Pro Artz

ODE TO ELMIRA COLLEGE

2011-12-29T04:43:00.002-05:00

In response to the writing prompt: "Write a poem that incorporates the color purple" on Mama’s Losin it blog

Ode to Elmira College

When arriving at the dorm,

you’ll know things aren’t quite the norm.

You’ll stop and stare,

and become aware,

that there’s purple, PURPLE, everywhere.

Perhaps college funds have been misspent

to paint a purple heating vent.

Groundskeepers wear their purple hats

utilizing purple carts that

create a purple habitat.

You’ll use purple-painted bathroom stalls

while purple salt prevents icey falls.

One walks on purple rugs and floors,

buys purple M&Ms at local stores

and purple paint covers all the doors.

Every fabric, printed or bare,

covers a purple sofa or chair.

Students awake to purple dawns

hearing purple mowers on campus lawns

and use purple-ized Port-a-Johns.

Does it make any sense

to have a purple chain-link fence?

Purple passions do enable

purple linens on dining tables

and purple print on bookstore labels.

In purple-tiled halls, co-eds waddle

sipping from purple water bottles.

Purple AV carts and screens

fill classrooms with purple-tinted scenes

causing troubling purple dreams.

Purple petals on purple flowers

bloom purple blossoms hour by hour.

Am I being a total jerk

when I begin to eschew and shirk

Elmira’s unusual purple quirk?

I’m sorry, Elmira, but I can’t cope

with dispensers filled with purple soap.

Soon, I admit, I'm not a fan

of purple trash-filled refuse cans

and Elmira-purple minivans.

And who would make such a fuss

to demand a purple-painted bus?

Excessive purply room decor

is just too much to ignore.

I may shun purple evermore.

It takes only a scant few days

to have your fill of this purple craze.

Purple will become a bore,

something you will soon abhor,

and then you’ll shout, “No more! No more!”

This is all true. You can't make up this stuff, folks. To see more of my photos of Elmira purple, click HERE.

MEETING OF THE WATERS -odd shot

2011-12-12T22:19:00.007-05:00

"Meeting of the Waters"
near Manaus, Brazil
08/21/11

This image is in response to

ODD SHOTS

Click on the link to post your own image

or see what others have posted.

With a population of approximately 1.8 million, Manaus is the capital of the state of Amazonas. There is an unusual natural phenomena that occurs when the dark, warm water of the Rio Negro, which comes from the northern jungle area, meets the light, cold water of the Rio Solimões from the Andes to the south. The difference in temperatures and current speeds causes the waters to remain separated for several miles until they eventually mix to form the Amazon River.

The Rio Negro, which is on the Manaus side of the parallel rivers, is also very acidic, and thus doesn't support mosquito life. Despite temperatures that reached 108 degrees while I was there, I had no problem with them. Dehydration, yes. Mosquitos, no.

A popular tourist attraction is a 4-5 hour trip to see the "Meeting of the Waters" and travel through the rain forest.

A Walk in the Rain Forest
Before stopping for lunch at a floating restaurant, we
took a short walk through the jungle on this boardwalk.
That's me, walking away from the camera.
(Photo: Eric Lifrak, used with permission)

Me, Erika, and Brunie
(Brunie and I worked together in Brazil over 40 years ago.)
After returning from our boat trip, Erika, the daughter of an
old friend (Nancides, now deceased) drove us to a lovely spot to
view the sun setting over the river.
Then we had wonderful Brazilian ice cream that comes in
hundreds of exotic flavors: mango, tapioca, passion fruit, açaí,
coconut, coffee-chocolate-rum, pineapple. I wish I would
have had the time to sample them all.
(Photo by Brunie's husband Erik Lifrak, used with permission.)

Sunset On the Rio Negro

SHADY GARDEN

2011-12-11T06:36:00.001-05:00

Jardim Botânico (Botanical Garden)
Rio de Janeiro - Brazil
August 30, 2011

This image is in response to

SHADOW SHOT SUNDAY

Click on the link to post your own image

or see what others have posted.

I haven't contributed to Shadow Shot Sunday for a while. I've been busy with other projects and some travel. I had worked in Brazil 1967-69 as a Peace Corps Volunteer and finally had the opportunity to return this past August. I got some great shadow shots, especially in the Botanical Garden in Rio.

You can read about my return to my old Peace Corps site in Brazil this past August in RETURN TO GLÓRIA on my other blog.

BREAKING DAWN

2011-11-27T07:24:00.001-05:00

These images are in response to

Sky Watch Friday

Click on the link and post your own photo

or see what others have posted.

All four photos were taken just after 7:00 AM on 11/26/11 in western Pennsylvania. As I was driving, at first I saw a bright red glow at the base of trees on the horizon. I pulled over to take photos. As I watched, the sky changed from almost black to pink and blue in less than four minutes.

My Life's Seven Wonders

2011-11-17T00:28:00.008-05:00

In response to the writing prompt: "List your life’s Seven Wonders. Describe the most amazing 7 things you’ve seen with your own two eyes." on Mama’s Losin it blog.


1. I visited Yosemite National Park during the summer of 1966. It was the first time I remember being stunned my the beauty of a place. Although I wasn't quite 21, before leaving on my trip, my parents had given me an impressive 35 mm camera as an early birthday gift.


2. The first time I visited Rio de Janeiro, was in July of 1967. I lived & worked in Brazil's northeast until 1969. I visited Rio again in 1968, 1969, and returned in 2011. From Corcovado, one can see the entire city, including Pão de Açucar ---Sugar Loaf mountain (upper right in the photo.) Brazilians refer to Rio as the cidade maravilhosa ---the marvelous city. Check out this link for a 360 degree view of Rio from above Corcovado: http://multimedia.odiaonline.net/cristo/cristo-360/

3. Machu Picchu, which rests high in the Andes in Peru, has been my favorite place on earth since I visited it in July of 1969 on my way home from living in Brazil. I roamed in and out of the roofless stone temples and shrines, across plazas and open courtyards, climbed terraces, admired steps carved into the natural rocks. A silence prevailed, with tourists talking in hushed tones, or not speaking at all, as if in a cathedral. The effect was breathtaking, peaceful, arcane ---almost magical. I asked for a wake up call to view the sun rise over the Andes the following morning ---and snapped this photo.

4. In October 2005, I visited a friend who had recently purchased
a home in Sedona, AZ. The red-rock formations are
beautiful, casting lovely and varied shadows at different
times of the day.


5. During my trip to Sedona, I was able to cross one item from my Bucket List when I visited the Grand Canyon.

6. Amazonas, Brazil: In August 2011 I was finally able to return to Brazil
---crossing one more thing from my list. I had always
regretted not visiting the Amazon region while
living in Brazil, so I vowed to visit on this trip,
crossing another item from my list. This photo
depicts an incredible natural phenomena, the
"Meeting of the Waters" where the waters
from 2 rivers, one brown and one nearly black,
meet and stay separated for several
kilometers before they join to form the Amazon.

7. Another of my regrets was not visiting Iguaçu when living
in Brazil, so on my return trip in 2011, I visited the
spectacular falls on both the Brazilian and Argentenean sides
(one more item erased from my Bucket List)
and enjoyed the Bird Park on the Brazilian side, where visitors
can enter cages to get close to and photograph exotic birds.
I look slightly bedraggled at the bird park.
I had just come from the falls where everyone gets soaked
by the overspray. A rain jacket helped, but only a little.

Other great places on my Bucket List I would love to visit (in no particular order): Yellowstone National Park, Glacier National Park, New Zealand, Alaska, Zion National Park, Smokey Mountains, Florence & Tuscany (Italy), Sweden, Vancouver B.C., Portugal.... an ever-growing list.

RETURN TO GLÓRIA

2011-11-03T06:38:00.011-04:00

In response to the writing prompt: "Did you create a list of 22 things you’ve done in your life last week? This week, choose one item from your list and elaborate!" on Mama’s Losin it blog.

Well, my bad! I didn’t create the list of 22 things last week, but I’ll elaborate on one thing I did in August, because it is something that would have made my list.

Being a Peace Corps Volunteer was one of the defining experiences of my life. I spent 2 years in Brazil, living and working in Glória, a small town in the interior of the state of Sergipe, without benefit of full-time electricity, running water, a sewage system, TV, phone service, paved roads, hospital, nor university. There was no industry and only a few small businesses. I left Brazil and the Peace Corps after 2 years of service in July of 1969.

Over the intervening years, I had always wanted to return to Sergipe. Brunie (the other Volunteer who served in Glória) and I kept in touch and discussed traveling to Brazil often, but there was always some reason we couldn’t. Besides work, family, and money issues, we had lost touch with our Brazilian friends and former students.

Jorge Henrique (striped shirt) and his wife Veronica (top left photo between Brunie and me.)
Brunie's husband Eric is with Brunie and Jorge in the lower right.
(Photos: Jorge Henrique and Veronica, used with permission.)

I won’t go into the details (you can find them HERE) but finally in 2009, 40 years after leaving Brazil, I found the email address of one person in Glória. Even though Jorge Henrique, a poet and professor, hadn’t been born when I lived there, he helped me contact others and soon Brunie and I were invited to visit Sergipe. We were told all we needed to do was pay for airfare ---we would be provided with a place to stay.

How could we refuse?

It took nearly 2 years until we could both travel (Brunie from southern CA, while I left from PA.)

On August 8th, 2011, she and I (and her husband Eric) met at the airport in Rio de Janeiro to catch a flight to Aracajú, the capital of Sergipe. We expected former students Idalécio and Célia and her sister Alcione to meet us. We were shocked to find more than 20 people at the airport, clapping, shouting, whistling ---and even a professional videographer to record our arrival.

Friends, colleagues and former students meet us at the airport in Aracajú.
Brunie is in the front row in black holding a sign and
I am beside her in the aqua shirt.
Celia, front row left, and her family hosted us in Aracajú.
Teresa and José Augusto (back row behind Irene in the striped shirt) hosted us in Glória.
About five people who greeted us are missing from the photo.
(Photo: Eric Lifrak, used with permission)

Aracajú is now immense. Because most of the city has been built in the last 40 years, it is relatively new and therefore clean and modern with lovely parks and beaches. It is one of the best-kept secrets in Brazil ---a beautiful unspoiled and safe resort city.

One evening, we were told we were meeting "a few people" for dinner. Another 20 or so showed up. We were honored with several speeches and one former student Gil, now a professional singer, sang for us.

Gil sings about everlasting friendship.
(Photo: Eric Lifrak, used with permission)

At the dinner reception for us at a churrascaria (bar-b-que restaurant) in Aracajú.
I am sitting (in green) at the front. Neuzice and Idalécio (behind Brunie) made speeches.
Again, a few people are missing from the photo.
(Photo: Eric Lifrak, used with permission)

In addition, many people stopped by Célia's beautiful home to visit us and others invited us to visit them. We also met others at the apartment of Idalécio and his wife.

In Brazil, one can never eat enough to please one’s hosts, so after eating wonderful meals at Célia’s home, we were offered more food everywhere we went. Sisters Neuzice and Euridice took us to the beach for fresh crabs, then wanted us to have another meal at their home. (Already full of delicious crabs, we politely declined.) Idalécio and his wife Graça took us to a great restaurant for feijoada, the Brazilian national dish. Irene and Dona Guiomar both had us to their apartments for scrumptious lunches.

One former student, Valmiro, now a doctor, invited us to a restaurant to celebrate his birthday and informed us that his first child was named Bruna Carolina in our honor.

Célia's brother Wilson who owns a fabulous studio, where he is a videographer creating commercials and promotional videos, had his driver take us to many places including his farm in the country.

On our fifth day in Sergipe, we moved from Aracajú to Glória to stay with Teresa and José Augusto (both former students) in their lovely home. Again, we were fed wonderful Brazilian foods and visited by many old friends.

On Saturday night, more than 50 people showed up for another dinner reception where the former school director of the ginásio where we taught, now in his eighties, made an eloquent speech about us. It was all quite embarrassing and yet a bit thrilling.

Dinner reception in Glória.

We received tons of gifts ---luckily I hadn’t filled my suitcases. One entire piece of my luggage was overstuffed with presents ---several CDs of Brazilian music, including one from Gil, a DVD of Idalécio’s singing group and DVDs about Sergipe, tote bags, key chains and other small souvenirs of the region, a hand-knit sweater, a blouse with hand-made lace, several linens embroidered by local crafts people, T-shirts, a hat, fancy soaps, cologne, hand-decorated dish and bath towels, several books including a beautiful book of photos of Sergipe and two books of Jorge Henrique's poems, a wood-cut print, sculptures created by local folk artists ---one made by Veio, who had been a pre-teen neighbor when we had lived there.

Gifts were totally unnecessary. My best gift was just being there and seeing everyone again.

Another photo from the reception in Glória.
Seu Manoel, the former school director is on the right.
Jorge Henrique and his wife Veronica are in the foreground.

Glória has progressed. All the things I stated above that didn’t exist when I lived there are there now. There is even a cell tower in the middle of the city. The town has many businesses and several industries. It always had a market on Saturdays, but now has a huge outdoor market from Friday through Saturday that attracts buyers from three states. Whereas few vehicles existed there in 1969, the place is teaming with cars, trucks, and zillions of motorcycles, fewer horses, mules, and donkeys, but none of the familiar ox carts that used to travel the streets and roads.

