossum, and will undoubtedly wonder why it was omitted. That’s because the prefix O is not used in our southern regions, and especially not in the sovereign state of  Texas, neither in writing nor in speaking.

A similar spelling may be noted in the name of our Irish president, Barack O’bama—the O is present with an apostrophe added, as in O’Reilly, O’Brien and other Irish names. (Thanks, and a tip of the kingly crown to Kinky Friedman, our perennial candidate for political office in Texas, for defining the president’s heritage by adding the apostrophe and for saying he would vote for him).

And here is my lyric poem:

Ode to a Possum

In Wiley lived a possum named Fred,
That used Brantley’s insulation for his bed.
He rambled ’round the attic
Till the family grew frantic,
And wished that ol’ Fred was dead.

Brantley baited a trap with wine,
And chateaubriand quite fine.
Of each did Fred partake,
His death then did fake,
And Brantley told Kelley “It’s time.”

“Don’t kill him,” Kelley then cried,
But Brantley took Fred for a ride.
No mercy would he show,
Cause ol’ Fred had to go.
In the attic he could not abide.

Just past the limits of the city,
Brantley’s heart overflowed with pity.
Though his eye shed a tear,
Fred had nothing to fear,
And I’m nearing the end of this ditty.

Fred did Brantley return to the wild,
By handling him gently and mild.
But when Fred was free,
He climbed a tall tree,
And at Brantley thumbed his nose like a child.

The saga of Fred will be told,
By Kelley’s children when old,
How a possum so bold,
Came in from the cold,
But succumbed to a trap that would hold.

That’s my Ode to a Possum and I’m sticking to it.


 
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Posted by on March 19, 2010 in Humor, Obama administration, politics, punctuation, Uncategorized, Writing

 

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