A chicken puppet reads Thoreau.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
Believe it or not
So, I found an old roll of film (Yes, a roll of film. Remember those?) in my 35mm camera and I couldn’t remember what was on it. Turns out they were photos from my first grad school residency up at Ft. Worden last February. Rumors abound that the place is haunted and there are Web sites showing photographs of “ghosts” and “orbs.” Check out the “man in blue.”
So then there’s this.
This isn’t from the Fort, but neighboring Port Townsend, WA. Notice the reflection on the water and how it comes in front of the rocks at the bottom. And how it’s weirdly reflected on the boats behind it. And the little balls of light near the rocks. Paranormal enthusiasts might enjoy a field day with this one, but I’ll vote that it’s a problem with the developing process, especially since the film was a little old.
Makes me sleep better.
So then there’s this.
This isn’t from the Fort, but neighboring Port Townsend, WA. Notice the reflection on the water and how it comes in front of the rocks at the bottom. And how it’s weirdly reflected on the boats behind it. And the little balls of light near the rocks. Paranormal enthusiasts might enjoy a field day with this one, but I’ll vote that it’s a problem with the developing process, especially since the film was a little old.
Makes me sleep better.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Backbone
It’s a little unnerving to find a spine in the snow.
Especially when it’s surrounded by a frayed garbage bag.
A closer look (which took a bit of nerve) revealed a hoof belonging to a whitetail deer. So not a serial killer, then.
Probably.
Like I said before, Wisconsin seems to have more than its fair share. Maybe a few in the making.
A couple of weeks ago some guys on snowmobiles spent an evening running down five deer. Injured them, tied them up and dragged them, killed them. Left one tied to a tree and the cops found it the next morning and put it down.
Someone else must have decided that sounded like fun. Got on a snowmobile, ran over fifty ducks.
A few years ago I came across a pile of small skeletons near where I found the deer spine. A dozen or so raccoons, maybe. Cats.
Makes me wonder if the deer skeleton I found was a case of poaching ... or practicing.
Especially when it’s surrounded by a frayed garbage bag.
A closer look (which took a bit of nerve) revealed a hoof belonging to a whitetail deer. So not a serial killer, then.
Probably.
Like I said before, Wisconsin seems to have more than its fair share. Maybe a few in the making.
A couple of weeks ago some guys on snowmobiles spent an evening running down five deer. Injured them, tied them up and dragged them, killed them. Left one tied to a tree and the cops found it the next morning and put it down.
Someone else must have decided that sounded like fun. Got on a snowmobile, ran over fifty ducks.
A few years ago I came across a pile of small skeletons near where I found the deer spine. A dozen or so raccoons, maybe. Cats.
Makes me wonder if the deer skeleton I found was a case of poaching ... or practicing.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Hope
We'll just do one sentence again today for Three Word Wednesday, this one in honor of yesterday’s magic. The words are cadence, humble and resolve.
Teenagers from a humble town march to the cadence of a new era, turn their heads and salute to the stands, resolved to catch his eye.
Teenagers from a humble town march to the cadence of a new era, turn their heads and salute to the stands, resolved to catch his eye.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
Seven Strangers - A True Story
Here's a belated tale for Three Word Wednesday. The words are deception, panic and scheme.
When I heard snow scraping the underbelly of my truck it made me think of that line from The Matrix: That is the sound of inevitability.
In my panic I did what drivers from warm climates do. I hit the brakes. A couple of weeks later I saved a small tree in a parking lot by remembering what not to do, but tonight I was in trouble.
I knew the roads were bad but it had stopped snowing six hours earlier and I thought the highway must be clear by now. I figured I’d just drive down there and take a look, and if the highway was bad I’d turn around and come home.
A fine scheme indeed. The problem came in making it to the highway.
It didn’t even look like I was in the ditch, really. But that’s a deception left behind by snowplows – the road looks wide, but the edges are made of what’s been scraped off the road. Icing on a cake.
The tires spun against nothing and I thought, please let me get out, I thought. I’ll go home, I promise.
Couldn’t stand the thought of calling my parents, who hadn’t wanted me to go. So to delay I called my friend and told her I wasn’t going to make it because I was sitting in the ditch.
She expressed the concern she was supposed to but I could hear her trying not to laugh, like it was funny to her right now and she knew it would be funny to me later but she wasn’t sure if it was funny to me right now.
The first one to stop, a guy in a pickup, tried digging me out and pushing the truck, giving it more than a decent effort. He was perplexed as to why I was in the ditch in the first place – wasn’t the truck four-wheel drive? Then he laughed uproariously when he noticed I had California plates. I cursed the dealership that sold my dad this rear-wheel drive menace.