Many things came together in the late 1960s. I know I was part of it, but without all the other happenings, the town may not have progressed. The National Department of Works Against Droughts built a dam to hold enough water to last through rainless years. A high school was established a few years before we arrived. A branch of the Bank of Brazil opened, providing loans for farmers and small businesses. A silo was built to store farmers’ crops so the market would not be glutted when they were harvested. An agricultural assistance agency provided an agronomist and a home economist (Irene and later Maria José.) A progressive woman, Dona Guiomar (Célia’s mother) became the elementary school director. The Brazilian Legion of Assistance started chicken cooperatives. A health center was opened and a doctor hired to visit one morning/week accompanied by Helen, a Peace Corps nurse. Nancides, an extremely intelligent, hard-working, eloquent, and humorous bank worker who also taught night classes at the high school, became the president of a Municipal Commission set up to make positive changes in the town. Brunie arrived in 1966 and started literacy classes. I arrived one year later and took over Brunie’s high school teaching duties so that she could concentrate on health and sanitation projects.

Best of all, despite there being no colégio nor universidade in the town, nearly all of our students managed to continue their educations. They are doctors, lawyers, professors, engineers, agronomists, social workers, nurses, teachers. Some work for the state’s health service. One is a meteorologist. One became a minister of agriculture. One was the first woman to work for the Bank of Brazil in Sergipe and when she retired, became a lawyer.

If there was any doubt that we had made an impact, the doubts are gone.

Yet, as a Peace Corps Volunteer, I gained so much more than I left in Glória. I have thought about Brazil and especially about Glória nearly every day since 1969. I consider myself extremely fortunate to have had the opportunity to live and work there, to learn Portuguese, to know and appreciate the wonderful Brazilians and their culture, and also the opportunity to return 42 years later.

And while I was in Brazil in August, I decided I was going to do two things I had always regretted missing. First we visited the Amazon region. We were able to visit Nancides' daughter Erika in Manaus. Erika's father had died when she was only 11, so she was happy to meet us and hear stories about her father, even before her mother knew him. Then, while Brunie and Eric headed home, I went on to Iguaçu Falls.

And although, the rainforest and waterfalls are spectacular natural wonders, nothing compares to the reception we received from our friends and former students in Sergipe.

If you are interested, you can read many stories about my experiences as a Peace Corps Volunteer on my other blog: A Little “Peace” of Brazil

Iguaçu/Iguazu Falls - Brazil/Argentina

2011-10-14T03:27:00.007-04:00

Iguaçu (Portuguese) or Iguazú (Spanish) Falls are on the border of Brazil and Argentina and close to Paraguay.

Below find two slide shows, one from the Brazilian side of the falls and another from Argentina.

The first presentation is longer, because I had more time to spend on the Brazilian side. I caught a bus across the street from my hotel, which took me to Brazil's lovely welcome center with colorful buses to take one to the actual falls. One descends and climbs lots of steps and takes wooden or metal walkways to see the falls. Afterwards, I walked across the road to the Bird Park where one can enter cages with exotic birds. (See the Bird Park slideshow HERE.)

The following day, I caught a bus from Foz do Iguaçu, Brazil, went through customs at the border, exchanged dollars for pesos, took a bus to the city of Puerto Iguazu, then another to the falls. It was a rainy day, and not as nice for taking photos as it was the previous day.

By the way, even when it was not raining, the overspray from the falls, even when not close to them, is enough to get one quite wet. The first morning had been cool, so I threw a nylon parka into my knapsack, not even thinking I would need it to stay dry, but it came in handy, although plastic raincoats were on sale on both sides of the falls.

The Argentinean falls were fun because of the coati, an animal of the racoon family, which roamed everywhere. (I have seen videos of coati on the Brazilian side, too, but I didn't see any myself.) In Argentina, they wandered among the tourists and were quite tame. Despite many signs about not feeding the animals, I saw many tourists doing so. Some of the Argentinean falls were wide and spectacular like the Brazilian ones, but some were narrow and surrounded by vegetation. I felt more as if I were in a rain forest than when viewing the Brazilian falls. But they were both spectacular to see. (Be sure to check out the very short video at the bottom of this post.)

These falls just go on and on. They were one of the highlights of my trip.

I had always regretted missing Iguaçu when I lived in Brazil 40+ years ago, so I knew I had to visit there on this trip ---my first time back since 1969.

Iguaçu Falls - Brazil Slideshow: Carol’s trip from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, United States to Foz do Iguaçu (near Foz de Iguacu), State of Parana, Brazil was created by TripAdvisor. See another Foz de Iguacu slideshow. Create your own stunning slideshow with our free photo slideshow maker.

Iguazu Falls - Argentina Slideshow: Carol’s trip to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, United States was created by TripAdvisor. See another Pittsburgh slideshow. Create a free slideshow with music from your travel photos.

The sound of the roaring water is almost deafening. I included a very short (27-second) You Tube video to demonstrate the sound and the enormous amount of water rushing over the falls. This is just one small section of the falls. Imagine this amount of water multiplied by perhaps 100 rushing over the falls.

BOOKS --Recent Non-fiction Favorites

2011-10-13T03:36:00.002-04:00

I have read several books in the past year that have stuck with me. They left such an impact that I think about them almost daily ---and recommend them to anyone who will listen to my rave reviews.

-------
The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot

The author's narrative reminds me of a detective novel, with the writer searching for clues to solve the mystery of the HeLa cells that were taken from Henrietta before she died of cancer in 1951 and how they have aided medical research ever since. Skloot needed to research the lives of Henrietta Lacks and her family members and gain their trust, a difficult task because the family had little reason to trust outsiders.

It was one of those books I could not stop reading. It also brought up issues I had never considered —--that our cells and tissues can be used without our knowledge or approval.

In August, I roamed airport shops while waiting for a flight from Foz do Iguaçu (Brazil) to Rio de Janeiro ---and found a Portuguese translation A Vida Imortal de Henrietta Lacks. I'm so glad the book is being sold worldwide, for it was not only an entertaining read, it was an important book about medical ethics.

-----
At Home by Bill Bryson

Bryson, born in Iowa (coincidentally) the year Henrietta Lacks died, had been living in England for many years in an old house. In this book, he roams from room to room, telling the story or how each room, as well as the things in it, came to be.

Bryson's writing is informative but also compelling and extremely witty. It is history, archeology, etymology, sociology, science, invention, and humor all rolled into one.

-----
Turn right at Machu Picchu by Mark Adams

I visited Machu Picchu in 1969 and ever since, I have been fascinated by its history and its mysteries. I have read several accounts of Hiram Bingham III's life and his "discovery" of what many termed the Lost City of the Incas. (We all know that Bingham discovered the archeological site in the same manner that Columbus "discovered" America, as if no indigenous people ever lived in either place.) This book caught my eye at the library because of my prior interest in the subject.

Author Mark Adams worked for several adventure publications, but never engaged in any adventure of his own. But after reading the controversy over whether Bingham, the "discoverer" of Machu Picchu had stolen important Peruvian artifacts and whether or not Yale was obliged to return them to Peru, he decided to research the matter and follow in Bingham's footsteps.

"Have you ever seen Mr. Travel Guy? He's the fellow who strides through international airports dressed like he's flying off to hunt wildebeests - shirt with dozens of pockets, drip-dry pants that zip off into shorts, floppy hat with a cord pulled tight under the chin in case a twister blows through the baggage claim area. All of this describes exactly what I was wearing. I could have been trick-or-treating as Hemingway."

The book tells the tale of Adam's physically-demanding trek through Peru with an Australian guide, John Leivers, who seemed to be Bingham's kindred spirit. Adams interspersed his own story with the history of the Spanish takeover of the Incan Empire and Bingham's own treks through Peru in search of important archeological finds.

Adams has an entertaining writing style and seems to have adopted Bill Bryson's humor to make this an informative and humorous read.

-----
Unfamiliar Fishes by Sarah Vowell

I haven't finished reading this book yet, so I will withhold a review of it (although I have greatly enjoyed Vowell's previous works.) Vowell, much like Bryson and Adams, has a quirky style of humor which makes her take on history engaging.

This book tells how New England missionaries, led by none other than Hiram Bingham (yes, that Hiram Bingham's grandfather,) attempted to Christianize the paradise then known as the Sandwich Islands, now Hawaii, and make it into an uptight version of New England. Missionaries strived to prevent the native women from having sex with seamen ---and thus prevent the obvious diseases they would contract ----yet the natives believed that it was the missionaries who would "pray us all to death."

I mention this book here because the day I returned Turn Right at Machu Picchu to the library, Vowell's book was waiting for me on the hold shelf. As soon as she mentioned missionaries, I wondered if Hiram Bingham's grandfather and father (Hiram Bingham II) would come up ---and there they were.

Hiram III was expected to become a missionary, too, but he had other plans. He married Alfreda Mitchell (of the Tiffany family) which allowed him to become an adventurer on his meager university salary and father 8 sons between expeditions.

BOTANICAL GARDEN -Rio de Janeiro

2011-10-09T05:53:00.003-04:00

One of the highlights of my trip to Brazil in August (2011) was the Jardim Botânico in Rio de Janeiro.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Jardim Botânico - Rio de Janeiro Slideshow: Carol’s trip from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, United States to Rio de Janeiro, State of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil was created by TripAdvisor. See another Rio de Janeiro slideshow. Create a free slideshow with music from your travel photos.

Click on the full-screen icon for the best view.

AN INAPPROPRIATE TIME TO LAUGH

2011-09-14T20:34:00.005-04:00

In response to the writing prompt, "an inappropriate time to laugh" on Mama’s Losin it blog:

I was about twelve. My mother forced me out of bed.

In my semi-conscious state, I had just enough time to dress for church, but not enough time to eat. After Sunday School, my friend Susan and I headed for the church balcony, so we didn’t have to sit with our parents. The sermon was boring, as usual, and it seemed to drag on forever.

Then my stomach started to growl.

And it was loud.

Susan started to giggle. Then I did, too. Then it growled again, even louder. Pretty soon, we were holding our sides, trying not to laugh, but we just couldn’t stop. Every few minutes, we would calm down, and then my stomach would start up again. Tears rolled down our red cheeks as we tried to hold back our laughter.

My mother, who was on the main floor but within our sight, looked up to see what was going on. I got a good tongue-lashing afterward.

I have always thought church should be filled with more laughter and less solemnity. If it had been, I might still be dragging myself out of bed on Sunday mornings. Now, I prefer to attend the Sanctuary of Slumber.

Bird Park - Foz do Iguaçu, Brazil

2011-09-05T05:43:00.004-04:00

I just returned from a great trip to Brazil (August 7-31, 2011.) One of the highlights of my trip was the Parque das Aves (Bird Park) which is just a few minutes walking distance from the entrance to the Iguaçu National Park where I had just viewed the magnificent Iguaçu Falls. I will be posting photos from my trip as time permits, so please come back to see photos from other locations in Brazil.

Click on the arrow below to view the slide show.

Bird Park, Foz do Iguaçu, Brazil Slideshow: Carol’s trip from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, United States to Foz do Iguaçu (near Foz de Iguacu), State of Parana, Brazil was created by TripAdvisor. See another Foz de Iguacu slideshow. Create your own stunning slideshow with our free photo slideshow maker.

Click on the full-screen icon for the best view.

Airline Etiquette

2011-09-01T17:20:00.075-04:00

In response to the writing prompt, about Rules for Airline Etiquette on Mama’s Losin it blog:
(I was too late with my post to be included on the list on Mama Kat's blog, but wanted to post this here, anyway. Better late than never.)

I don't fly often, but I just returned from a month-long trip to Brazil in which I took 12 separate flights. Except for the final 2 flights on my return trip, every flight took off and landed late. (Sometimes due to fog or other weather, other times due to the plane being late from another location.)

Now, this was the perfect set-up for someone to drink too much in the airport bar, or become angry or worried that they would miss a connecting flight. Being on a cramped plane for long flights is not conducive to pleasant behavior, either. Of course, I couldn't see or hear everything/everyone, but to my knowledge, everyone behaved well. (Of course Brazilians are a patient bunch because everything runs late in Brazil.)

All but one flight attendant was great. (There were probably 36-40 of them on my 12 flights.) I know it is a tough job ---being nice to someone who is less than polite is difficult. They are trying to please, and some people simply can't be pleased.

Near Manaus, Amazonas
overlooking the Rio Solimões
which feeds into the Amazon
a few miles from the city.

My only complaint both on the planes and at airports is that the P.A. systems are so garbled ---and that, along with the noise of the plane ---meant that I could understand neither the Portuguese nor the English announcements. I speak Portuguese, but not like a native. And the English was generally spoken with a thick accent.

Such announcements should be spoken VERY SLOWLY and distinctly. On international flights, announcements could be posted on the TV screens throughout the cabins. Or they could be pre-recorded by someone with a very clear speaking voice.

Now, to the one flight-attendant exception. When my flight landed in the U.S. on my way home, it was announced that anyone going on to Canada, Asia or Europe would have to retrieve checked luggage ---it wouldn't automatically go to the next destination. I was going to another U.S. destination, so I thought that didn't apply to me. Then they made the announcement again and I thought they said "everyone" had to retrieve their luggage ---but it was garbled and I wasn't sure. Politely, I asked one flight attendant for clarification. She got testy and told me to pay attention to the announcements ---then, instead of answering my question, told me to ask another employee. (Maybe she didn't hear it either.)

