In a souvenir store on Broughton Street here in Savannah …
T-shirts telling the truth get on my last nerve.
T-Shirt Tuesday: Back & Body
Tag: Photography
Attempting a Dia de Muertos Celebration
Last fall near Halloween, Robert and I watched Pixar’s Coco, which beautifully introduced us to Dia de Muertos (Day of the Dead). Coming from a family culture that embraces frequent visits to graveyards and cemeteries, I loved the idea of remembering loved ones who have passed on by having their own joyfully colorful and celebratory holiday.
It was only a couple of days until November 2, the traditional day when the holiday is celebrated in Mexico and other places. So we quickly made a little ofrenda (altar) consisting of a couple of pictures of our deceased parents, some flowers and a candle or two. Sitting before our simple shrine, we thanked our folks for their lives and their love.
But 2021 was another story. We began gathering Day of the Dead materials months ago and started making preparations.
We collected Day of the Dead candles, banners, decorations, and on a trip to Atlanta, we found a loaf of Pan de Muertos (Bread of the Dead) at the Buford Highway Farmers Market (what a glorious center of culinary diversity).
Last Tuesday, November 2nd, we celebrated by combining our dinner table and our Day of the Dead ofrenda.
Robert’s folks …
And mine …
We made some of their favorite foods for our meal …
The loaf of Pan de Muertos, round to symbolize the cycle of life, with teardrops flowing from the top, representing goddess Chimalma’s tears for the living.
Holding hands, we shared memories of fun, funny and joyful stories from the lives of our parents and other loved ones who have passed on.
A movingly marvelous evening and now a permanent addition to our holiday calendar.
“The Artful Dodger” #1
A new blog category about finding “art” in unexpected places and situations.
After drying my hands, I carelessly tossed the hand towel toward the bar on the outside door of our new glass shower (fully expecting it to fall to the floor as usual—the towel, not the door).
But lo and behold, I instantly became a renowned artist! InstaArt. Putting me in the same league with, say, Jackson Pollock and his brilliant “drip technique” of throwing/pouring paint onto his canvases.
See my artistic intelligence? No?! Just look! My masterpiece (well, master towel) seems “bathed” in soft light, accentuating the “clean” lines of the work. Dramatically crowned in portrait mode by the green loofah.
Enjoy!
{Holiday prints now available for a limited time only for $19.99 plus shipping and handling! 🎄}
I Love Our D.A.!
My stomping ground, Historic District Savannah, is a lovely place anytime of the year. But D.A (Downtown Autumn) is especially beautiful—and comes in a pretty close second to our Azalea-d Spring.
On a stroll this morning, I decided to ignore the leftover Halloween displays and just concentrate on Fall. Here’s a sampling of what yelled “Hello there, look at me!”
Glorious stairs, leading Up:
Wreaths:
Boots:
Camellias (Savannah’s “cold weather azaleas”) ready to burst into bloom—and a few getting a head start:
Ralph:
Odds and ends:
A pink pumpkin:
A cool courtyard:
Two hanging baskets, who drew me close and whispered, “Please. Please. Get us outta here. Haven’t we grown enough?”
Loquats—a native Chinese fruit found growing More often than you would think in historic district courtyards and tree lawns.
And finally, our fair abode, which now seems sorta shadowy compared to all those others I walked by.
But what a beautiful D.A. we have here in Savannah’s Historic District. Thank you, Autumn.
“Robert and …” #1
A new blog category starting today.: pics I’ve taken of Hubby Robert and … well, just about anything.
Robert and a Waterfall
Miles to Go
After Forsyth Park Farmers Market-ing Saturday morning, Robert and I were walking home, minding our own business, when out of the blue, the Universe spoke to me again. (A fairly common occurrence these days.)
“It’s the end of October,” I thought. “Isn’t it a little late for hydrangeas to still be blooming?” But glancing up and down the row of bushes, I noticed that all the other hydrangeas were NOT blooming, except for this LONE, stubborn survivor.
