My Favorite TV Character, Captain Kangaroo

Wednesday...I hear that it's "Favorite TV Character Day".  Who could be  better to represent TV and character than Captain Kangaroo?

 

When I was little, this was the tv program I watched every weekday morning.  This was before childcare, pre-k, kindergarten, preschool.  This was the time when Grandma would come and sit with you when Mom had to go shopping or to the doctor. 

 

Captain Kangaroo was the way I started the day, with toast, cereal maybe, strawberry Quik.  Captain Kangaroo (Bob Keeshan),  Mr. Green Jeans (Hugh Brannum), and Mr. Moose, Mr. Bunny Rabbit, Grandfather Clock,  Dancing Bear, and Tom Terrific and Mighty Manfred the Wonder Dog, I remember them all.  I remember Phoebe the sheepdog, and the pingpong balls, the magic drawing board.

 

I remember the commercials...appropriate ones for kids my age, for Schwinn bicycles, Playdoh, and Crayola Crayons.

 

And he read to me.  Curious George, Make Way for Ducklings, Blueberries for Sal, the books I hold in my hands today that make me remember Captain Kangaroo. 

 

There's no doubt in my mind that the Captain helped develop my love of books, pingpong balls, nice bikes and fuzzy animals.  I can't imagine what kind of person I would have been  without him.

Art Sunday The Story of Picasso and a Dachshund - New York Times

Lump,  in a Picasso version of "Las Meninas" by Velazquez. 

(Museu Picasso, Barcelona)

 

 

Since I really need to rest, I turn you over to the capable Arts section of the New York Times.

 

The Story of Picasso and a Dachshund - New York Times 

written by Alan Riding, Published August 26, 2006

 

 

Art Sunday "Do It Yourself"

I've had a rough week, a sinus infection, way too much drama at work sometimes (I hate drama...unlesss it's on TNT), and I'm just tired.

 

So, to rejuvenate, let me take you to a site I enjoy. 

 

 S C R I B B L E R

 

Draw away, and then start the program...make a masterpiece.  Above?  Just a little doodle I did this morning. 

 

Book Tuesday

This morning, I wrote this comment for The Witch's entry "On Choices, Museums and Books."

 

So many great books, so little time. I work in the tech services department of a public library, doing processing on all new books and repairs on damaged books. I am afforded the luxury of having a few minutes to browse everything that comes in.

 

There is a lot of crap out there, for sure. Danielle Steel comes to mind. We're getting a deluge of requests for the genre of "Christian Fiction." The "Left Behind" series is just about the biggest pile of pulpwood poop I've ever witnessed.

 

My favorite is definitely the genre I call Southern Disfunctional...Alice Walker, Flannery O'Conner, Toni Morrison's "Beloved" was one of the best horror stories I've ever read,  Rick Bragg's "All Over but the Shouting", Willie Morris and his "My Dog Skip".

 

I usually keep at least two novels, and at least one audio book going at one time, not to mention the knitting and textile books that I keep open for reference. Right now I'm listening to "The Attack" by Yasmina Khadra and reading "The All-True Travels and Adventures of Lidie Newton: A Novel", by Jane Smiley, and "Sapphire's Grave" by Hilda Gurley-Highgate.

 

There is an unbelievable amount of Young Adult and Children's Fiction out there too, many that I wind up taking home, if I can't finish them at my desk. I wait with enthusiasm for "Walter the Farting Dog Goes on a Cruise" by William Kotzwinkle...the previous books in the series have been real page turners!

 

I have to keep a notebook at my desk to list the books I want to read, there is just no way to get them all home to read, but all of us in my department have agreed, that we wish that every week, we could read a book like "Marley & Me: Life and Love with the World's Worst Dog"  by John Grogan.

 

  

I know, I'm a dog lover (LMAO!  Can't you tell I love dogs?) and I identified with the humor, the destruction, the unconditional love.  Marley was NOT the world's worst dog.  Marley was a Lab.  As a past and present owner of labs and retrievers, I just think that I've got the world's worst dog when I have to replace a sofa, or rehang drapes or suck up the remnants of the destruction of a waterbed.  Those of us at work that read the book loved it, and I listened to it while I was at work, and laughed.  I also cried at the inevitable conclusion, bringing back all of the pain that I felt this past January when I had to let go of my dear Golden Smiley (who did as much if not more to destroy this home than Marley did to his.)

 

Reading this book now, has helped remind me that no matter what happens now, the puppyhood phase won't last forever, sheetrock can be replaced, and unconditional love and devotion is priceless.    This is one of the rare popular hits that resonated with me, and if you are a dog lover, it probably will with you too.

So, What Was Your Big Moment on a Motorcycle?

This motorcycle looks exactly like the one I had.  And I am getting the hots for another one, I must admit.  It's a  Kawasaki KZ1000 Police Edition.

 

Speaking of hots/or maybe trots?...check out  Bill's Droppings - The Ballad of the Queasy Riders.  Bill suggested in a comment on my "Back when I let my Good Times Roll" entry that I ought to issue a challenge, and I see he's gone ahead, and started without me!  

 

So, give it up, let your hair down, spill your guts like Bill did, or let it all hang out, like I did, but tell it!  The kickstand is down!  The Leather Jacket is hung up, but it's time to share.  What's YOUR motorcycle story?

Back when I let my Good Times Roll

A few weeks ago, Rosie got tagged with one of the "List of 6 Things" game.  In the section called "6 Things that people would be surprised to know about me:" this was #2...  

"I am terrified of humiliation - This fear has prevented me from trying many new things and is the principle reason I do not have a motorcycle license."

 

 

 

Well, settle 'round children, and I'll tell you my motorcycle story.

