Simple Beauty

When you cannot go home again because situations have changed and the future beckons you, there are always photographs you can go through to see the simple beauty of your life.  This flower is from my rose bush and it has seen twenty summers.  It would be lovely to imagine it sees twenty more.  

The day Joe planted it for me she was such a small rose bush.  Her buds held the promise of tomorrow and we nurtured her right along.  She blooms from May to December and produces wonderful long stemmed roses.  It used to bother me when it was time to prune her branches.  The advice given me by our friend Richard, was to pluck the waning flower directly underneath the pulp or body of the flower. If we were to cut it to place the flower into a vase, then we would cut it as long as possible. Lastly, to water her a lot because she will produce more, and in winter to cut her strong branches down to about a fifth of her size.

As you can tell growth was never a challenge to my rose bush.  She would have stretched up over the rooftop had I allowed it.  Looking at her one may easily see her personality and rare but simple beauty.  I wish to thank my rose bush for the years of perfection and grace which she bestowed upon our family.

Like This Photograph

I am excited for this new talent.  It has been a long time since we have had a male vocalist with this wide range.  Hats off to you Adam Lambert!  

Let me tell you that when I watch a person sing a song numerous times and then wake up hearing their performance in my dreams then you may rest assured they will become a legend in our time.

Take Me With You

 

   

heading northwards, originally uploaded by hkvam.

Standing here upon this hill I close my eyes and wish myself aboard the vessel drawing nearer to me. My eyelids open and I am still in the same spot, but in my minds eye I am on board, watching the passing shoreline. We float past the earth upon which I once stood and it is vacant but for the wild growth that covers the hillside. I am traveling … I am free.

Today is my day of exploration. I visit countries web sites to travel distant lands and read the words people use to describe their adventures. The world is a beautiful place and as long as we hold onto this fact the daily troubles can melt away, at least for a bit.

Food travel is also a fun way to feast with the eyes. Visiting restaurants via internet surfing can be a surreal way of peeking into this vast world we have. Seeing the way people go about offering the finest menus, wines and desserts.

Our minds are such a perfect place to fill with the wondrous things in life. This way, we may always tune in to visit whenever we wish and it’s free. Now that’s economical.

Ignoring My Cravings

Whenever I prolong the cravings within myself, push the ideas aside or deny my spiritual creative talents a small part of me dies away.  There is an internal floodgate holding these artistic traits in abeyance.  Purportedly I must be saving them up for another time, but nonetheless I feel the denial in my bloodstream and the bars of my self-imposed impervious cell.

I feel like throwing paint … everywhere.  The times I understand the check I keep on my artists heart, I travel through remorse for what I deny the universe. Why I do this is reasoned out by my convincing my mind that to temper the amount of my revealed self is a pure desire to not over-do-it.

This Artwork is entitled “BaaBoo.”  It was a nickname given me by the man I dated before I met my husband.  You know some people get under your skin and they leave fond memories.  He was such a friend and talented clothing designer.  His mother called me Nuisance and to an impressionable young woman, it wasn’t an endearing name, although she claimed it was.  People have a way of remaining with you for a time, while others are always right there in the cavities of your mind.  Easy to call-to-mind and available whenever you miss their presence.  Why do some people travel through your life while others stay in the forefront?

Today must be one of those deep days and I shall allow myself the personal time to walk the deep waters barefoot.  Perhaps my stay here will be shorter than normal.

Original Theresa’s Mouse Art, BaaBoo, Circa 2000 Copywrite

Sunday French Toast and Memorial Day

Yesterday was Sunday and I prepared a recipe of French Toast.  Since it had been a while from the last time I made it, I was winging the ingredients and embellished a bit in order to embrace the bouquet of the egg mixture.  I believe initially that I added too much milk and heavy cream (half and half) and not as many eggs.  There was just my husband and I to share this meal and I didn’t want to use twelve eggs.  

Unfortunately I must have had brain freeze … most likely from all of the times I prepared bread pudding at the hotel, and after slicing day old freshly baked bread, I erred three ways.  I soaked the bread in order to let it absorb the liquid; this is normal for bread pudding because you are going to bake it in a bain marie, or a water bath.  Next because the milk and cream was not balanced with the egg content, it didn’t have enough hold to the bread.  Finally, I did not use a non-stick pan.