On the other hand, when I was waiting for the bathroom on my overnight flight to Brazil, I had a conversation with flight attendant Alex about my upcoming trip (returning to Brazil after living there 42 years ago, to visit old friends and former students ---and then going on to destinations I had missed while living there.) Alex is a Brazilian, now living in the U.S. When I entered the plane on my way home, Alex was working that flight, and not only remembered me, but also wanted to hear about my trip. I was impressed. She must deal with thousands of people each month ---but she even remembered my name.

Thank you to all flight attendants for all you do to make flights as painless as possible under difficult conditions.

Now for my rules of airline etiquette:

1. Don't drink before your flight. Sloppy drunk passengers are, at best, annoying and, at worst, dangerous.

2. Greet flight staff as you enter the plane.

3. At least say hello, smile or nod to the person next to you, even if you prefer not to carry on a conversation.

4. If you prefer not to talk, take a book, paperwork, earphones, or blindfold with you to give others a signal you want to read, work, listen to your iPod, or sleep.

5. Understand that delays are not always avoidable. Remain calm; nothing you do or say will make the flight go faster. The airline will help you make a connection.

6. Help others to place or retrieve carryon luggage, especially if they are elderly or short.

7. Be nice to attendants. They are doing the best they can in tight quarters. Your pleasant attitude can make their day.

8. On overnight flights, turn off your personal reading light once everyone settles down. Take an audio book on an iPod in case you cannot sleep. At least you won't disturb others.

9. If you are in the aisle seat, let others know they can disturb you if they have to take a restroom break.

10. If you need to take many bathroom breaks yourself, request an aisle seat or offer to change seats with the person on the aisle.

11. If you see that family members are separated, offer to change seats so they can be together. (This will also prevent family members from crawling over you, shouting across an aisle, passing things over you, or otherwise disturbing you.)

12. Thank the flight crew when they do anything for you and especially when you leave the plane.

List of my 12 flights:

1. Pittsburgh to Atlanta (8/7/11) Delta
2. Atlanta to Rio de Janeiro (8/7/11-8/8/11) Delta
3. Rio to Aracajú (8/8/11) GOL (with a Brazil airpass)
(took a bus from Aracajú to Salvador 8/15/11)
4. & 5. Salvador to Brasilia to Manaus (8/19/11) GOL (with a Brazil airpass)
6. 7. & 8. Manaus to Brasilia to Curitiba to Foz do Iguaçu (8/23/11-8/24/11) GOL
(with a Brazil airpass)
9. & 10. Iguaçu to Curitiba to Rio (8/26/11) GOL (with a Brazil airpass)
11. Rio to Atlanta (8/30/11-8/31/11) Delta
12. Atlanta to Pittsburgh (8/31/11) Delta

THE SIMPLE THINGS

2011-07-21T04:48:00.011-04:00

In response to the writing prompt, “The Simple Things” on Mama’s Losin it blog:

Glória, 1967 (top) and 1969 (bottom)

There are times when I would chuck most of what I own, burn down the house, and start over, because sometimes the simple things are the best.

*****************

In the late 1960’s I was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Glória, a small town in the interior of Brazil. Brunie (another Volunteer) and I lived in a house that had 4 rooms: a sitting room, 2 bedrooms and a kitchen. We placed a table for eating in the wide hall that stretched from the front to the back of the house.

In the front room, we used our footlockers for seating. They rested on bricks (to keep them from touching the damp mud-brick floor.) We had a small table and chair there for a desk and used unfinished wooden chairs from our dining area when we needed more seating. We could hang a hammock diagonally from two adjacent walls for an overnight guest.

Each bedroom held a bed with a straw mattress and a mosquito net hanging from the lattice ceiling which supported our ceramic tile roof. We each had a small hand-made wardrobe and a tiny table next to each bed for a lamp.

The lamps were kerosene-powered. The town had electricity only four hours each evening, but our house, which we rented for a total of $5.00 ($2.50 each) per month, wasn’t wired for energia.

Once the town’s street lights were extinguished at 10:00 each night, one could see billions of stars in the southern-hemisphere skies.

The town had no sewage system, nor running water. Many larger homes held cisternas in back yards to catch and store rain water, but we needed to have water delivered to our home. A teenaged neighbor had a contraption for the back of his donkey which carried four large cans of water from the dam outside of town. Once he arrived at the house, we strained the water through a clean dishtowel into a waist-high ceramic jug to filter out leaves, small stones, and insects.

Water meant for cooking or drinking was boiled for 20 minutes, then put through a water filter. We boiled our water on a small stove with a propane tank attached to it. Most of our neighbors used wood-burning stoves.

We had a shower room, about 3-feet square, but we chose not to use it after my house-mate found a snake there one day. Instead, we heated water on our stove and poured it over our heads in the kitchen. The mud-brick floor slanted slightly toward the back entrance, so the water seeped under the door into our back yard, past the outhouse entrance and into the mato.

There were no telephones in town and no TVs. Many homes had refrigerators waiting for the full-time electricity that was scheduled to be powered up within a year. We had a temperamental kerosene-powered refrigerator.

We walked everywhere in town. If we needed to travel a short distance from town, we borrowed a horse or mule, unless we could catch a ride on one of the half-dozen cars in town. There was a bus three times a week into the capital city ---a drive which might have taken 90 minutes here, but on the dirt roads with frequent stops to pick up or dispatch passengers, stretched to four hours.

Yet, despite all of those “inconveniences” the town overcame its shortcomings with the warmth of its citizens. The Brazilians corrected our Portuguese, forgave our mistakes, shared their joys and sorrows, and treated us like daughters. I don't know that I have felt any more "at home" anyplace else.

I haven't been back to Glória since I left 4 decades ago. The town’s website shows a much larger city with a cell tower looming in the mato outside of town. The city's praças are filled with stunning tropical plants. Power lines are everywhere.

With TVs in most homes, probably fewer people spend evenings visiting with their neighbors. I’m sure the small circus that used to arrive annually, no longer visits. The nightly social event, gathering in the praça to watch the movemento, has doubtless disappeared.

Most likely street lights are left on all night. And with all that light, I am guessing one can no longer see the Southern Cross constellation quite as clearly in those big, beautiful, Brazilian skies.

There are times when I long for the simple life I lived in Glória. We had a roof over our heads, food to sustain us, boiled and filtered water, meaningful work, and friends. Really, what more do most of us need?

Despite the conveniences of modern technology, sometimes the simple things are still the best.

Glória, 2009
photo by Alcione (see her on the photo to the right)

-------

Alcione, c. 1967
youngest child of
Dona Guiomar,
(elementary-school
principal)
with brother & sisters

I will be visiting Glória in just a few weeks ---my first visit since I left in July of 1969. Check back for photos and new stories.

"What Price, Stupidity?"

2011-06-07T09:15:00.005-04:00

In 2008, I wrote a humorous essay in response to a writing prompt to "tell about your worst dental experience, ever." My story was about having my wisdom teeth pulled when I lived in Brazil. (Actually the procedure itself went fine. It was the getting home when I was all doped up on an anesthetic that was the problem.) I called it "What Price, Wisdom?" (It can be found on my other blog by clicking on the title.)

As of last Friday, I have a new dental story about oral surgery to repair receding gums.

The trouble began before I left home. My appointment was for 7:30a in the nearest large metro area. I had planned to leave at 5:50a to drive 45 minutes to my niece's place where I would park. From there, I could walk less than 2 blocks to catch a bus at 6:45 which would give me a free ride with my Medicare card. The bus would arrive at 7:20 leaving me more than enough time for the short walk to the dentist's office. For me this was preferable to driving into the city, finding a parking spot, and robbing a bank to pay for parking ---with a little leftover for the dental procedure.

But time got away from me and I suddenly realized it was 5:50 ---time to leave. I had taken a shower, applied makeup, and eaten breakfast, but still had to brush my teeth, don my shirt, grab a water bottle, and fill a cooler with ice packs (for my face after surgery) so I left 10 minutes later than I had planned. I was speeding and gripping the steering wheel for the entire 45-minute drive, afraid I would miss the bus. Of course if I had, I could have parked in the city. I ran from my niece's to the bus stop and crossed the street to the stop just as the bus arrived. Whew! Just made it!

The periodontist removed tissue from the roof of my mouth and grafted it on my gum line above or below three teeth. The "discomfort" (as it was understated in the dental brochure) started with the injection of novocain (or whatever numbing agent the dentist used) ---I thought the top of my head would come off from the pain. But after it took effect, the rest wasn't too terrible ---just a lot of pressure and the stitching thread cut the corner of my mouth a bit ---and of course there was blood. The procedure lasted about 90 minutes and by the time I reluctantly handed over a sack of money for the procedure and left with the ice pack the assistant gave me to use until I returned to my car & the additional icepacks in my cooler there ---I was feeling rather beat up.

Little did I know that "beat up" was the perfect term.

Despite following instructions to keep ice on my face most of the next 24 hours, by Friday afternoon I had a small light violet bruise between my chin and lower lip ---about the size of a dime. I bruise rather easily, so this was no surprise. My face was only slightly swollen.

By Friday night, the bruise had grown to about the size of a half dollar.

By Saturday morning, the bruise had spread half way down my neck and half the distance from my mouth to my right ear and my face had swollen so I looked like a chipmunk with cheeks full of seeds. By Saturday night, I also had a black eye and the bruises weren't a pale violet anymore, they were a deep reddish purple.

I am afraid to leave the house. My face is really awful enough to scare children. Although the swelling has gone down and the bruising covers a smaller area than it did previously, from a distance much of my face and neck resembles raw meat. I am concerned that neighbors might call the police to report possible domestic abuse. But, the only one who beat me up was my dentist.

My dental plan didn't cover the procedure.

Imagine putting out more than one and a half month's of my Social Security income to be tortured! What was I thinking?

"What Price, Stupidity?"

-------------------
On my other blog, you can find my story about my previous worst dental experience:
"What price, Wisdom?"

LIKE THE WIND

2011-04-20T04:53:00.004-04:00

In response to a writing prompt on
Mama'a Losin' It blog:

"A Phone Call You Won't Forget"

This is a slightly fictionalized version of a true story.

“Oh, no. Oh, my gawd, no,” my mother gasped into the receiver.

Although I was only eleven, I knew that something was terribly wrong.

It was the Saturday between Christmas and New Years. When the phone rang, I thought it was my alarm clock. Reaching toward the nightstand to turn it off, I remembered that I had slept on the living room couch. My older sister Charlene had invited several friends for a slumber party the previous night. She and her friends had slept in her room and mine, upstairs. I didn’t know what time it was, but the sun hadn’t colored the eastern sky yet.

Still on the phone in the dining room, my mother moaned in response to the caller. Finally, she said, “I’m so sorry, Mid. Is there anything I can do?” After a long pause, she meekly said, “I’ll call Ruthy and Dorothy. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” I thought I heard her sob when she hung up.

It was my mother’s older sister calling. Her name was Mildred, but everyone called her Mid. She was the aunt who always instructed my mother on how she should raise us. “Charlene’s too young to be wearing nylons,” she would say. “Why do you let your girls pull their hair back into those tight pony tails. They’re going to go bald.” Meanwhile, her three sons rarely obeyed her.

What had upset my mother, I wondered. Perhaps something had happened to my Uncle Albert. He worked in a steel mill. Maybe he’d been in an accident at work.

Uncle Albert was a restrained and unemotional Englishman. His fatherly duties were fulfilled by the occasional purchase of comic books for his boys, but he wouldn’t allow his sons to touch the comics until he had finished reading them himself. When the older boys had become teenagers, Uncle Albert forbade them to drive the family car. So the boys had worked to pay for their own beat-up jalopies. Aunt Mid had signed for them against her husband’s wishes.

My mother returned to my parents’ first-floor bedroom. I heard her talking to my father with some urgency. Soon, I smelled bread toasting. My parents continued speaking in hushed tones in the kitchen. While setting the dining room table for my sister’s friends, my mother said, “Don’t say anything to the girls. We’ll tell them after we take the other girls home.”

I had butterflies in my stomach, the kind I usually experienced only when I had to get up in front of the class at school. What could possibly be so upsetting to my parents and so private that our friends couldn’t be told? I heard my mother approaching the living room. I closed my eyes so she would think I was still sleeping. After checking on me, she tip-toed to the dining room and dialed the phone.

“Ruthy, it’s Ann.” After explaining that I was asleep on the couch, she continued talking to her sister in a half whisper, “I have bad news,” she confided. “Mid called to tell me Denny was in an accident.” She gasped for breath, as if she couldn’t take in enough oxygen. “He’s dead,” she blurted out with unusual abruptness.

I felt sick.

Denny was my cousin. He was only seventeen. How could he be dead?

Denny had movie-star good looks, that special captivating, yet brooding, James Dean appeal. He had earned enough money as a newsboy to buy himself an old car by charming his customers into giving him big tips. Yet, I knew, he had a wild and defiant streak, too. While my friends were emulating the wholesome Kingston Trio look, Denny dressed in white socks, black shoes, skin-tight jeans and a T-shirt with a pack of cigarettes up the sleeve. His hair was slicked back in a DA.

