Spitball Army

Charlton Heston’s Michelangelo as mercurial artist? Okay. Rex Harrison’s Julius as papal warlord? History lesson for me.

Card is titled: “Oceanside, Oregon Coast. Photo: H.A. Williams.”

Printed on back of postcard:

CT-144
OCEANSIDE, OREGON
Excellent beaches, good surf and rock fishing. Scenic beauty unsurpassed.

Publishing information:

Smith Western Inc., 1133 N.W. Gilsan, Portland, Oregon 97209

Not an admirer of her music, but Bjork completely inhabited the character of Selma (or vice versa). A mesmerizing final half-hour.

CLOUDS

(and caving in)

Sometimes, it just makes sense to pull the camera phone from the passenger seat, balance it on the rim of the steering wheel, and snap away at the sky. These lofty formations were spied as I drove westbound on I-20 from work in Leeds toward home in Birmingham. (Click on the images to get a full-size cloudy picture.)

“Sometimes, there’s so much beauty in the world…

…I feel like I can’t take it…

…like my heart is just going to cave in.”
– Ricky Fitts, the plastic bag videographer in American Beauty

CARBS (part one)

The diet of the American South is steeped in things that are incredibly tasty and not very healthy: cornbreads, pies, all kinds of fried stuff, even more fried things, and other bready things stuffed inside of other fried things. The best (as in, healthiest) foods are the more expensive foods, it seems, so it is easy to eat poorly (pun intended) if you are making an effort to economically scrape by. Also, it is easy to eat poorly if you are lazy.

I guess that’s me pointing the finger back at myself. Hey, you. Hey, fat, lazy you. Do something!

So, a week ago, I decided to strip my diet of carbs. I have done this on a few occasions before, but once you’ve gone through the process and know of its perils, it’s tough to suffer through it again. It takes the ultimate strength of mind over matter, because, honestly, who wants to knowingly inflict pain upon themselves. But it was time. Aware that I would be entering a three- to four-day marathon of blinding headaches, I dove in, armed with my excess supply of tramadol.

Day One (Friday) was bearable, but I was working the closing shift at work that day, and by early evening, I sensed that I snapped unnecessarily a few times at co-workers.

Day Two (Saturday) was the first of two consecutive days off from work. The headaches dug in from the moment the sun rose. I popped a tramadol with my morning coffee for relief. When the headaches returned around 3:00 PM, I popped a second pill. I was relaxed enough to take a late afternoon nap and slept through until the wee morning hours when I was awakened by a piercing pain in my temples.

Day Three (Sunday). This was a revelatory three-tramadol day. Those damn pills are wonders. They quelch the pain, as they are supposed to do, and make the body blissfully relaxed. Almost – and this is what proved to be the problem – almost euphorically relaxed. When I went horizontal on the bed, ready to sleep, my body was prepared, but the drugs had activated a manic background buzz in my brain that absolutely would not shut down and allow me to fall asleep. Would not shut down, that is, until 2:15 AM on Monday morning. And my alarm was set for 4:00 AM, because Monday I was to be at work early to greet the first day of our annual inventory.

COUNTING

Yes, counting.

Scanning, counting, climbing up ladders, opening boxes, checking other people’s counts, climbing down ladders, writing counts on computer print-outs, erasing the counts, re-writing the correct counts, closing the boxes, turning computer print-outs with scribbled-on counts in, getting new computer print-outs, climbing up ladders, climbing down ladders, trying to find a fan to stand in front of, counting pieces of moulding, recounting pieces of moulding, getting a drink of water, getting another drink of water, sharpening the pencil, looking for that ladder that just disappeared while you were getting a drink of water, cursing the broken pencil lead, double-checking yesterday’s counts, getting locked out of the computer system, resetting your password, recounting other peoples’ counts of moulding, climbing up the ladder, stirring up a dust cloud, sneezing, climbing down the ladder, counting something other than moulding, turning the computer print-outs in again, sitting down, marshaling both mental and physical forces to stand up and go home at the end of the day.

Four days of this. And then we were finished.