Directly after the first two slices, I adjusted the recipe to include more eggs, more liquor and a quick dunking and turning of the bread.  Voila`!  Magic.  

Now this morning, I awakened myself with an invention, if you will, of a new recipe.  I jotted it down on a page of newspaper, tore it off and thought I should enter it into a contest.  Wouldn’t you know that the page I had torn off was the reverse side of some Memorial Day photographs honoring our fallen troops!  I respectfully returned the slip of newspaper to my husband, who grabbed the tape and connected the torn bit to the larger portion.  Had I known, I should never have used that for my idea.  Next time I will be sure to check both sides of the page before I haphazardly tear the paper.

Today is a day to give thanks for all of our citizens, who over the centuries have died in the line of duty and have fought bravely for our nation.  I asked my husband if he always saved the pictures of these individuals and he replied that he did as long as they printed them.  He said he wanted to remember all of the people Bush put into harms way.

Three of our nephews, sons of his elder sister and brother-in-law, served in the war. Two of them were sent back for more duty and one of them was there three tours.  We want to especially remember the brave men and women who dedicate their lives for our safety.

In ending todays diatribe, back to my new concoction, I wish I could divulge my new secret recipe because not only is it delicious, it is fresh in it’s conception and mouthwateringly delightful.  I am very pleased with my idea and as soon as I make certain of it’s originality, I will enter it into the G.M. Contest. I wish you could taste it!

Crossing The Line

It’s the medias fault along with the directors, producers, writers and yes, their audience.  We are most of us to blame.  The reason I put emphasis on this is that without someone to watch the television programs, news, movies, without someone to pickup books, tabloids or magazines to read, there would be no need to cross the line.  No market … no call to “Go There.”  Who decided where “There” really is?  It is time that artistic censorship become responsible.  They must desist in desensitizing the public.  Much more and we could cross the line whereby nothing is over the line and then it turns into a free-for-all! 

I am certain that we were all accustomed to having the line pointed out to us by our parents, other relatives, the neighbors, our teachers, lawmakers and an innate sense of what is right or wrong. You know, that inner voice who sometimes heckled us into crossing the line or saved us before we stepped into chaos or tragedy.  Where did the ordinance go?  When did it become Okay to break the rules, step over the line of decency and ignore the right thing to do?  Why do we feel entitled to break the rules?  Why do we feel some people should be made examples of when they cross the line. Who decides which lines may be crossed and which may not?  There are varying degrees of thought and debate which score results based upon theorem and personal beliefs.  Where does it begin and where will it end?

Without sounding like the FCC or someone protesting in a picket line, this muse is to ask you to think about the entertainment we are digesting and the lies the big companies feed us in their commercials.  It saddens me deeply to believe that we are on such a downward spiral toward ugly.  When did goodness, wholesomeness and beauty take the backseat?  Why are most of us agreeable to be led away from our better judgement?  Do we follow the rules or do we break them?  Who’s to set good examples anymore?  How will the younger generation turn out if we do nothing now to instill in them a better future and one without so much violence?  One without the meanness. 

We could decide to filter out a percentage of the horrible and ugly things each day, at least until it became more reasonable to expect our world and entertainment world to become a more beautiful place.  I do not find the constant bombardment of ripping someone’s life apart, while others stand laughing on the sidelines to be uplifting or kind.  There is no value in this and is it Okay as long as it isn’t being done to you?  Listen.  Kindness is not a weakness … nor is it boring.  

Think about it.  The very next 10 times you decide to cross the line, I want you to become very aware of your actions.  Were we to band together and choose the better and kinder side of the coin, our world would improve dramatically and we might all feel better … about our actions anyway.

Beyond My Reach

Oh where has my beloved gone 

I know not where he may be

Although I’d always

Set him free

I never thought he’d leave

Altruistic gifts from my heart

Waned through passing years

I’ve but myself to wait here

Until he reappears

(C) All rights reserved 

Theresa H Hall

Hungry For French Connections

I need some of these.  Time to get to the kitchen and prepare some pate a choux.

