I See Your Lawn Flamingos And Raise You Two Cranes

 

Things Worthy Of Wonder

 

What Was Not Thought Upon Awakening

 This morning, like just about every other morning of my entire life, I did not wake up and think to myself: "Self, you are only going to have so many days in which to experience the joys that life has got to offer without having to be pushed around in a wheelchair, or worse."

Nope, didn't say that to myself at all. The only reason I'm thinking it now is due to the short biographical sketch of Brandon deWilde I had written down in one of my sketchbooks several years ago.

And the only reason I was leafing through that sketchbook was to find the phone number for an Ebay seller that I can no longer locate on Ebay.

Before I digress further allow me to try to stay on topic and explain about the short biographical sketch. See, this smart beautiful woman I know who has great taste in movies, once sent me a text one afternoon that stated she was watching the movie Hud, which starred Paul Newman, and elaborated upon how gorgeous she thought Paul Newman was.

I responded to that text by stating that, while Hud was one of Newman's best works, what I always remembered about that film was the young actor Brandon deWilde who had tragically died in a car crash less than twenty years after he acted in that film.

The reason I always remembered Brandon deWilde was due to the fact that the accident that took his life happened on the onramp from Kipling avenue to 6th avenue here in Lakewood, which at the time (of the text) was an onramp I utilized almost every single day, and had been utilizing on almost a daily basis for the past 15 or so years.

Brandon deWilde was only 30 years old at his passing, and had accomplished much in those few years. He acted in almost 500 performances of the Broadway play The Member of the Wedding starting at the age of 7, winning a Donaldson award along the way (as well as a Golden Globe for his performance in the film adaptation), and had been nominated for the Best Supporting Actor Oscar for his performance in the movie Shane (he played the hero worshipping character Joey Starrett, at the age of 11). 

His resume before the age of twenty rivaled the careers of actors who had worked in film for decades - he starred in his own television series (Jamie, cancelled due to a contract dispute), and co-starred in films with the likes of Alan Ladd, Jean Arthur, Van Heflin, Jack Palance, James Stewart, Louise Beavers, William Brennan, Sydney Poitier, Audie Murphy, Lee Marvin, Carol Lynley, Marsha Hunt, Warren Beatty, Angela Lansbury...you get the gist, he was quite the prodigy.

To cut this diatribe short, one of the things I wrote on that page in my sketchbook was the Latin phrase "Fac vitam optimam dierum, quos habes, numerator" which translates to "Make the best life of the days you have, for they are numbered" (approximately - not like I'm a Latin scholar you know).

It may not be as succinct as Carpe Diem, but it is a phrase I've always liked for both it's inspirational and ominous warning qualities.

But truth be told, I've never uttered it upon awakening.

Tailgate Me Harder...

 

The Painting No One Was Allowed To See

 It was kept in a locked room in the back of the old farmhouse that had been built in the northeast corner of a 10 acre plot of land located about 16 miles from the nearest town of any size.

It was worth at least 4 times what the combined value of every piece of property - land and buildings and contents - within a 50 mile radius of the old farmhouse would be worth (if a buyer could be found for some of the fallow lands and derelict buildings that is).

A buyer could readily be found for the painting, should it ever be put up for sale. Several buyers actually, possibly thousands of buyers.

The very existence of the painting was a closely guarded secret however, known only to a few people. Three people to be exact.

Two brothers and a sister, the offspring of the man who had brought the painting back from Europe with him when he was discharged from the Army following the end of World War II.

After their parents had passed away (tragically, in the crash of a large airliner), the then twenty-ish siblings had agreed to keep the painting in the small locked room, just as their father had for 33 years. 

The room had been intended to be used as a bedroom when the farmhouse was originally built, but was converted into what their Father called his "Den" after he had bought the property after graduation from the University.

The interior of the den resembled the library of an English manor home, or at least the Hollywood version of what a library in an English manor home would look like. Wainscoting featuring dark mahogany panels, wallpaper that may have been designed by William Morris in one of his darker periods, a coffered ceiling without a light fixture, a small fireplace with a tiled hearth and a heavy, rough-hewn oak mantle.

Large sconces with electrical lights (some of the first ever installed in the county) were mounted on all the walls, and they provided ample light for the windowless room.

Two large, comfortable leather club chairs on either side of a round drinks table were positioned in front of the only wall that wasn't covered in framed photographs of family and friends.

It was on this wall that the painting hung. It was a fairly modest size, approximately 28.5 by 36 inches, and was secured to a simple, unornamented frame.

The paint was thick, and looked as if it had been sculpted onto the canvas. The colors bright, vibrant, almost as if to suggest the flowers depicted were in a state of alert.

The painting was, as their father had often stated, devastatingly magnificent.

In the lower right hand corner of the painting, at an angle that seemed to suggest it was trying to escape from the canvas through the bottom of the frame, was a signature in a light red hue.

"Vincent".

  

All It Cost Was The Center

 Personal experience over the past four decades has made a somewhat disturbing cultural reality very evident.

And that is that there is no respect for the center. 

By the center I mean a point wherein two diametrically opposed sides of an argument can agree to meet. 

It is no longer considered polite, or reasonable, or intelligent, to settle a disagreement of any sort. These days one must absolutely win the argument outright, no compromise, no quarter, no middle ground.

Everyone has to be right. Everyone has to have it their way, or no way. 

People have lost sight of the gray, every side of every issue has become black and white. 

Which just plain sucks.

Nonconforming Like The Norm

 Everybody is a non-conformist these days                                                               Or at least that's the way it seems                                            The way they're coloring their hair                                                   Putting cucumbers in ironic beer                                                       Posting agglutinative syntactic memes

Nobody wants to be just a part of the crowd                                          Gotta shout it from the boxtops, gotta scream it out loud

            Look at me, see me, listen to me

Sporting a tattoo like a brand                                                                                      Got to be noticed and propped                                              Can't be seen with the wrong shoes on                                              Can't be seen without the right trope                                                    Can't be seen as basic                                                                           or you'll get dropped  

Nobody wants to be just a part of the crowd                                          Gotta shout it from the boxtops, gotta scream it out loud