I was mesmerized, the bloom just SO very June fresh.
“It’s rude to stare,” she interrupted my thoughts, a bit offended.
“Sorry, I didn’t meant to stare. But I’m floored to see you here when all of your … your brothers and sisters are … are less than alive.” (My awkward attempt to avoid further rudeness.)
“May I ask why you ARE still here?” I timidly wondered.
Her demeanor shifted, and she smiled the tiniest of smiles.
“I suppose you can, but I’ll let Frost answer for me.”
The woods are lovely dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
“Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost
I walked home with lively, renewed fervor in my step.
Sometimes
Last evening, Robert and I headed over to Big Bon Pizza in the hip Starland District of Savannah. (Being so hip myself, I like going to hip locations. As long as my right hip cooperates.) After voraciously enjoying their WONDERFUL hot-outta-the-brick-oven pizza …
… the Universe spoke to me as I waddled past Big Bon Bodega/Big Bon Pizza’s sandwich board:
An enlightening message I most definitely need to heed much more often!
(Even with the comma issue. 😩 Retired English professor.)
Here’s my mental activity as I continued waddling to the car:
Now isn’t that better?
Wait a second! Halt the waddling! Did I really just proofread and edit THE UNIVERSE?!
How to Photograph a Septuagenarian
Now that youth is a far distant memory, and I’m just a couple of months away from turning … from turning … from turning … 70, I’d like to instruct anybody who ever points a camera (well, phone—does anybody use a camera any more ?) in my direction. Here are 10 foolproof suggestions.
1. Take my picture in the snow.
2. Have me get on a giant bed.
3. Let me hold my unicorn.
4. Have me stand on a bridge over troubled waters.
5. Incorporate mirrors.
6. Have me sit in a house with one window.
7. Make the best of focus.
8. Have me sit far away from the paparazzi.
9. Let me hold my big bird.
And 10. Push me in the pool.
There you go. No close-ups. Simple and easy.
**********************
Okay, I’m joking. I love my age and where I am in life.
Neal‘s Post from the Past: “Merry Autumn”
Fall is most definitely my favorite season of the year. Even with its touch of “summer’s over” melancholy, autumn slowly paints the world with warmly joyful colors, smells and scenes. The season makes me feel energized and ready to start anew (maybe partly because I’m a retired educator and still connect fall to the new school year).
Autumn wants to make us pause and smile.
Here’s a terrific poem, by late 19th century poet Paul Laurence Dunbar, which shows fall’s happy face. Read it out loud to feel, as well as see and hear, the words.
Merry Autumn
It’s all a farce,—these tales they tell
About the breezes sighing,
And moans astir o’er field and dell,
Because the year is dying.
Such principles are most absurd,—
I care not who first taught ‘em;
There’s nothing known to beast or bird
To make a solemn autumn.
In solemn times, when grief holds sway
With countenance distressing,
You’ll note the more of black and gray
Will then be used in dressing.
Now purple tints are all around;
The sky is blue and mellow;
And e’en the grasses turn the ground
From modest green to yellow.
The seed burs all with laughter crack
On featherweed and jimson;
And leaves that should be dressed in black
Are all decked out in crimson.
A butterfly goes winging by;
A singing bird comes after;
And Nature, all from earth to sky,
Is bubbling o’er with laughter.
The ripples wimple on the rills,
Like sparkling little lasses;
The sunlight runs along the hills,
And laughs among the grasses.
The earth is just so full of fun
It really can’t contain it;
And streams of mirth so freely run
The heavens seem to rain it.
Don’t talk to me of solemn days
In autumn’s time of splendor,
Because the sun shows fewer rays,
And these grow slant and slender.
Why, it’s the climax of the year,—
The highest time of living!—
Till naturally its bursting cheer
Just melts into thanksgiving.
— by Paul Laurence Dunbar
NealEnJoy 