Kids aren’t supposed to die, I thought.

My mother continued on the phone. “Several other boys were hurt. Two’re in critical condition. It happened late last night, downtown. The police told Mid Denny was speeding and hit a patch of ice, side-swiped another car and ran into a telephone pole. Apparently he knew the boys in the other car. The police think they might have been drag racing.”

My heart felt as if it were idling too fast, like a car engine. I lay with my eyes wide open, in a fixed stare. Across the room, something sparkled. It was one of the Chirstmas ornaments catching light from the dining room. Gees, I thought, what a terrible time for someone to die.

After my mother called Aunt Dorothy with the same sad news, I dragged myself from the couch and aimed toward the bathroom, plodding as if I were being controlled by someone else. My mother intercepted me and hugged me much harder than usual. “Did you hear, Honey?” she whispered in my ear.

“Uh, huh,” I nodded.

“Don’t say anything to Charlene or the other girls, okay?”

I tried to act normal until my sister’s friends had gone home. It wasn’t difficult. I had temporarily switched off all feelings.

During my young life, my family had spent an inordinate amount of time at funeral homes. Most of the deceased had been my father’s relatives ---great-great aunts and uncles, people I didn’t know well ---so I didn’t mind much when they died. I thought death was for people who were so old that their passing was probably welcome. I couldn’t remember seeing anyone cry when those people had died.

But Denny’s funeral was different. When my family arrived at the funeral home, the place was mobbed with Denny’s high school friends. Girls sobbed loudly. A few shrieked uncontrollably. The teenagers hugged each other and wiped tears from swollen eyes. Baskets of huge mums and gladiolas spilled into the halls and adjoining reception rooms, down the staircase and into the lobby. The smell was so sweet I could hardly breathe.

Aunt Mid, usually gruff, was docile. She was the only family member who wept. Uncle Albert showed no more emotion than usual. Denny’s older brother Bert remained as unresponsive as his father. Bobby, the youngest boy, squirmed restlessly in his Sunday suit and played in the halls with younger male cousins. They didn’t seem to understand the finality of Denny’s death any more than I did.

My sister and I didn’t talk about our feelings. I didn’t cry. I felt as if none of it were real. My other aunts and uncles, my grandparents, and my parents remained stoic. In whispers, the adults speculated on the cause of the accident. They described Denny and his friends as irresponsible, foolish, and delinquent. My father, I knew, would make Denny’s life and death an issue in a moral lesson for my sister and me. I suspected I was going to hate hearing it.

I had held a secret crush on Denny. Sometimes he had ruthlessly teased me. I loved every second of the attention. I admired his rebellious streak. Anyone who could defy Aunt Mid’s harsh words was okay by me. Denny had given me my first puff on a forbidden cigarette behind the old chicken coop in his back yard. Looking back, it seems terribly irresponsible of him, but at the time, Denny had treated me as an equal and I had been thrilled.

The night before the funeral, I finally came to the realization that I would never see Denny again. Alone in my bed, tears rolled onto my pillow as I tried to muffle my sobs. No one heard me ---or at least no one arrived to console me.

It was the first time I experienced a feeling of tremendous loss at the death of a loved one. At age eleven, I learned I could die in a split second, just as Denny had. I understood mortality.

For weeks afterward I woke feeling fine, followed by that sinking sensation a few moments later when I remembered that my cousin was dead, that Denny would never grow up. Forever, he would be remembered as an appealing but irresponsible seventeen-year-old.

My grief was like the wind. Soon it came in gusts with periods of calm in between. And after a while, I rarely noticed the breeze. Denny would come to mind only if I caught a glimpse of someone who resembled him or when I heard a news story about another teenager who died when his car hit a utility pole. Like James Dean, they died too young and each became just one more departed rebel without a cause.

THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS

2011-02-16T23:01:00.006-05:00

In response to a writing prompt on Mama'a Losin' It blog:

"A Vacation to Remember"

While serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Brazil in the late 1960’s, I used my vacation time to travel by bus from the Northeast of Brazil through major cities and tourist spots, southward to Pôrto Alegre in Brazil’s southernmost state and onward to Montevideo, Uruguay, eventually arriving in Buenos Aires. There, a kind taxi driver deposited me at a small hotel owned by a Brazilian couple. I had learned Portuguese in order to survive in Brazil, but my Spanish was minimal.
For vacation days, Peace Corps personnel in Brazil were allotted $9 per day. To save money, I would catch a late bus, saving the cost of a hotel room by sleeping on the bus overnight when traveling between cities. I was in my early twenties and didn’t mind a noisy bus, even though I woke with swollen feet and a stiff neck on scheduled stops every two or three hours. I might mention that buses between major cities were modern, clean, and often more reliable than air travel in much of South America at that time.
On my way back north, I returned to Montevideo. I arrived in the capital of Uruguay around 10 a.m. on a cold, rainy Saturday and planned to catch a bus twelve hours later. On my first stop there, I had seen many of the sites, so I spent the dreary, wet afternoon in Montevideo dozing in a dry movie theater while a very bad Matt Helm movie repeated every two hours. It was still raining when I left the theater.

The northbound trip to Pôrto Alegre was supposed to last ten hours, arriving around 8 a.m. On the bus, a Brazilian teenager struck up a conversation. The boy was curious about the United States and eager to practice his English, but we spoke mostly in Portuguese throughout the long night.
As the dawn broke, the rain ended. It looked like it would be a beautiful day. Because I would have to wait another ten hours in Pôrto Alegre to catch my next bus, the boy urged me to go home with him to meet his family. I politely declined.

   At the bus station I said my good-byes to him, wondering what to do for ten hours on a Sunday when most of the city would be closed.
   After retrieving my overstuffed luggage, I was confronted by a dozen Brazilians ---the boy’s parents, siblings, aunts, uncles and grandparents ---all insisting I visit their modest home for the day. After several polite refusals and their enthusiastic insistance, I agreed to spend the day with them.

   They fed me breakfast, took me on a driving tour of the sun-drenched city, and served a huge lunch (which is the major meal of the day in Brazil.) The family was of Italian descent; the meal consisted of ravioli soup and pasta along with the traditional feijoada, the Brazilian national dish made with black beans and a variety of meats, served over rice.

   Afterwards, the boy's mother insisted I take a customary siesta, which I needed after spending most of the night conversing in Portuguese with her son. An hour before my departure time, she woke me and thrust a large brown bag at me. It was filled with enough fruit, bread, chicken, and guaraná (a Brazilian soft drink) for three or four people. The entire family accompanied me to the rodaviaria where I caught my next ônibus.

   After returning to my Peace Corps site two weeks later, I wrote to the family, thanking them for their hospitality, and later sent a few friendly notes to the boy. They never answered. In my experience, Brazilians weren’t zealous letter writers.
   Forty-plus years later, I can barely remember what I did in Buenos Aires or Montevideo, but I remember that bus ride with the eager Brazilian teen and his congenial family in Pôrto Alegre ---which, by the way, means "Happy Port" in Portuguese.

   After leaving Pôrto Alegre, my bus took me north to Salvador where I ended my trip by attending a regional conference, bringing Peace Corps Volunteers together to share experiences, disappointments, successes, problems, and triumphs.
   I hadn’t seen most of the other Volunteers from my group for a year, yet I was not surprised to hear how many had experienced similar acts of hospitality from relative strangers who were eager to know North Americans and show off their Brazilian culture.

   Brazilian hospitality was a perfect example of how wonderful travel can be in foreign countries and what warm, friendly people one can meet. The most generous people were often those who had relatively little themselves. Such hospitable folks could rarely be encountered in a fancy tourist hotel. More likely they would be met in a local restaurant, on a bus, or in an inexpensive pensão.
   After leaving Brazil, I never encountered any of the people who showed me such warmth, but every time I have had the chance to “pass it on” I have embraced the opportunity to do the same for foreigners in the United States, especially those who may have felt a bit lonely away from home and family.
   I only hope each person passed it on and the next person passed it on, so that eventually those folks in Brazil were rewarded with the type of kindness they had extended to me.

COLD TOES, HOT COFFEE

2011-01-31T00:01:00.169-05:00

If my feet are cold, I can't fall asleep. In winter, my feet almost always feel frigid after only a few minutes in bed.

My attempts to solve this problem have been many.

When I get up, I place a pair of heavy socks on the bathroom radiator so they are toasty warm when I am ready for bed. I slide my slippers under the radiator so the tops are warm, too. But that seems to keep my feet warm for only a few minutes after removing the slippers and crawling into bed.

My next strategy is to fold a flannel sheet to approximately 6 ft. X 3 ft. and drape it on the bedroom radiator. When I go to bed, I fold it once more and place it under the covers at the bottom of the bed, then place my feet between the folds. This keeps my feet warmer longer than the heated socks by themselves, but not by much.

A few weeks ago, I searched the internet for "foot warmers." I found several different ones and finally purchased Bed Buddy Soothing Foot Warmers on eBay. (Later, I found them for about half the price on amazon.com.) They are fleece booties with long, oval bean-bag-like inserts. It is recommended to place the inserts in the microwave for no more than one minute ---although I heat them for two ---then place them in pouches under the soles of the booties.

After heating them, I scurry upstairs and place them on the radiator under the flannel sheet while changing into PJs. I grab them right before I jump into bed and quickly put them on before inserting my feet between the folds of the flannel sheet. They heat the bottom of my feet, but if my toes are cold, I have to maneuver my feet so that the bottom of my left foot is on top of my cold right toes, for example. They seem to stay warm for quite a while, at least until I fall asleep, which sometimes takes 30 to 45 minutes.

One can't walk with the inserts in the booties. I don't want to walk on my dusty floors and then crawl into bed, so this is not a problem. If I get up several hours later to go to the bathroom, my feet are plenty warm, so I remove the booties and drop them at the top of the steps so I remember to take them downstairs to store near the microwave.

The biggest problem is that the booties come in only one size. I have large feet for a woman ---size 10. Yet the booties are so loose that they often come off during the night ---but usually after I've fallen asleep when my feet are already warm. The product could be improved with velcro closures or, perhaps, by manufacturing them in varied size ranges.

After retiring from teaching, I took a position as a customer service representative, where I worked nights. Even though I RE-retired months ago, I am still in my night mode. Many days, my husband is up before I hit the sack.

So last week one day, he was in the kitchen eating his breakfast while I was completing computer work in the next room. When I was ready to head toward bed, I grabbed my foot warming inserts, placed them on the paper plate I use to warm them, opened the microwave, shoved the plate inside without even looking, and hit the mug my husband had placed there, spilling coffee on my foot warming inserts, the paper plate and the inside of the microwave.

After cleaning my mess, I placed the warming inserts on the kitchen radiator to dry, so my feet remained cold when I went to bed that day.

The blurb on the label for my foot warmers explains that they are scented with "eucalyptus (to revitalyze), clove (to comfort), and cinnamon (to calm)." I actually don't find the scent soothing, but once my feet are under the covers, I can't smell the herbs. I am hoping the scent will eventually go away.

Now, when I heat them, my foot warmers are scented with eucalyptus, cloves, cinnamon, and COFFEE ---definitely NOT an improvement.

Maybe the label should read "eucalyptus (to revitalyze), clove (to comfort), cinnamon (to calm), and coffee (to stimulate your heart, respiratory system and central nervous system)" ---not something I really need when I'm attempting to fall asleep.

GRANDMA & AUNT MILLIE

2010-11-11T17:51:00.003-05:00

I've been using Photoshop for more than 20 years now, but I am mostly self-taught. The program is so vast that I doubt that anyone, even the creators, know every single thing that can be done with the program.
In 1999 I had taken a class in digital photo retouching using Photoshop. It was being offered free at a huge photo studio, with the goal of finding about 10 people they could hire to retouch digital photos, mostly portraits. I passed the course, as did several others in the class, but for some unknown reason, the studio went out of business within a few weeks, so no one was ever hired.

My local community college allows senior citizens to take credited classes for free, as long as the class is not filled. One can audit the course or take it for credit. I always take classes for credit. I'm not attempting to earn another degree, but I know I will put more effort into the class if I will be graded, and therefore, I will get more out of it.

Last spring I took a class in Adobe Illustrator. About ten years ago, I had purchased an older version of the program on eBay, but it is so different from Photoshop that I never quite figured out how to use it.

This semester, I'm taking Photoshop with an updated version of the program. I already knew a lot, but I am learning new tricks all the time.

One recent class project was to find an old, damaged photo to retouch.

Above you will see a photo of my grandmother Selma and her sister, my great-aunt Millie. (Click photo for a larger view.) I am guessing this photo was taken around around 1898.

This is what my mother told me about my grandmother and her family:

Both of my mother's grandparents were of German decent. I'm not sure if they had been born in Germany or in the U.S. They lived in Spring Garden, a residential section on the North Side area of Pittsburgh.

My grandmother's mother, my great-grandmother, died in childbirth when Millie was born. As an adult, Millie married and had two daughters. My mother says she was often depressed or "disturbed" and would often leave her husband and live with her sister's family for a few days or weeks. When my mother died, one of Millie's daughters asked if I had any family photos with Aunt Millie in them. Apparently on one particularly disturbed day, Millie had burned all of her family photos.

Not long after his wife died, my great-grandfather remarried. His second wife had a son. I think his name was Frederick, but he had a great tenor voice, so, as an adult, everyone called him Tenor. He was very tall, about 6'7". When he died, a special coffin had to be built for him.

