Vanishing Point -- Every picture has a Story...

Laura Jayne has created a writing community over at her blog: Pictures, Poetry and Prose. I don't respond to all the prompts, but sometimes I do. Many of the blogs I follow, I found after reading a good post on LJ's site.

I like people who think critically and creatively. When I read their writings, I begin to see the world as they see it. That's fun.

On Saturday Laura Jayne offered this picture and prompt:



Photo by Lorelei
Visit her photo gallary at - http://www.pbase.com/birdseye
and her blog at - http://www.westcoastwriters.blogspot.com/
~
Suggested prompt...
~
Tell the story of or create a poem for this amazing photo.

Here was my offering:

Vanishing Point

"Hard to believe there's only five more weeks of high school," commented Maria, her breath adding to the early morning fog along the riverbank.

"I can't believe it either," uttered Frank as he hunkered along, trying to stay warm against the penetrating dampness.

"And what were we thinking, ending our stint with a zero-period class?"

"Obviously we weren't thinking very clearly."

Maria laughed. "I'm going to miss you Frank."

"Ditto girl. But this is what we've been working hard for: we're both heading off to different colleges in the fall."

"You're right. Goodbye sleepy river town. Goodbye factory job. Goodbye future-less friends."

"We're in the mist now, but the dawn's coming. This fog will disappear, and so will we."

"You're such a poet! I'm the artist. Let's see: Gray hues will yield to bright colors. Vanishing points will give way to new beginnings, new perspectives."

"Oh Maria, I'm going to miss our talks and our walks."

Maria smiled in the mist, "Me too."

They walked on together in the predawn fog, each lost in their own thoughts, each enjoying the white space that punctuated their friendship, both moving on... towards the vanishing point.

Pleasant Surprises

Susan Boyle burst on the scene as a pleasant surprise. Unapparent, unrecognized, less-than-young, yet possessing a secret: she had more that met the eye.

Until I wrote that sentence, I hadn't made the connection to another unapparent, unrecognized, past-his-prime person who burst on the scene: Jesus of Nazareth. His contemporaries said, "Can anything good come out of Nazareth?"




Evidently the answer is "Yes."

This post began in my mind as a post on another recent pleasant surprise for me: Oceanside, California! And that's where I'm going now... or where I went... week before last.

In the coming days you'll see a number of coastal shots. They are all from a gem of a city in northern San Diego county, just 60 short miles south of where I live.



My wife and I traded into a timeshare just two blocks from the beach. I was hoping for the best, but expecting less. Two decades ago, my wife's cousin moved from Oceanside to Carlsbad (a neighboring town). This cousin informed me that Oceanside was, well, suspect in comparison to Carlsbad. I had stayed in Carlsbad before and it is a nice resort town.

Oceanside is a beach town: relaxed, a bit weathered, and under-rated!




We could hear and see the surf from several of our second story windows. Yes, we had to look through the telephone wires to see the surf, sunsets, joggers, walkers, and pier in the distance. The sunsets were juxtaposed against the infrastructure of our telephone age. I can live with that. It was beautiful.

The unit was a one bedroom, 850 square foot affair in a small gated complex called Aquamarine Villas. We used the jacuizi, the gas BBQs, and the pool. They had an internet station (not wireless yet), a pool table, air hockey and foosball games, plus an assortment of videos, books, games, and surf "toys."

All this was only an hour away! Who knew?

We hope to go back another time. It was close, quiet, charming, friendly, and slightly aged.

It was a pleasant surprise, like Susan Boyle... or even like the biggest surprise of all time -- Jesus of Nazareth. (He's the one who conquered death... Yes, on Easter. But that was so "last week.")

Some have suggested a bigger surprise is coming... the Second Coming of Jesus Christ!

(And you thought the jaws dropped when the saw and heard Susan Boyle! You ain't seen nothing yet.)




I wonder what else I've been missing? I'm on the look-out for more... pleasant surprises. How about you?