Musical Inclinations

Each time I have to run the vacuum cleaner this big boy has to be moved about.  It is over six feet tall and compared to my, when I stretch, five foot four, it’s a real hand(s) full.  It really does take two to move aside.  Afterward I get to move it back into place.  This isn’t the final spot for this instrument leaned up against the television cabinet.  Eventually, it will end up in the studio or upstairs in the loft.

Being musically inclined, I have attempted a few strokes of the big bow against the strings.  Screetch and ouch are apt descriptives to my bass playing.  I’ll gladly stick to my microphones, tambourine and cowbells.

There is one nice thing about having it in the living room though.  Sometimes I can get my husband to take it up and make real music sound from within it’s wooden body.  As he plucks the strings or strokes the bow across the fat strings I sit and am always amazed by the excitement I feel because the whole instrument thing eludes me.  Why is it one person can play an instrument while another cannot?

For years now I have played the same few combinations of piano notes and fooled around on the baby grand, but I am a fraud of a musician.  I mean … who can’t play chopsticks I ask you?  Watching musicians play their instruments of choice is satisfying to hear and watch but frustrating to someone who would dearly love to be the next musical prodigy.

I can play my microphone and small percussion instruments very well but the ones I really want to play remain a mystery.  Even Nora The Piano Playing Cat plays more proficiently than I.  Plus she is so darn cute.  My late kitty, Fiona looked very much like Nora and her fur was incrediblly soft.  Finoa never attempted to play the piano however, being Bobby’s Mother was a full time job and she didn’t have time for such frivolities.

Music is in the sky, the earth, the insects, the air, the plants, animals and people.  Where would we be without the wonderful sounds, the melodies and the harmonies?  Where would we be without our musical inclinations?  For those who do not play or perform there are the CD’s of those that do and most people have their own array of musical stash.  Many of the songs from our youth stay with us through adulthood and whenever we hear these songs they have the magic to transport us to another place and time.

Once the rosin is rubbed across the bowstrings and the cleft work is done, I am going to ask my husband to teach me to play one short song, just so I can feel that rare feeling of accomplishment of mastering something out of my comfort zone.

Toasting The Domestic Minx

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         Two years ago I began writing my web log in order to release pent up emotions over the loss of my late Mother, the stress of graduating from a prestigious French culinary school, working slavish hours in a gigantic, major hotel pastry kitchen and battling newly introduced, into my life, high blood pressure.  To say the least, I found I was suffering from total exhaustion.

I sang professionally for many years, worked traditional jobs and later, painted for over ten years.  I write because it is the crux of my existence, yet I have found it is also the bane for which I am eternally grateful.  You see, there are millions of folk who would dearly love to express their innermost feelings on paper but alas … they are either too inhibited, shy, private, unsure or believe they possess the inability to capture the essence of themselves properly and therefore never attempt to forge the ink and paper testing ground.  The verbal sounding board.

After I wrote, poured out my heart, and therapeutically released many inner voices, I was glad to have happened upon a writer who immediately hooked me, line and sinker. Just about two years ago, while visiting my friend Thomas at his mystery web log, Harry McFry Investigates, I curiously noticed a link to one of his favorite sites.  You see, the beauty of ones friends is that many of them have a blog roll where they list their favorite blog writers.  It was thusly that I was introduced to The Domestic Minx … a delectable writer, mother, wife and infectious delight of womanhood.  She would write her words, tell her stories and completely enrapture her readers.  We loved to read her and visited her web log almost daily.  She became a special place to visit and we all cherished her wit, vitality, beauty and expression.  She held us captive and laughed while she did so.

There are her photographs on Flickr.com and the fact that she was willing to be up front and quite candid made her all the more delicious.  I highly recommend you read her stories and go back over the entire history of her works.  There is a slim possibility she is no longer here on Earth with us, but I do pray that isn’t so.  We became fast confidants and enjoyed a sweet friendship.  That it has been over seventeen months since her last email to me, I drink to her because I treasured our cyberspace connection and her varied mixture of readers also miss her terribly.

To all things deliciously decadent, foxy, feminine, luscious, beautiful and sexy, I raise my glass to you, The Domestic Minx.