One day when Tenor was a toddler, his mother asked a neighbor to watch her son. She left and never returned.

My grandmother Selma helped to raise her sister and brother and did much of the housework for my great-grandfather. When she was about 12, her father took her out of school and sent her to work. She usually had live-in jobs taking care of children. For a while she worked for people who lived above their small grocery store. She cared for the children and did housework. Later she worked at a boarding house, helping with cooking, cleaning and laundry.

Sunday was usually Selma's day off. She would walk several miles to her father's home so she wouldn't have to spend money on a streetcar fare. As soon as she arrived, her father would hold out his hand for her meager wages. After a while, she stopped going home so she could save what she earned to replace her worn and too-small winter coat.

In her teens, she met William, an immigrant from Sweden, at the boarding house where she worked. The woman who owned the boarding house helped Selma and William elope in 1908. My grandmother was only 16. William was in his 20s. They took a train from Pittsburgh to Jamestown, New York to be married. William worked for American Bridge. I'm not exactly sure what he did, but he might have been a supervisor. My mother said he was often called out at all hours to resolve problems.

They had four daughters, Selma (called Sis), my mother Grace, Elsie, and Jeanne, and remained happily married until my grandfather died of pneumonia in the 1940s. That was during WWII. Apparently he might have been saved with penicillin, but all of that medication had been directed toward the military. He was in his 50s when he died. My grandmother Selma took on part-time jobs for many years. She often cared for sick or disabled people in their homes. For a while she lived and worked at what we then referred to an an "old folks' home." In her later years she lived with my parents. Her daughters provided her with 13 grandchildren, nine boys and 4 girls. In her late 60's she suffered from Alzheimer's and had a stroke. She died in her early 70's in 1965.
My mother was the second oldest daughter and the last surviving sister. She died in 2009 at the age of 95.

Below find one of my class projects, the retouching and spot coloring of the above photo. I will be passing these photos, the original and several versions of the retouch, to Millie's daughters.

(Click on images for larger views.)

TWO COLORS

2010-08-16T20:57:00.001-04:00

"YELLOW AND GREEN 2"

(click on image for larger view)

A new challenge on Monday Artday is "TWO COLORS"

Click on the link to see how other artists interpreted this and other artistic challenges.

"Where flowers bloom so does hope."

--- Lady Bird Johnson

GUILTY PLEASURE #3: THE CRAZIES (1973)

2010-07-10T00:01:00.001-04:00

A remake of George Romero's "The Crazies" came out in February of this year. I read a few reviews, mostly ho-hum, but I haven't seen it. It takes place in a small Iowa town where something in the water is making the residents go crazy. Neighbors are killing neighbors in rather unique ways.

Go back in time 27 years to 1973's original version in which the military accidentally drops a chemical weapon on the town. It certainly had political overtones of the day, yet it was a very low-budget film.

It was lame, really lame.

Yet, I loved the original version because the people going crazy in "The Crazies" were neighbors ---I mean they were my real neighbors, for I live in the town where it was filmed and many of the townspeople in the film were played by locals. George Romero must love this town, because he made his original "Night of the Living Dead" in this area, too.

"The Crazies" (1973) was so bad, it was good. The newer version apparently has slicker special effects that, in my opinion, usually don't make a movie any better, only take away from its charm.

BEWARE OF THE BLOB!

2010-07-04T00:01:00.011-04:00

   A few weeks ago my husband and I were working in our vegetable garden when our neighbor urgently called us over to the edge of our yard. She was concerned because in the mulch between some evergreens we had recently planted, there was a large, slimey, bright-yellow mass on the mulch.
   “What is that?” she asked.
   We had no idea, but I said it looked like an animal might have thrown up there. But on further inspection, I decided the color and texture were too uniform and the yellow too bright.

   My husband kept an eye on it. The next day it turned a peachy color and later changed into a brown dust.
   When we did a search on the internet, we learned it is a mold called Fuligo septica, but because of it’s appearance, it is commonly called “dog vomit slime mold.” Nice name, huh?
   Anyway, it is harmless. In fact, some related molds in Mexico are gathered, cooked, and eaten much like scrambled eggs. It usually develops on mulch or on rotting materials such as dead trees or fallen leaves. And it almost always develops after a period of unusually wet weather.

   The other interesting thing about this slime mold is that it inspired the 1958 film “The Blob!” starring Steve McQueen. So, of course, we ordered “The Blob!” from Netflix. I had never seen the entire film before, just the highlights, including the famous scene of a crowd frantically running from the Colonial Theater. For a low-budget, sci-fi B-movie, it wasn’t bad.
   "The Blob!" in the film was an amoeba-like creature that arrived from outerspace and spent the rest of the film devouring people. It was immune from gunfire and high-voltage electricity.

The Blob theme song:

Beware of The Blob!

Beware of The Blob!
It creeps, and leaps, and glides and slides,
Across the floor, right through the door
And all around the wall.
A splotch, a blotch,
Be careful of The Blob!

Although credited to The Five Blobs, the song was performed by Bernie Nee and overdubbed to make him sound like a group. It was written to a Latin beat by the songwriting duo of Burt Bacharach and Mack David.

The song was released as a single in 1958 and, ridiculous and annoying as it was, it became a top-40 hit nationwide, making it one of Bacharach's earliest hits.

Blob trivia:

Steve McQueen was offered $2,500 or 10% of the profits. He took the $2,500 because he didn't expect the film to be a box-office success. It grossed over 4 million dollars.

The producers originally signed Steve McQueen to a three-film deal. McQueen was so difficult to work with during filming that he was released from his contract for the other two films. (My husband, a film buff, has read accounts of Steve’s constant whining on other film projects.)

In "The Blob!" the movie being shown at the Colonial Theatre was “Daughter of Horror,” originally released as “Dementia .” The movie was silent, so Ed McMahon was added as a narrator wearing a stocking over his head and walking through a cemetery as he spoke. Johnny Carson surprised McMahon on “The Tonight Show” one night with a clip from the edited film.

Most of the movie was filmed in Phoenixville, PA. The crew had worked on only educational films previously.

The Blob itself was created with a modified weather balloon in the early shots and, in the later shots, with colored silicone gel which was actually fairly firm. The crew used hot lights to make it more pliable.

Even though real slime mold (from which The Blob was inspired) starts out as bright yellow, in the film The Blob was a clear gel-like substance until it started to consume people, afterwhich it turned red.

In Phoenixville, the Colonial Theater still exists and hosts an annual Blobfest every July including a reenactment of the crowd exiting the theater.

-----
One additional note: I don't want to give away the end for those who have not seen the film, but because of certain environmental conditions in the world today, The Blob! just might be a threat again. So, BEWARE!

Sources:
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0051418/trivia
http://theblobsite.filmbuffonline.com/index2.htm

TRAVEL TO BRAZIL - To Be Rescheduled

2010-06-30T00:01:00.004-04:00

It has been nearly 41 years since I was last in Brazil, when I served in the Peace Corps. The other former Peace Corps Volunteer who served in the same town with me (Brunie) and I were planning to travel to Brazil in August of this year.

But, now it looks like we have to postpone our trip ---at least for several months, perhaps longer. I spoke to Brunie a few weeks ago. Because of some family issues that will not be resolved by August, we cannot travel as we originally planned.

Even though it might not happen so soon, we are still excited about visiting some of our favorite places in Brazil's smallest state Sergipe, including the town where we lived, Nossa Senhora da Glória.

Brunie and I discussed meeting in Atlanta, then flying to Manaus in the Amazon region, then to Aracajú (the capital of Sergipe) where many of our friends and former students live. Aracajú is supposed to be one of the safest and least-spoiled coastal cities in Brazil now. Forty years ago, the beaches had just a few huts where one could purchase beer and boiled crabs which cost about ten cents (U.S.) for three. Apparently there are large hotels and resorts along the coast now.

But we also want to visit Salvador, and Brunie wants to visit friends in Natal, so our itinerary is not set in stone. We will have to see what flights are available when we can actually make reservations.

Of course we want to see how the country has changed in the past 40 years, however, it is the people that we most want to visit. While we lived in Sergipe, the brasileiros were warm and welcoming. They helped us with every-day living. They corrected our Portuguese. They became our friends.

Alcione (the daughter of the elementary school director with whom we worked) has been my main contact and is coordinating our visit. I have also been in contact with several other of our neighbors and former students and we are thrilled that we will be able to see them again. But for now, we don't know when that will happen.

When I finally make it to Brazil, I will, of course, post lots of photos and tell about my travels on my other blog A Little "Peace" of Brazil.

GUILTY PLEASURE #2

2010-06-27T09:05:00.001-04:00

   I hate reality shows. I watched one episode of Survivor and hated it. I watched one episode of The Great Race when I knew they were going to be in Brazil ---saw almost none of the country and never watched again. I don't watch American Idol, Big Brother, American's Top Model, Dancing With the Stars, So You Think You Can Dance, The Apprentice ---none of those. I would never watch The Bachelor ---choosing a partner on a show like that is so unreal, I don't know how it fits into the "reality" category.
   But one of my guilty pleasures is America's Got Talent. I'm not sure why it has struck such a chord with me, but at least part of the reason is that I like seeing someone who has talent, but has never been "discovered," making it big.

What I especially like about the show:
   I like the variety of acts. Idol has only singers, but I like seeing comedians, magicians, dancers, ventriloquists, acrobats, and even some of the more bizarre acts.
   And even though he is often booed by the audience, I think Piers Morgan is nearly always right in his assessment of the acts.

What I don't like about the show:
   Too many acts make it to the edited TV broadcast who should be weeded out even before getting to the stage. Only the very best of those who audition ---and there seem to be thousands, so surely there are hundreds who have decent acts ---should get on the broadcast. Then the judges should weed out those who don't have that "something special" that makes for star quality.
   There should be a separate Kids Got Talent. Too many very cute children get sent on to Vegas, but they really aren't talented enough or have enough experience, poise or stage presence to win. Cute should not be enough. I'm not sure what the cut-off age should be, but anyone under 18 should probably not be performing on Vegas stages, so I would say anyone who is not of legal age, should not be permitted on the show unless, perhaps, they are in a group that includes mostly older members.

   Meanwhile, even with it's flaws I do enjoy America's Got Talent. I usually tape it. As soon as a bad act comes on, I fast-forward through it. Therefore, it takes me 30 minutes (or fewer) to watch an hour-long show.
   Do I vote? Not usually ---the voting is usually closed by the time I watch my tape. Do I have favorites? Of course. Usually they end up in the top 5.

GUILTY PLEASURE #1

2010-05-29T00:01:00.002-04:00

   We all have guilty pleasures. Some of us love foods that aren't good for us. Some of us love trashy novels.
   In Following the Equator (1897) Mark Twain said, “Everyone is a moon and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.” Some of us have guilty pleasures that we would never confess.

   One of my guilty pleasures is a movie. A movie that's so bad, that it's good.
   Most films star a few people whose names I recognize ---two, maybe three. I might think other names sound familiar. I've heard them before, but I can't picture the person in my head.
   My husband has a theory that the number of big-name stars in a film is indirectly proportional to the quality of the film. If that is true, this film has to be the worst movie ever made because it stars:
   Jack Nicholson Glenn Close      Annette Bening   Pierce Brosnan      Danny DeVito      Martin Short   Michael J. Fox      Rod Steiger      Sarah Jessica Parker   Tom Jones      Jim Brown      Lukas Haas   Natalie Portman     Sylvia Sydney      Lisa Marie   Jack Black      Paul Winfield      Joe Don Baker     Christina Applegate   Pam Grier      Sarah Michelle Gellar

   The first time I saw this film was at a gathering of Mensans. I was probably the only person in the room who was not a sci-fi geek. (I admit to being geeky ---and I'm even sort of proud of that ---but I'm not into sci-fi.) Throughout the entire film, the viewers constantly piped in with references to old sci-fi films. "Oh, that looks just like the scene from _______," they'd say, naming a lame sci-fi B-film from the 1950s or 60s. Of course, I was clueless. But they were so full of enthusiasm and laughter, that it was infectious.

   Loosely based on an obscure 1960s Topps bubble-gum trading card series (some of which are pictured here) it is a Tim Burton film, so of course, it is bizarre. But it is also incredibly funny.
   In 1996 when it came out, film critics almost universally panned it, but the movie has some great moments. First of all, it is a parody of so many sci-fi films that went before it. In addition, it makes great fun of pompous politicians, the military, science, the media, talk shows, alien abductions, new age religions, greed, power, Las Vegas, pop culture, and much more. Even Tom Jones tries to make fun of himself in this film, but of course it is impossible to parody what is already a parody. It was made for laughs and never meant to be serious about any of it.
   More recent disaster sci-fi movies filled with all manner of special effects are often preachy and feature heroes who are smarter, faster, and stronger than anyone else. In this film the heroes are a tongue-tied teenager who works in a donut shop and his grandmother who loves listening to Slim Whitman music. The special effects appear to be rather low-tech ---on purpose ---meant to look more like the sci-fi films of past decades than the sleek effects of films like Independence Day, which came out at roughly the same time. And the cast, including many award-winning actors, hams it up. Their bad acting only adds to the charm.