Happy Sunday!

Mission Accomplished!

Whew. That was a busy week.



I’ve been home a week from vacation, and I just put away the suitcases. Partly I was resting my back, which is about 95% better, but also it’s been a busy week at work.

I do my best to not bring work home with me, but there are some weeks, where it happens. This was one of those weeks.

We had a saying amongst the data processing managers that went like this, “In order for a project to succeed, someone has to bleed.” When deadlines approach, when crunch-time arrives, then it’s time to “Get ‘er done!” I had two of those days this week.

Whew. Mission Accomplished.



It remains to be seen if things quiet down sufficiently to blog more regularly, but I anticipate that it will.

After my recent vacation, I made a list of topics I want to write on. I still have that list!



Don’t get me wrong, I’m still finding some time for rest, relaxation, and recreation, but work temporarily has encroached on my fun-time.

But I’ll be back! Just you wait.

Another Vial of Sand

I'm back from a week's vacation. I've been catching up on reading what my blogging friends have been up to. Now it's time to turn my attention back to my own blog.

Well, sort of. I'm borrowing from a post I did elsewhere, but want to share it here with my own set of readers. It starts with a picture:



Photo by Kathryn
for more of Kathryn's photography visit -
http://www.pbase.com/katwilkens

Over at Pictures, Poetry, and Prose the above captioned picture appeared along with this suggested prompt:

It was the sand of ______ that she would remember because...

Mixing fact, fiction, what-if, and some creative license, I came up with this:


The Other Vial of Sand...

Fifteen clear boxes of labeled sand. They were relegated to the family room shelf for display, clumsily inscribed in her husband’s bland printing. In her separate bedroom, she had her treasures, it wasn’t the gems, the jewelry, or the rings, but it was the small vial containing the sand of southern Utah that she would remember and treasure because of him… a different him.

They had met at college – a friend of a friend. Soon they were more than that, much more. The school year was ending, and she had convinced him to join her for a month-long, transcontinental road trip. He loved to drive; she had the car and her mother’s financial backing. His mom didn’t like the idea, but hers did.

His mom had moral problems with the arrangement, and worried about unplanned pregnancies.

Her mom appreciated the security that the young man would provide her daughter on the cross-country trip that would culminate at her son’s home in northern Florida.

The trip started out great. It was the best trip she’d ever take despite the lack of glamour.

They drove to the Grand Canyon, camped there for four days, and made a three-day hike into the canyon. Together they saw Phantom Ranch located on the river’s edge where they ate over-priced five-dollar peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Hiking out, they ventured off the main trail to Ribbon Falls. They drank in the beauty, and they showered together in the falls.

From the North Rim, the plan was to drive north through Kanab to Utah’s Zion and Bryce canyons before heading east. But on the way, they took an unplanned side trip to the Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park. It was nearly deserted, and they took advantage.

Salmon was her favorite color. This was what she would call her “salmon colored summer.”

The vial of soft, wind blown, pink coral sand that she kept in her jewelry box was like a magic lamp, providing a gateway to pleasant memories, to another time, to another place, and to another man.

Ahhh… that was the best part… a different man… the man of the salmon-colored summer, not the man of fifteen clear boxes of labeled sand.

King of the hill?

Today's post is a copy of what I wrote over at Pictures, Poetry & Prose. The picture was provided by Brett Trafford and the prompt was: Start or end your writing today with this line... Under the spreading branches...
The picture:



Here is my offering...

I Stand Alone?

I stand alone atop this hill.

I’ve given millions of leaves to the earth over seventy-five years,
But none remain. They’ve all blown away.

I’ve shed tens of thousands of seeds, year after year,
But none have escaped the grazing animals.

I’ve seen thousands of sunrises,
But I never grow tired of them.

What am I? Alone and lonely?
No.

I am a host.

Under my spreading branches
Children have played.

Under my spreading branches
Picnics have been made.