CARBS (part two)

In the midst of the counting was Day Four (Monday), during which I attempted to remain on my feet, despite having had less than two hours of sleep the night before. Somehow, I made it through the day, with only the slightest little headache, two aspirin, and no tramadol, and only falling asleep on my feet twice.

Day Five (Tuesday) and beyond revealed a fresh start for this old body: a small bit of toast or fruit in the morning, followed by a very conscientious vegetable-heavy and protein-studded lunch and dinner. So far – on Day Nine – it’s working, and I’m feeling well. Someone even asked me today if I had been losing weight. I think they were just being nice.

CUCUMBERS

We finished inventory on Thursday, and I arrived home mid-afternoon. I went straight to the vegetable garden, pulled back the surrounding netting, and weeded the bed. Imagine my immense surprise to find that there was a cucumber plant growing in the middle of the garden among the marigolds and weeds. It – my surprise – was indeed immense, and this hardy cucumber vine had already made itself comfortable in the garden, twining on the metal cage surrounding one of the poblano pepper plants. Last year’s cucumber crop did poorly and was yellowed to death by constant rains with little sun. I had tilled the refuse into the soil, and some of the seeds apparently survived.

We may have pickles this summer, after all.

Stark black & white Hungarian film intersperses rapid cuts of multiple random images throughout. A dying woman’s last memories? So unusual.

(photo: Laura Rader)

Revisited this as I feared I was unfair to it years ago. I wasn’t: still a piece of trash masquerading as art. I rate it four zzzz’s.

Card is untitled on the front.

Printed on back of postcard:

SPRING
Lawrence Alma-Tadema (1836-1912)
178.5 cm x 80 cm.
THE J. PAUL GETTY MUSEUM, Malibu, California

No publishing information printed.

BASEBALL

While weeding among the monkey grasses beneath the wall at the front of my yard a few weeks ago, I unearthed a baseball that I assumed had rolled down the sidewalk to its resting place there. I removed it, wiped it free of pollen and dirt, and placed it atop the stone column that borders the steps up to my front porch. No one has claimed it; it remains on its rocky perch.

BOBBY

As I turned to walk up the driveway, I spied my neighbor Robert – Uncle Bobby to many here – edging his lawn along the street. I stealthily snapped a picture of him in action from a distance.

BIRD

There was a bird standing at the gable point above the garage door singing its heart out. Something in the back of my mind hinted to me that this was an omen of good fortune. I raised my phone to snap a photo of it, but it flew away just before I was able to capture its image.

BOTTLE TREE

I have been relieved of my duty to water the vegetable garden for the last two weeks, as we have had almost daily afternoon thundershowers. As a result, the tomato plants are growing rapidly, almost eclipsing the presence of the iron bottle tree in the center of the raised bed. I hadn’t encountered even the idea of a bottle tree until I had spent a few years in the deep South – it is a remnant of Hoodoo – or folk magic – culture, and the presence of one (usually found in one’s back yard, at least that’s the usual location in my neighborhood) is believed to ward off evil spirits. The green spray paint I had applied to it earlier in the season acts as a camouflage; only the presence of two brown beer bottles betrays its location.

BANANA PEPPER

Today’s garden discovery was a nearly mature banana pepper. It is the first fruit from this summer’s garden, but I’ll give it some more time before I indulge. By the way, for those of you who do canning, a handful of banana pepper O-slices put into pickles adds a nice approachable tang to the taste. I just happened upon this a couple of years ago when canning dill pickles, when I had a lot of the little yellow suckers left over. Now I can’t imagine not adding them to the mix!

BLOSSOM

On the walk toward the back of my property, and the steps leading up to my quiet writing garret above the garage, I pass a nascent blossom on the magnolia tree. It is about two days away from being fully open, but it’s already releasing its fragrance. Lean in. Can you smell it?

POSTSCRIPT: Today, Tuesday, June 10th, I pulled up in the driveway and either the same or a different bird was perched atop the garage. This time, my camera caught it.

Francis Coppola continues his experiments with non-linear narrative, color and symbolism. Enjoyable, if obtuse, horror tale.