Now, I can't say the film is without flaws. While everyone else is playing for laughs, Pam Grier's part is so serious that it seems out-of-place in this film. Danny DeVito's small role could have been eliminated. There was no point in having Jack Nicholson play two parts when another big-name could have taken one of them, but then, perhaps Nicholson demanded a certain amount of screen time and this was a way of giving it to him. And, occasionally, once we get the point, extended scenes could have been shortened or eliminated.

It seems that most people either love this film or hate it. I'm one of the ones who loves it. The film is silly, yes, but I enjoy silly sometimes.

If you haven't figured it out yet, I'm telling you that one of my guilty pleasures that I need to watch about once a year is "Mars Attacks!"

FLYING MACHINE: Sky Sculpture 9

2010-05-15T02:01:00.005-04:00

"Sky Sculpture 9"

(Click on image for larger view.)

A new challenge on Monday Artday is "FLYING MACHINE"

Click on the link to see how other artists interpreted this and other artistic challenges.

This is another in my series of floating sculpture images.

I posted another one a few weeks ago, which can be seen HERE.

"Mathematics, rightly viewed, possesses not only truth, but supreme beauty - a beauty cold and austere, like that of sculpture."

---Bertrand Russell

ANCIENT CIVILIZATION: Chief

2010-04-17T04:51:00.003-04:00

A new challenge on Monday Artday is "ANCIENT CIVILIZATION"
Click on the link to see how other artists interpreted this and other artistic challenges.

"CHIEF"

originally rendered as a silk screen print

"There are many humorous things in the world; among them, the white man's notion that he is less savage than the other savages."

---Mark Twain (Following the Equator)

FLIGHT: Sky Sculpture

2010-03-31T05:19:00.006-04:00

A new challenge on Monday Artday is "FLIGHT"
Click on the link to see how other artists interpreted this and other artistic challenges.

"Sky Sculpture 11A"

I enjoy creating images of surrealistic floating sculptures.

“Space flights are merely an escape, a fleeing away from oneself, because it is easier to go to Mars or to the moon than it is to penetrate one's own being.”

---Carl Gustav Jung

AWAKE: "The Persistence of Salvador Dali"

2010-03-28T18:59:00.012-04:00

A new challenge on Monday Artday is "AWAKE."

Click on the link to see how other artists interpreted this and other artistic challenges.

"The Persistence of Salvador Dali"
(click on image for larger view)

"Each morning when I awake, I experience again a supreme pleasure ---that of being Salvador Dali."

---Salvador Dali

"The Persistence of Memory"

by Salvador Dali (1931)
Museum of Modern Art, New York

Read more about "The Persistence of Memory" HERE.

MONKEYING AROUND

2010-03-20T02:20:00.004-04:00

(click on image for larger view)

A new challenge on Monday Artday is "MONKEY."
Click on the link to see how other artists interpreted the monkey and other artistic challenges.

“I believe that our Heavenly Father invented man because he was disappointed in the monkey.”

(Mark Twain, Autobiographical dictation, November 1906)

SNOW GAMES - Monday Artday

2010-02-26T20:18:00.003-05:00

(click on image for larger view)

The challenge for his week and next on Monday Artday is "SNOW GAMES." I imagine most people would do images of skiing, ice skating, or hockey, so I decided to follow a different path. I like games and puzzles, so I created a SNOW GAME.

Every snowflake is supposed to be unique, but in the image above there are two snowflakes that are exactly the same design. Can you find them?

I could, of course, have created my snowflakes by cutting folded paper (see example, left) but anyone can cut their paper snowflake virtually at SnowDays. (It takes a while to load the page, so be patient.)

SNOW SHADOWS

2010-02-21T06:47:00.005-05:00

(click on images for larger views)

These images are in response to

SHADOW SHOT SUNDAY

Click on the link to post your own image

or see what others have posted.

The day after the blizzard that dumped 23 inches of snow in our yard, the sun came out and the snow, reflecting the cloudless sky, turned blue. Around 5:00 pm, when the sun was low in the sky, I snapped these shadow shots.

THE SILENT TREATMENT

2010-02-19T04:23:00.008-05:00

Since my mother’s death 3 months ago, I’ve been thinking of family stories to tell. The best stories usually aren’t about the good times when everything goes smoothly, but rather times of conflict.

SILENT TREATMENT

I’ve always thought the silent treatment was stupid, well, at least after about 15 minutes. I admit there are occasions when I’m spitting mad and don't want to talk until I cool down. But after a few minutes, I’m eager to talk it out. I’ve always believed the silent treatment was a bad idea, not only between individuals, but also between countries. There was a time when it was U.S. policy not to speak to the PLO, for example. Why? What can be resolved or accomplished without communication?

When I was about 12, one summer my mother was so angry at my father and sister that she wouldn’t speak to them. I have no idea why and now that my father, mother and sister are all gone, I can’t ask them. But I’m sure if it had been something important I would have remembered. My mother’s silent treatment went on for about two weeks.
I was the only family member she would speak to. This put me in a terrible position. I felt good that my mother wasn’t mad at me, too, but it also made me feel guilty that my mother spoke to me and no one else. If anyone wanted to communicate with each other, they had to do it through me. That was a terrible burden to put on a 12-year-old.
This still seems strange to me because I hardly remember my parents having even minor disagreements. They were deeply in love and truly liked one another. They were affectionate and always acted respectfully toward each other. My father often reminded my sister and me how good of a mother we had. My mother did the same about my father.
But, perhaps there was a family tradition of angry silence. As far as I know my mother’s parents never acted this way. But all three of her sisters did. By comparison, my mother’s two weeks of silence was just a blip.

SILENT TREATMENT CHAMPS

My mother’s oldest sister S was married to a man who didn’t want to go anywhere. But sometime when their youngest son was in high school (early 1960s) she convinced him to take a driving trip to Niagara Falls in July. On the way home, my uncle got mad at my aunt. My aunt and uncle communicated through notes and used their son to pass on messages until relatives showed up for Christmas dinner six month later.
My mother had two younger sisters, E & J, who didn't speak to each other for over a decade.

E was a nursing student at a time when it was forbidden to marry, but she was secretly married for several years before completing her studies. Several years later, her husband was tragically killed in an explosion at work.
The other sister, J, and her husband rented half of a duplex and became friends with their next-door neighbors, but the neighbors were having marital problems and soon the woman told my aunt she thought they were headed for divorce. The man confided to my uncle that he had been seeing another woman. He had no idea that the widow he had been dating was J’s sister E.
E married her new love without telling anyone. This was probably around 1952. When J found out that E had been dating, and then married the husband of her friend, she stopped speaking to her.
It turned out that the sisters lived only a few miles apart. Their children went to the same high school, but were unaware that their cousins were among their classmates. Both J & E’s husbands worked for the same large company. At annual picnics, their children might play softball together without knowing they were cousins.
Only when their mother (my grandmother) died about thirteen years later did the sisters break their silence. My aunt E and her second husband stayed together until his death, but I don’t think it was a happy marriage.

I don’t know what the silent treatment accomplished in any of these cases except to alienate family members, keep cousins from knowing each other, force children into situations where they had to be go-betweens between their parents, and set bad examples for everyone's children.
If you’re ever mad at me, let’s talk it out, okay?

SNOW JOB - Photo Essay

2010-02-10T00:41:00.019-05:00

02/06/10, 3:00AM

(Click on any image for a larger view.)

Like most of the eastern U.S. we were slammed with a massive snow storm that started on Friday February 5th and lasted through the next day. Our local news talked all day on Friday about their brand new million-watt weather radar as if it were the holy grail of meteorology. The million-watt system predicted 4-8 inches of snow. By Saturday afternoon, my zero-watt yardstick showed 23 inches in our yard.
As an artist, I appreciate the beauty of the snow, but as senior citizens our arms, backs, and knees don't appreciate having to shovel it. We try to keep ahead of it by shoveling 2-3 inches at a time, but we couldn't keep up.
Starting Monday night (02/09/10) we are experiencing another big storm. We shoveled 2-3 more inches from 7:30-9:30 PM. It stopped snowing for a while, then started again after 11 PM, so we went out at 2:30 AM and shoveled 2-3 more inches. By the time we were done, there was an inch on the areas we had already shoveled.

Enjoy these views of the snow at our home and in our neighborhood.

02/06/10, 8:00 AM

In the afternoon of 02/06/10, several more inches fell. Finally it stopped snowing and soon the sun came out. I took these photos a little after 5:00 PM:

SUPPORT SPAY DAY to save animals' lives

2010-02-04T20:04:00.009-05:00

LUNETTE

Please vote for Lunette in the Spay Day Online Pet Photo Contest - and help save other pets' lives at the same time. Helping animals is important to me, and your donation will not only help my pet in the contest, but will save pets' lives by reducing pet overpopulation.

CLICK HERE TO VOTE

VOTING DEADLINE: MARCH 4, 2010, 10 PM EST

To support Spay Day, The Humane Society of the United States and Humane Society International host the Spay Day Online Pet Photo Contest, presented by VISA and Zazzle—a great opportunity to celebrate our pets and raise funds for spaying and neutering.

Spay Day is The Humane Society of the United States' and Humane Society International's annual event to inspire people to save animals' lives by spaying or neutering pets and feral cats. Spay Day officially takes place on the last Tuesday of February—but events will be running all through the month! The 16th annual Spay Day will be Feb. 23, 2010.

If you vote for Lunette, donations will go to Animal Friends, a Pittsburgh no-kill animal shelter where I have adopted several cats since 1978.

CLICK HERE TO VOTE

VOTING DEADLINE: MARCH 4, 2010, 10 PM EST

Thank you for your help and support.

HOLIDAY PUNCH - Don't Try This at Home

2009-12-20T05:29:00.009-05:00

This is one of my favorite humorous holiday stories.

But first a little background:

My father was 20 in 1929 when the stock market crashed. A lot of people lost their jobs, but some bosses reduced everyone’s hours so they didn’t have to put people out of work. Therefore, when my father was a young man, he still lived with his parents and worked only a few days a week, as did several of his friends. They spent most of the winter at the Community House, which was much like a YMCA. My father became an excellent gymnast. Summers, they played tennis in an empty lot that they had rigged up with a tennis net. My father also excelled on the makeshift tennis court.
Five of the guys remained friends throughout their lives. One lived in the country and had built a picnic shelter and fireplace in his yard, so we had a 4th of July celebration there each year. Strangely, my family always held a New Year’s Eve party. I say “strangely” because my parents were the only ones who never drank or served alcohol, but since it was a family gathering with the possibility of winter road conditions, perhaps that was a good thing.

A MEMORABLE NEW YEAR’S PUNCH

My mother worked for weeks to plan each New Year's Eve party down to the last detail. She wanted everything to look beautiful and taste terrific. She, my sister and I spent days cleaning, shopping, decorating, creating holiday cookies, and preparing snacks, appetizers, and hot food for the gathering.
The year I was about 11 or 12, my mother had a brilliant idea for the non-alcoholic punch we would serve. She found a recipe for a red punch. The day before the party, she arranged maraschino cherries in the bottom of a large donut-shaped jello mold and added just a little of the mixture she had prepared for an ice ring and froze that, assuring that the cherries would stay at the bottom of the mold and be on the top when it was turned over into the punch bowl. Then she added the rest of the mixture which was lemonade (so as not to dilute the punch) which had been tinted with green food coloring. When it was frozen, it was supposed to look like a green holiday wreath with red berries.

On New Year’s Eve, we scattered bowls of snacks around the living room and set the dining table with all manner of appetizers. We mixed the red punch in a large glass bowl and set it on the table surrounded by glass cups, but waited until a few guests arrived to add the ice ring that did indeed look like a wreath. It was beautiful in the red punch.
We served punch to the first few guests and then sat in the living room for about twenty minutes before the next family arrived. By the time their coats were off and we were ready to serve them punch, the green ice ring had started to melt.
Unfortunately, the green food coloring melting into the red punch created a shade of gray which looked an awful lot like dirty scrub water. My horrified mother wisked the punch bowl into the kitchen. We found some empty jars to store the punch, and because there was no room in the refrigerator, we placed them in an old coal cellar in the basement to stay cold. My mother quickly mixed some new punch and added ordinary ice cubes.

During the next week, every day my frugal father tried to convince us to drink the punch, but ---although there was really nothing wrong with it except the color ---it was just too awful to look at. My father told us to close our eyes. My mother suggested we donate it to the local school for the blind, but eventually, most of it went down the drain.

Anyone would have had to be punch-drunk to inbibe that swill.

LIFE MOTTOES

2009-12-17T08:50:00.009-05:00

This post is in response

to a writing prompt at

Mama's Losin' It.

Prompt: "What is one of your life mottoes?"

Click on the link to join in or view other responses.

I actually have dozens of life mottoes. After all there are many aspects to one's life, so one needs a motto for just about everything. So instead of limiting myself to just one, I am making a list, in random order, as I think of them.

Stop to enjoy the wild flowers.

You can do ANYthing you want, but you can't do EVERYthing you want.

Cleanliness is next to impossible.

"Whenever you find that you are on the side of the majority, it is time to reform." (Mark Twain)

Love is NOT all you need.

Those who disagree with me are stupid or insane ---probably both.

The best way to stay healthy is not to worry about things.

Live and let live.

If you rest, you rust.

Forget what others think. Do your own thing and have fun doing it.