Under my spreading branches
Young have been born.

Under my spreading branches
Old have lain down for the last time.

I am a host,
To man and beast.

I am a host,
To bird and bug.

I am a sight for sore eyes.
I am a reminder of pleasant days.

Beneath my boughs,
Life happens.

Over and over again.

I am a host.

What was the highlight of your week?

A fellow blogger drew a blank today for a topic, so she invited questions from her readers. My question to her was, "What was the highlight of your week?"

I've used a variation of this question for the last 30 years with friends and family. Usually, I ask, "What was the highlight of your day?" This question usually eliminates a shallow, glib reply, and instead gives birth to meaningful interaction. (So don't use this question is you're not interested in conversing.)

The question also is uplifting. It makes the person reflect on the best, the good, the upbeat, the affirming parts of life that are often overshadowed by the other stuff.

The question, once posed, is often thrown back-at-ya! That's okay too. It's a good question.

The highlight of my past week, amidst the hustle and bustle of end-of-quarter grading, was an unexpected parent comment.

In educating youth, my aim is to make a 30-year impact on some of them. That means, 30 years from now, they'll look back on our classroom co-experience and say, "That changed my life for the better. That was a watershed experience in my life. Thank you Mr. Evans, wherever you are."

Because I aim for such a response, I get a few. This week a woman was snapping pictures around campus. I engaged her in conversation, partly for security reasons, and partly out of curiosity.



In the course of our conversation, she realized that I had been her daughter's math teacher two years ago. Her daughter loved my class. She talked about it at dinner. "Mr. Evans made math fun, and he helped me get it."



This mom has two children. She also mentioned her son's name which sounded familiar. Since I teach Special Education, I don't have a lot of students. My sphere of student interaction is somewhat small. But for two years at the junior high, I taught a class in creative problem solving. After mentioning that, the mom said, "Did you teach the class where they fixed wooden school benches and stuff?"



"Yeah, that was me."

"He loved that class."

That class was designed to teach kids to become CPSrs for life. (Creative Problem Solvers for life.)

Two children, one grateful mom: the highlight of my week.

Simple Pains: My Low Back

"Better living through pharmaceuticals!" That's the battle cry of a friend of mine who exercises regularly and knows the anti-inflammatory, pain-relieving, over-the-counter remedies for "simple pains." My simple pain is an aching lower back.

It's all my fault. I felt the first twinge while I was riding a bike about a week ago. (This is a real-life bike, not a stationary one.) One of the disadvantages to a real bike, is a real bump. That's what I hit, and it jarred my back. It was just a little "ouch." I finished my ride.

That night I thought I'd work that soreness out with some back stretching. Hmmm...

I woke up with a somewhat tired back from too much stretching.

Later in my morning routine, I did the silliest thing: I bent over to put on my socks. Major ouch!

That "major ouch" had my attention for about three days. But "better living through pharmaceuticals" rescued me, and I was feeling better in a day or two.

So when last Sunday came, I pushed it a little: a little vacuuming, a little lawn mowing, a little car washing, and a little weeding.
It was all... a little too much. The fact that I couldn't hardly finish the weeding was my first clue.

Three days later I'm able to get up out of a chair, but verrrryyyyy slowly.

I couldn't roll over in bed, and in the morining I have to roll out of bed onto the floor.

I'm using my feet to do common chores, so I don't have to bend. I had my wife help me put on my socks and shoes this morning. Getting out of a car is a process.

I over did it. I'm paying for my self-abuse with some simple pain.

But the lawn looks nice, and so do the flower beds. The car was peppered with bird-poo within three hours! Grrrr...

Simple pain subsides; however...

I think I'm abandoning the real bike, so I can do my real chores without crippling myself for three days at a time. Besides, I had to cancel my racquetball because of my sore back. That's just not right!

I can't let simple pain rob me of my simple pleasures!

It simply wouldn't be right!