The guy offered me a ride. Samaritan or no, not getting into a strange man’s truck on a dark night. Especially at the crossroads of nowhere and nowhere else. And this was Wisconsin, after all. Home of both Jeffrey Dahmer and Ed Gein.
It’s OK, I told him. I’ve got someone to call.
Hi Dad.
I towed you so.
He called a truck for me. Then I called my friend back to tell her I had to wait an hour for the tow truck. “At least you know what you’re doing with your evening now,” she chuckled. “In case you were wondering.”
Thought about finding new friends.
But a good night for restoring my faith in humanity. Six more motorists checked to see if I was okay. Sounds like part of a Christmas song – seven strangers stopping.
And a partridge in a snowy ditch.
Another guy in a pickup stopped.
And another. Kinda cute in a scruffy-David Cook sort of way. (Why yes, David. I do need help.)
A couple in a minivan.
Another guy in a pickup who also asked, didn’t my truck have four-wheel drive? Would’ve tried pulling me out but didn’t have his tow strap with him today.
Mom called. Dad was putting on his coat so he could drive out and wait with me. No, I said. Why have two of us in the ditch?
Another driver stopped. All of the pickups towered over mine, some of them chugging diesel. Started to feel like I was driving a toy truck. Make-believe truck. Perfect for California, at least the California that Wisconsinites envision.
And a guy driving a flatbed truck with his wife’s SUV on it. She’d wrangled with a guardrail today, he said.
My tow truck showed up, two hours after we called. A hundred and five bucks later I was free.
Dad got me snow tires for Christmas.
A Christmas miracle.
When I heard snow scraping the underbelly of my truck it made me think of that line from The Matrix: That is the sound of inevitability.
In my panic I did what drivers from warm climates do. I hit the brakes. A couple of weeks later I saved a small tree in a parking lot by remembering what not to do, but tonight I was in trouble.
I knew the roads were bad but it had stopped snowing six hours earlier and I thought the highway must be clear by now. I figured I’d just drive down there and take a look, and if the highway was bad I’d turn around and come home.
A fine scheme indeed. The problem came in making it to the highway.
It didn’t even look like I was in the ditch, really. But that’s a deception left behind by snowplows – the road looks wide, but the edges are made of what’s been scraped off the road. Icing on a cake.
The tires spun against nothing and I thought, please let me get out, I thought. I’ll go home, I promise.
Couldn’t stand the thought of calling my parents, who hadn’t wanted me to go. So to delay I called my friend and told her I wasn’t going to make it because I was sitting in the ditch.
She expressed the concern she was supposed to but I could hear her trying not to laugh, like it was funny to her right now and she knew it would be funny to me later but she wasn’t sure if it was funny to me right now.
The first one to stop, a guy in a pickup, tried digging me out and pushing the truck, giving it more than a decent effort. He was perplexed as to why I was in the ditch in the first place – wasn’t the truck four-wheel drive? Then he laughed uproariously when he noticed I had California plates. I cursed the dealership that sold my dad this rear-wheel drive menace.
The guy offered me a ride. Samaritan or no, not getting into a strange man’s truck on a dark night. Especially at the crossroads of nowhere and nowhere else. And this was Wisconsin, after all. Home of both Jeffrey Dahmer and Ed Gein.
It’s OK, I told him. I’ve got someone to call.
Hi Dad.
I towed you so.
He called a truck for me. Then I called my friend back to tell her I had to wait an hour for the tow truck. “At least you know what you’re doing with your evening now,” she chuckled. “In case you were wondering.”
Thought about finding new friends.
But a good night for restoring my faith in humanity. Six more motorists checked to see if I was okay. Sounds like part of a Christmas song – seven strangers stopping.
And a partridge in a snowy ditch.
Another guy in a pickup stopped.
And another. Kinda cute in a scruffy-David Cook sort of way. (Why yes, David. I do need help.)
A couple in a minivan.
Another guy in a pickup who also asked, didn’t my truck have four-wheel drive? Would’ve tried pulling me out but didn’t have his tow strap with him today.
Mom called. Dad was putting on his coat so he could drive out and wait with me. No, I said. Why have two of us in the ditch?
Another driver stopped. All of the pickups towered over mine, some of them chugging diesel. Started to feel like I was driving a toy truck. Make-believe truck. Perfect for California, at least the California that Wisconsinites envision.
And a guy driving a flatbed truck with his wife’s SUV on it. She’d wrangled with a guardrail today, he said.
My tow truck showed up, two hours after we called. A hundred and five bucks later I was free.
Dad got me snow tires for Christmas.
A Christmas miracle.
Friday, January 2, 2009
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