Virtue is its own punishment.

"Never underestimate the power of human stupidity." (Robert Heinlein's Lazarus Long)

“The thing about religion is that everybody else’s always appears stupid.” (Dave Barry)

There is no free lunch, but the best things in life are free.

"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrowmindedness... Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime." (Mark Twain)

What goes around, comes around.

"The human race has one really effective weapon and that is laughter." (Mark Twain)

A closed mouth gathers no feet. (I don't follow this one often, but I agree with it.)

Everybody is somebody else's weirdo.

"Most married couples, even though they love each other very much in theory, tend to view each other in practice as large teeming flaw colonies, the result being that they get on each other's nerves and regularly erupt into vicious emotional shouting matches over such issues as toaster settings." (Dave Barry)

I have more of these little gems, so consider this post a work-in-progress. I will add more as I think of them.

MY MOTHER - Part 2

2009-12-11T03:00:00.011-05:00

In my previous post, I announced the death of my 95 year-old mother. I am not a religious person, but my mother was. She left written instructions for what she wanted included in her memorial service. I did my best to fulfill her requests.

When my father died in 1982, my mother was disappointed in his memorial service. She commented that the minister had acted like he didn't know my father, said nothing personal about him, and could have said the same service for just about anyone.

When I contacted the current minister, I asked for his email address so I could type my mother's requests for the service. In addition, I wrote a brief summary of her life. I was sure he couldn't include all of the information, but suggested he include anything he thought might interest those in attendance. But he used nearly all the information I gave him, sprinkling it throughout the service, making it a very personal tribute to my mother.

Several friends and relatives who could not be in attendance asked me to send a program from the service, so I am posting the program here. Click on any image to enlarge it.

In addition to the hymns in the program, my mother requested the following hymns to be used as preludes and/or postludes:

All the Way My Savior Leads Me

Safe in the Arms of Jesus

Someday the Silver Cord Will Break

Love Divine

Abide With Me

Near to the Heart of God

Out of Ivory Palaces

Beyond the Sunset

These are the notes I sent to the minister about my mother's life:

Born: 3/18/1914 - Mt. Troy (Pittsburgh, PA)

Her mother, Selma Rotzler (of German decent) married Swedish immigrant William Swanson.

Grace was the second of 4 sisters ---and the last surviving one of the four.

Started school at age 5

Her family moved to Lima, Ohio for a while and her father called her his "little Lima bean."

Later returned to Mt. Troy.

Sickly child ---suffered from rheumatic fever, missed a year of school (at about age 10-12.)

Her father worked for American Bridge.

Her mother was the "go-to" neighbor who helped take care of children when a parent was ill, helped deliver babies, took care of people, gave food to beggars.

Grace had to drop out of school in her teens to work (during the Great Depression.)

Worked for the Clark Candy Company on the North Side.

Worked as a seamstress for a company which made one-of-a-kind gowns for "society ladies." She often told stories of women who would arrive at 6:30 pm for their final fittings while 6 or 8 of the girls would hem their gowns by hand, before the clients ran off to the opera.

Met my father Charles Peiffer (from Spring Hill) at a church conference (Evangelical and Reformed Church, which later became the United Church of Christ). On an old photo that Grace had given Charles in May 1936 she wrote on the reverse, "To Mr. Charles Peiffer from the future Mrs. Charles Peiffer." They were married in June 1940, after dating for more than 4 years. She made her own wedding dress and those of her attendants.

When I was a preteeen, she worked part-time for Kaufmann's department store selling baby clothes.

Taught Sunday school

Active in church women's "Circles"

Was a Girl Scout Leader.

Volunteered for Meals on Wheels

Active in the local Book Club

Worked on the committee that catered wedding receptions at the church

Made most of the clothes for her daughters and herself, even made prom dresses for both daughters and the dresses for her oldest daughter's (Linda, deceased) wedding

Liked to make crafts

Was very frugal ---even reupholstered her own furniture rather than buying new

Did the crossword puzzle in the Pittsburgh Press every day for decades.

Was an avid reader. Often walked with her daughters to the Shaler North Hills Library. Especially liked mysteries by Mary Roberts Rinehart and Agatha Christy. Also enjoyed biographies.

She liked to travel. She and Charles took driving trips across the U.S. and also flew to Hawaii and Alaska, visiting 49 states at least once. (They missed North Dakota) Grace and her youngest sister, Jeanne (pronounced Jeanie) also drove across the country when Grace was in her 80's and her sister in her 70's. Grace also visited England and Sweden.

A few close friends called her Mazie ---short for Amazing Grace.

Charles was the church organist (for both Catholic and Protestant services) at the Western State penitentiary and St. John's Lutheran Church on the North Side. Because we could not attend church at the penitentiary, and we had only one car, we joined the Glenshaw Presbyterian Church after we moved from Spring Hill to the Glenshaw area in 1953.

Grace was happy when Charles retired from being an organist, because they were able to attend church together for the first time in about 30 years. Charles died in 1982. Grace's older daughter Linda died in 1988.

Grace had been a member of the Glenshaw church for about 55 years.

Died peacefully in her sleep: 11/25/2009

MY MOTHER: 3/18/1914 - 11/25/2009

2009-12-09T02:00:00.013-05:00

My 95 year old mother had been on a waiting list for an assisted living facility for over 14 months. Meanwhile she had in-home help when I couldn't be there.

Her health and dementia had slowly worsened over the past five years, but she seemed to go down hill very swiftly in the last two months. Still, she could dress and feed herself. She took her medications, but someone had to place the correct pills in her daily pill organizer so she would take the right ones. Physically, she was frail, but had very little wrong with her.

Recently, she fell in her home between her day-time and night-time help. We thought she had a stroke because she was not walking and had no recollection of her fall. We took her to the emergency room where it was determined that she did not have a stroke. Although she had only minor physical injuries, they decided to keep her for observation. She was disorientated and very listless, and somewhat dehydrated. She knew she was in the hospital, but did not understand why.

Several days later, she seemed to be doing fairly well ---she was walking short distances with help, feeding herself and alert, although somewhat disoriented. However, her doctor recommended we place her in a nursing home for a month or so after leaving the hospital and we were looking into that.

However, during the early hours of November 25th, the day before Thanksgiving, she died peacefully in her sleep.

My Aunt Jeanne, my mother's youngest sister, died the day before Thanksgiving in 2006. Their grandfather died the day before Thanksgiving in 1946. If I were a superstitious person, I might worry every time that holiday rolled around.

I've been out of touch because of my mother's deteriorating condition, visiting the hospital and taking care of her home and finances. Since her death I have been contacting everyone, arranging a memorial service, taking care of matters (bills, insurance, the will, etc.) helping my niece move into my mother's home, disposing of my mothers' belongings, and dealing with lawyers and probate.

My mother left written instructions that she wanted to be cremated with no viewing, which suited me fine. I have never liked funeral homes and avoid them whenever possible. She requested only a memorial service. Since there was to be no viewing, there was no rush to hold the service. I didn't want to do it over Thanksgiving weekend. The next week, the church was busy with a large meeting and several weddings. Also a good friend of my mother's was having a 100th birthday party that week and I didn't want to put a damper on that, so we scheduled the service for two weeks after her death.

My mother was not well-educated, but she was very smart and well-read. She had many talents. Despite her many excellent qualities, she was not perfect. She had a great sense of humor but also had a dark side that few people saw. Yet, she was a caring person who was involved in a lot of volunteer work. Although she was progressive for her time, she was also a product of her era.

In my next post, I will include a copy of the program from my mother's memorial service and tell you a little about her life.

I previously wrote that I probably would not be blogging after my mother's death until January, but I've been thinking about my mother, so I will probably write some things about my mother and our family. After long months of my mother's decline, I am inspired to affirm life with some creative art and writing, too.

SEX WITH THE QUEEN - Book Review

2009-11-22T05:54:00.008-05:00

SEX WITH THE QUEEN:

900 Years of Vile Kings, Virile Lovers,

and Passionate Politics

by Eleanor Herman

Two decades ago while I did graduate work in journalism, I was required to complete a course in journalistic law. It would be a vast understatement to say the text was dry. I frequently dozed off after 15 minutes of reading.

Yet, the boring textbook became fascinating reading when I arrived at the chapters dealing with obscenity. (One particularly amusing legal case was about a state's obscenity law that was so explicit that publishing the text of the law would have broken the law.)

Obscenity has been defined as something that appeals to prurient interests with little or no redeeming social value. I suppose I had prurient interests of which I was formerly unaware.

* * * * * * * * * *

Eleanor Herman's non-fiction book, Sex With the Queen covers roughly 900 years of sexual escapades and adultery by queens and princesses. I had always known that kings had many adulterous liaisons, but I had assumed that queens had little opportunity to be anything but chaste.

Although many ordinary people envied royalty's beautiful attire, rich surroundings and fabulous jewels, the fact is that queens had little freedom and led lonely, boring lives. They lived in foreign countries, far from their native languages and customs, and in most cases never saw family and friends for the rest of their lives. Servants did their work and took care of their children, leaving the queens to do little but embroider all day.

In order to avoid inbreeding and create international liaisons, princes and princesses where betrothed to royalty from other countries, often sight unseen. In some cases, the kings or princes were fat, ugly, uncouth, unfaithful, insane, gay, cold, or even impotent. Frustrated women turned to other men for affection with varying results. Some queens were beheaded, imprisoned, exiled, or sent to convents, and some were tolerated and a few queens even thrived despite their illicit behaviors. Many of the stories are quite funny, like the unfortunate woman who married an impotent king who was so fat that he had his servants roll him through his palace's corridors and insisted that priests say mass in his bedroom but were not allowed to awaken him. Many stories had tragic endings. But whatever the outcomes, the queens' stories made fascinating reading.

The first two chapters of this book give examples of so many kings and queens, some of whom I had never heard of, that my head was spinning. But starting with chapter three, Herman goes into depth about the love affairs of the wives of Henry VIII, Catherine the Great, and many others, up to and including Princess Diana of England who was so desperate for love that her life was vastly more pathetic than I ever imagined.

If your prurient interests may be aroused by the funny, sad, uplifting and tragic tales of historical women who desperately sought love despite potential consequences, I highly recommend this well-researched and very readable book.

Other books by Eleanor Herman:

Mistress of the Vatican, also an excellent read, about Olimpia, the woman ---way ahead of her time ---who ran the Vatican while her indecisive brother-in-law was pope during the mid 1600s

Sex With Kings, which will be the next book I will read by this author

WEEKLY COCKTAIL - Friday Flash 55

2009-11-06T06:21:00.004-05:00

This post is in response to

FRIDAY FLASH 55

The idea is to write a story in exactly 55 words.

Click on the yellow link above to join the fun or read others’ stories.

He grilled salmon.
She cooked beans.
He set the table.
She prepared a salad.
He poured the vodka.
She mixed tomato juice, Worchestershire, lemon and tobasco.
They clinked glasses and sipped their Saturday-night Bloody Mary.
While she drank the juice mixture, he consumed the shot of vodka.
It was the secret to their happy marriage.

MY LIFE IN BOOK TITLES

2009-10-26T00:51:00.007-04:00

I got this meme from Jenners at Find Your Next book Here, who got it from As Usual, I Need More Bookshelves, who got if from someone else.

What To Do: Using only books you have read this year (2009), answer these questions. Try not to repeat a book title.

Please note that since I used only books I read this year (I keep a list) not all of these answers are absolutely true and some are a "stretch" as an answer to the question. But it was fun to do, so try it yourself and leave a comment with a link to your answers.

Describe yourself: The Partly Cloudy Patriot (Sarah Vowell) non-fiction

How do you feel: Cause for Alarm (Erica Spinder)

Describe where you currently live: Point Blank (Catherine Coulter)

If you could go anywhere, where would you go? The White House Connection (Jack Higgens)

Your favorite form of transportation: Gone Tomorrow (Lee Child)

Your best friend is: Mistress of the Vatican (Eleanor Herman) non-fiction

You and your friends are: The Wordy Shipmates (Sarah Vowell) non-fiction

What’s the weather like: Dark of the Moon (John Sandford)

You fear: Shadow of Power (Steve Martini)

What is the best advice you have to give: The Whole Truth (David Baldacci)

Thought for the day: Damage Control (J.A. Jance)

How I would like to die: Sudden Mischief (Robert Parker)

My soul’s present condition: Infidel (Ayaan Hirsi Ali) non-fiction

I have read fewer books this year than probably any year in a decade (only 24, so far.) I blame it on spending most of my time blogging.

A BOGGLED MIND IS A TERRIBLE THING TO WASTE

2009-10-03T04:12:00.005-04:00

This short story is in response to

RAVEN’S SATURDAY

WORDZZLE CHALLENGE

Click on the above link to join in or read other entries.

How it works: Raven supplies two sets of words (or phrases) to use in a piece of writing. One can choose the ten- or five-word challenge ---or combine both into a fifteen word mega-challenge.

Mega challenge:
family, cheese cake, 20 years ago, refrigerator, laugh and the world laughs with you, bath brush, zombies, African violets, butterflies, holding hands, monsters in the closet, roughly, bowling, menu, Pennsylvania

(Words from the challenge are in bold face in the story.)

