I took these photographs from inside my husband’s Saab while he was washing the car last night. The sun was setting, and the glow from taillights and street lamps illuminated the parking lot. The effect was softened through the filter of a soap-drenched window. They remind me of Impressionist paintings.
“Blessed are they who see beautiful things in humble places where other people see nothing.”-Camille Pissarro
Give me some Penguin Books swag, sit back, and watch the magic unfold.
![A Room of One's Own Mug and Assorted Penguin Pencils [Completely Unsharpened]](https://onetrackmuse.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/20121230_163347.jpg?w=584&h=876)
A Room of One’s Own Mug and Assorted Penguin Pencils [Completely Unsharpened]
Penguin by Design A Cover Story 1935-2005 by Phil Baines
Ho ho ho
I will forgive you for thinking that, when not writing, I like to put things on dogs’ heads and photograph them looking put-upon and silly. If you are one of the few readers of this blog who think otherwise, go here.
This time, it is slightly different. This dog, you see, is not my dog. His name is Zero, and he belongs to my best friend. I did not plop the offending reindeer antlers headband on his sweet, sweet head. I am, however, an opportunist: I snapped this pic with my phone camera approximately three seconds later. Fear not. He still loves his favourite Auntie. I think.
Zero the lead reindog.
“The greatest pleasure of a dog is that you may make a fool of yourself with him, and not only will he not scold you, but he will make a fool of himself, too.”-Samuel Butler
“Drink because you are happy, but never because you are miserable.”-G.K. Chesterton
A Cup of Good Cheer
She’s a calico with excellent taste.
Zizi Jeanmaire digs The Beats, too. After much deep feline reflection she marked out, with a lazy lick to the page, the following passage as her favourite: “My roshi said when the word comes out in a flash it’s not a word, it’s your true mental state; when you search for the right word, it will never be the right word.” (Gary Snyder to Allen Ginsberg, 4 September 1961)
Mansion Original
When I snapped this image in October, I wasn’t too impressed with the result. It didn’t spark my imagination, which is always a bad sign. I was in a hurry and used my camera phone, which was zoomed in a bit too much. Even though this house has stories to tell, I didn’t feel any of them that day. My creativity felt closed off. Since I’m a writer, and not a photographer, it’s normal if I am not immediately able to capture a visual; I tuck everything away until the time is right. I’m familiar enough with this house, which is in my home city, to know that the intuitive call to my creative process would happen, eventually and beautifully.
After a conversation with Jennifer from Quirk’n It, I decided to wade through the 1300+ photos on my phone. When I saw this one, it struck me differently than it did two months ago. I was playing around with some effects, when it hit me: for the last few months, I’ve been writing a short story featuring this house in triplicate. The house is not the star, nor was it the impetus for the piece, but it’s there just the same: altered, transformed, re-imagined into something else. All before I took the photograph. Remembered from previous glimpses, from some unremembered or unnoticed tucking away.
*”Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.”-Edgar Allan Poe
**This is an excerpt from my short story, The Brothers’ Boneyard. No stealing, please.
“There are always flowers for those who want to see them.”-Henri Matisse
Temporary planters at Fountain Square.
[All images are in the Public Domain and our courtesy of Wikimedia Commons]
What follows is a mad cyclone of some of the oddly delectable bits and bobs setting my head and heart on fire this early November, vintage-style.
A Small Press Life: Books. Art. Writing. Life. Tea. 