If I stood in a bowling lane and kept rolling balls at the ten pins in the lane in front of me, I would eventually knock them all down, and it probably wouldn’t take me very long to do it. If, however, I were in lane 1, and moved to lane 3, then back to 2 and on to 5 in the bowling alley, it would take me forever to complete my task in the first lane.
That is how the artistic, right-brained mind works.
I can’t start a task and, like a zombie, walk unconsciously through it to its end. No, not me. I jump from task to task. I may complete a task, but it takes forever, sort of like driving from Illinois to Texas, but getting sidetracked through Pennsylvania and Oregon along the way.
I’ve been this way since I was a child. It drove my left-brained family crazy. It took me all day to complete my chores and my room always looked like I had purposely thrown everything I owned into the air just to see where it landed.
Twenty years ago, I thought that as I got older, my organizational skills would improve. Instead they have worsened, so I have decided to accept my incompetence and find the humor in it. As they say, “Laugh and the world laughs with you.”

Let me take you through a simple task. Last Sunday, I decided I absolutely had to read the Wordzzles from Saturday and comment on them. After lunch I headed to my computer, determined that I would not be distracted.
The night before, I had placed some papers on my keyboard to remind me to fill them in. On Monday I had an appointment with a new doctor who had sent me forms about my medical history. I didn’t want to forget them, so I decided to do that first. I already had documents on my computer with medical-history lists, so I opened those to see if they were up-to-date. Two medications had changed, so I headed upstairs to find the bottles to spell the names correctly and find the dosages.
As I passed the refrigerator, I thought I better see what we had for dinner that night. I found leftover pork chops. I grabbed a plastic bowl and headed to the garden to pick what remained of our pole beans.
I returned to my computer to check out the Wordzzles. But, oops, I hadn’t gotten the information from the medicine bottles. On the way, I picked up something that belonged in the closet in the dressing room. But there were monsters in the closet that suckered me into searching for a pair of slacks I couldn’t find. I eventually gave up and headed toward my medications.
In the bathroom, I felt a cold wind coming in the window, so decided to close it, but it had rained for several days, so it was swollen. I looked around for a tool. I figured the bathbrush wouldn’t help, so I found a rubber mallet in a kitchen drawer to bang it shut.
While in the bathroom, I decide to use the facilities, I grabbed a magazine. I browsed articles on butterflies and houseplants. I decided that African violets were too much work, so I chose to forget about any exotic plant life for the house.
Returning to the computer, I realized I had left the post-it note with the names and dosages of my medications in the bathroom. After retrieving it, I revised and printed the information for my doctor. Then I filled out the forms by hand, writing “see attached” when it asked about medical and surgical history and medications.
After placing those with my purse, I was ready for Wordzzle. But then my husband came in to ask if I could help him in the garage. Before retiring, he ran an automotive computer diagnostic service there, so it is not just a garage, it is a G-A-R-A-G-E.
We’ve been havng some car troubles. He was moving some of his other projects out of the way to make room to work on a vehicle. He wanted to store an old car engine in the second-story storage area, so he needed to pull the chain to raise it, while I steadied the 500 pound motor his hoist was holding. Hands down, that hoist is one of the most useful items in his G-A-R-A-G-E.
My husband asked if I had received an email response about an online order that hadn’t arrived. So I checked my email, deleting 37 pieces of junk mail, filing 12 messages to read later, and answering five messages from friends. While I was at it, I decided I might as well check my other two email accounts. I found two messages from friends in Brazil, so I used freetranslation.com to help me write responses and translate them because my Portuguese is rusty.
Then I realized that I had paid for my mother’s Meals On Wheels up through the week that just ended. So I wrote a check and walked to the post office (a block away) so it would go out on Monday.
As soon as I arrived back at the house, my famished husband came in from the G-A-R-A-G-E and asked what was on the menu for dinner. He rinsed the beans and placed them into the top of a steamer and threw the cooked chops into the microwave while I sliced cucumbers and tomatoes for a salad. Lacking something wonderfully obscene like cheesecake, we would have fruit and yogurt for dessert.
We ate dinner while watching a so-so Jimmy Stewart screwball comedy (You Gotta Stay Happy) stopping it once to clean up the kitchen. After the movie, my husband had a few more tasks for me in the G-A-R-A-G-E, including removing rust from tools with a wire brush and polishing some of them with silver polish. (He is a little obsessive about his G-A-R-A-G-E tools.)
After my husband went to bed, I logged into my blog. I found several comments I needed to moderate, some from Friday Flash 55, which reminded me I needed to read and comment on some of those.
Roughly twelve hours after I had first turned on my computer, I clicked on the link to Raven’s blog and pulled up someone’s Wordzzle. Before I read two sentences, I remembered I had promised an organization I belong to that I would set up a blog for them by Monday. At 6 am Monday morning, I went to bed. I might get five hours of sleep before I had to get up for my doctor’s appointment.
The rest of the week was pretty much a repeat of Sunday, so I still haven’t read all of the Wordzzles from last week. (Sorry.) As you can see, I am organizationally impaired and suffer boggled-mind syndrome.

-----------

The above is 90% true. I had to fudge a few magazine articles to fit in butterflies and African violets, but I did read two articles in the bathroom that day. We hoisted some big-ass piece of machinery in the G-A-R-A-G-E but I didn’t know what it was called and my husband was already in bed while I wrote this, so I made it into a car engine since we have hoisted several into the storage area on earlier occasions. But the details don’t matter. The pattern is what is important.
The above describes the motif of my life. It sometimes brings me wonderful and unexpected surprises, but it also frustrates me, and those around me, to no end.

-----------

That being said, I am going to take a hiatus from Wordzzle for a few weeks. I have some projects I have been postponing including some digital photo retouching and freelance art work. I will try to get back to last week's Wordzzles that I missed to add comments. I’ve neglected laundry, mail, bills, my husband and the cat.

RUST BELT - Friday Flash 55

2009-10-02T00:01:00.004-04:00

This post is in response to

FRIDAY FLASH 55

The idea is to write a story in exactly 55 words.

Click on the yellow link above to join the fun or read others’ stories.

His VW seemed to be held together with wires and duct tape. Large patches of rust covered the hood and driver’s door. Rust had eaten several holes all they way through the metal.

But Max was sixteen and it was his first car, so to him it was as good as a shiny new Porsche.

-------------------
My first car was a $300 used Corvair ---you know the one Ralph Nader decided was unsafe at any speed. I needed it to get to my student-teaching assignment each day. There was a hole in the back-seat floor, so passengers could watch the asphalt zip by. On Mother's Day 1967, on my way back to college, I was rear-ended at a stop sign which forced my car into the one ahead of it, totaling the car. Fortunately no one was seriously injured.

I purchased my next car in August of 1969 after I returned home from a two-year stint in the Peace Corps. It was a spanking new Volkswagon Beetle which my new husband totalled in 1971.

Luckily my run of bad luck with cars ended then.

BUY MATTED ART PRINTS by CJ

2009-10-01T00:01:00.001-04:00

(Click on images for larger views.)

Now you can purchase matted prints of CJ's original art work and pay by PayPal.

Each print is hand-signed by the artist and matted to fit a standard-sized frame (in the U.S.) so it will fit an inexpensive frame from a discount store or one you have custom-made.

Shipping is free to anywhere in the U.S. If you want it shipped elsewhere, please send an email message for additional shipping costs: proartz2@gmail.com

You must have a valid email address and a PayPal account.

NOTE: Colors may vary somewhat from what you see here due to our scanner and your monitor settings.

Purchase procedures:

1. Choose the print you want.

2. Send an email to proartz2@gmail.com to reserve the print. Please do not email us unless you fully intend to make a purchase.

Each item is unique. There is only one available, with that exact image and matt color combination. In order to avoid two people purchasing the same item, you must reserve the item by sending an email with "Print Purchase" in the subject line and the Title and Item Number of the image you want in the message. In the unlikely case of duplicate requests, the first email received will be able to purchase that item.

3. Once we receive your request, we will respond to tell you that the item has been reserved for you. (If you do not hear from us immediately, please be patient. Occasionally, we must be away from our computer for up to 5 days at a time, but very rarely.) We will add a SOLD sign to the item on this post.

4. MAKE PAYMENT: Come back to this post within 5 days. Based on the size of the print, use the pull-down box at the bottom of this post to choose the purchase price. Then click on BUY NOW. If payments are not received within 5 days, the SOLD sign will be removed and the item will again be available to others.

5. Once payment has been received, your print will be mailed within 7 days.

Shipping is free within the United States.

6. Questions???

1) Questions of a general - add a comment to this post.

2) Specific questions about your order - send an email to proartz2@gmail.com

DIGITAL PHOTO RETOUCHING SERVICES

2009-09-30T00:01:00.008-04:00

"The Makeover"

Digital Photo Retouching

Payments accepted through PayPal

THESE ARE JUST A FEW OF THE MANY SERVICES WE CAN PROVIDE TO IMPROVE YOUR PHOTOGRAPHIC IMAGES

cropping - resizing

lighten, darken or add contrast

color correction or brighten colors

remove blemishes, flaws, stray hairs, spots, lint - even skin tone

add spots of color to black and white photos

change from color to black and white

change from color or black and white to sepia

tint a black and white image with cheek or lip color

change to a monochromatic image (shades of blue, for example)

remove glare from eyeglasses - enhance smile

correct "red eye" - open closed eyes

soften wrinkles, lines, dark circles - lighten or darken hair

change or remove background

change a photo into a pen and ink drawing, a work of pop-art, or other artistic image

in a group photo, replace a face with one from a different photo

if one person is missing from a group photo, it may be possible to add him/her from a different photo

touch up, remove tears, discoloring, or missing pieces of antique photos

==========================================================

PLEASE DO NOT SEND COPYRIGHTED PHOTOGRAPHS

(such as those taken by a professional photo studio unless they are at least 75 years old.)

THE PHOTOS SHOULD BE YOUR OWN OR THOSE TAKEN BY A FAMILY MEMBER OR FRIEND AND USED WITH THE PHOTOGRAPHER'S PERMISSION.

We do not accept professional-looking photographs.

Pro Artz does not accept nude or pornographic images nor "suggestive" images of minors.

Pro Artz respects your privacy, however we may be obliged to release private information if you send photos that depict illegal activity, including (but not limited to) child pornography, terrorism, hate crimes, abuse, violence, or drug usage.

****** By placing an order, you are certifying that you own the copyright or have the permission of the copyright holder to modify the photo(s) you send. ******

==========================================================

To take advantage of the Pro Artz digital photo retouching services, follow these steps:

1. Scan your photo(s)

300 dpi preferred

2. Attach photo(s) to an email message with "Photo Retouch" in the subject line. Send it to: proartz2@gmail.com

maximum attachment size per email 25 mb (you may send any number of photos as long as the total does not exceed 25 mb)

if you are sending several photos, you may have to send them in separate email messages if the total exceeds the 25 mb limit

NOTE: your own email server may have a smaller mb limit for sending/receiving attachments. If your limit is smaller than the size of your attachment, choose one of these options:

1) Best choice: go to www.gmail.com to set up a gmail account (it takes only a few minutes) that will allow attachments up to 25 mb

2) Another option: reduce the dimensions of the photo and/or reduce the dpi to 200

3. In your email message, explain what you want to have done to the photo.

4. Pro Artz will reply to your email with an estimate of the cost of services based on the time it may take to complete the job.

Standard pricing:

$12 minimum for up to 30 minutes

$3 for each additional 15 minutes

(Currently our pricing goes to 2 hours and 45 minutes; if you have a large order or very difficult problem, we can add another pricing button for higher costs.)

If the cost will run over the estimate by more than $3, we will email you for approval. We usually estimate a little high in case we run into unforeseen problems. The final bill may be less than the estimate and never more than $3.00 more unless we have contacted you.

Because everything is done by email, there are no shipping charges and services can be provided to anyone in the world who has a valid email address and a PayPal account.

Save money by sending more than one photo at a time.

We found no other photo retouching service which will reduce prices in this way.

Example: If you send two photos a month apart, and it takes 1 hour to retouch each, the cost will total $36 for two 1-hour jobs. If you send both with the same order or on the same day, we will charge you for one 2-hour job which will be a total of $30.

5. You will have 15 days to agree to accept our estimate.

If you do not accept the estimate, we will delete your photo scan(s) after 15 days.

6. Unless we inform you otherwise, you should expect your photo to be retouched within 10 days of your acceptance of the estimate, usually much faster. Ask about additional costs for rush orders.

7. When the retouching is complete, we will attach the retouched photo(s) to an email. Each retouched photo will have a Pro Artz "watermark" on it until payment is received.

If you are satisfied, go to step #8.

If not, reply to the email with additional requests to improve the photo.

8. PAYMENT - Once you are satisfied with the retouched photo, come back to this email to make your payment by clicking on the pulldown box at the bottom of this post and choosing the appropriate payment amount. Then click BUY NOW.

Once the payment is received, we will email the retouched photo(s) without the Pro Artz watermark. Unlike some other companies, we do not retain the copyright on the retouched image. The emailed file will be yours and you may print as many copies as you wish.

9. QUESTIONS?

1) If the question is of a general nature, leave a comment.

2) If the question is specific to a particular photographic problem or a specific order, email us at: proartzs@gmail.com

Please be advised that it may take several days to get back to you because ---only occasionally ---we are away from our computer for up to 5 days at a time.