A long time ago, in 1990, before some of you were born, when I was young and just a little foolish, I had the hots for a bike.  A big bike, not a dirt bike, or a little 650 something, I wanted a big girl's bike.  And lo and behold, a friend of mine who had connections down in Statesboro, GA (yeap, the town that the Allman Brothers sang about), found and bought a bike at a county auction.  It was the kind of bike I'd always dreamed about.  Oh yeah, it was a copcycle, like the CHiPs bikes, the lovely white with black trim Police Edition KZ1000 Kawasaki.  It had been laid down hard, and the chrome had been scraped off of one of the guard bars, and the saddle bag on that side was not in the best shape, but, it was a fine looking bike. 

He worked on it a little bit, tuned it up, dressed it back up a little, cleaned up where the county had removed the lights and siren, and offered it to me.  Because, he knew, I had the hots for that bike.  And he made a little profit, and I got the bike. 

I had to put new tires on it.  I had to polish the windshield.  I replaced the old tractor seat with a new tractor seat, and got myself a new white pearl Shoei helmet, and a decent jacket.  And there was NO doubt, I was born to be wild. 

Now this was a big bike.  It had floorboards.  It sat like an easy chair.   I could ride to hell, and be able to walk straight when I got there.  Oh god, that bike was comfortable. 

And it being an older bike, and already having some road scars, I didn't cry too much, when I had to kick start it one afternoon in the driveway, and dumped it in the gravel.  I got over that. 

And I got over the humiliation that came when I was waiting for a parking space at Drug Emporium, and forgot that my feet were on the running boards and not the asphalt, and oh, just fell over.  I never, ever had trouble getting assistance uprighting my bike, no matter where I fell over.  And everyone always apologized to me, like it was their fault that I forgot to put my feet down.  I'm cute as hell now, but then?  I was a knockout, there is no other explaination.

I took the Motorcycle Safety Foundation Class that the State Patrol had just started to offer at Dekalb College.  I passed, on a little bitty 250 Honda, that the State supplied for everyone to ride in the class.  Not at all like the Kawasaki.  It was a two weekend class, and the last day of the class, I rode the Kawasaki to school, and the Commissioner (or whatever he was) of the GA State Patrol was there, watching the end of the class.  There were a couple of little frufru girls there (they were the first people that I'd ever seen drinking Evian water), a bunch of big ol' boys, and me.

I got my little certificate, and was headed out the door, and the Commissioner looks at me as some of these little boys are whizzing out of the parking lot on their little sports bikes, and says to me, with an absolutely straight face, "You be careful out there, you've got a lot more between your legs than they do."  The teachers of the class looked at him hard, and his assistant elbowed him, and the Commissioner blushed bright red, and huffed, "You know what I mean..."

Oh, yes, I sure did...cause I had a big girl's bike. 

The next week, I rode lots.  I learned to adjust my clothing to stay warm in the morning, and cool in the afternoon.  I had learned to lean into the corners, and keep my eyes level with the horizon, to countersteer, to brake consistently.  I'd learned to be aware, and to be safe. 

There is this lovely little part of Newton County called Spring Hill, the roads are windy, the road is nicely paved, and the area, at the time, was heavily forested and cool even on a hot summer afternoon.  I'd come off of a stop, and was on the main road home, and a Pinto was chugging along up ahead of me.   I thought, wow, he's moving slow, I'm going to be able to practice that acceleration and passing stuff...

And sure enough, I come up close, and this guy is not looking where he is going, he's looking back at me.  He's going slower and slower, and I'm smug thinking to myself, he thinks I'm a cop on this bike, with this white helmet, but, sheeze, he could move a little faster. 

We were going through some tight corners, and he kept watching me.  And being young and foolish, I thought he was thinking , yeah, she's looking good back there.  I had on steel toe boots, jeans, purple tee, and I was long and lean, and yeah, I could imagine, yeah, I'm looking good, buddy, just keep looking.

Finallllly we get to a straightaway.  I see a couple of electric company trucks coming over the hill approaching me, but this guy in the Pinto is doing all of 30, in a 55 mph zone.  And he's still watching me.  So, I pull back on the accelerator, and begin my pass. 

I look over at him, during the pass, and his window is down, and his mouth is open, looking at me as I go past.  I look back in my mirror, pull back into my lane, and he's still staring at me.

And even though I've pulled back into my lane, these two EMC trucks pull off on the shoulder on their side of the road.  As I go past them, I lift my hand to wave, and these guys in these two trucks are all watching me go by with their mouths open.  Like they'd never seen a woman on a motorcycle....

And as I started to accelerate away, from all of this, I look down at my speedometer.  It had kicked up to an easy 65, and I noticed something else.  I could see the outside of my helmet from inside. 

And then it hit me.  I couldn't see the outside of my helmet from inside.  I looked down again, and my tshirt had rolled itself up under my arms, and was hitched up all across my chest and bra, and I had just flashed a guy in a Pinto, and two EMC crews. 

So, I learned I needed to wear a shirt TUCKED in when I was on a bike.  The next day, I wore a nice long white tshirt and tucked it in carefully before I left work the next afternoon. 

 

It started raining halfway home, and that white tshirt held no secrets when I finally pulled into my neighborhood. 

That's my motorcycle story.  And I'm sticking with it.

 

Book Tag

That damn clown got me....

1. Grab the nearest book.

2. Open the book to page 123. 

3. Find the fifth sentence.

4. Post the text of the next 3 sentences on your Blog (Please include the book and author) along with these instructions.

5.Just pick up whatever is closest.

 

 

Okay, here it is...from "The Sweet Hereafter" by Russell Banks...

(and I'm giving you 5 sentences, because the 5th is the kicker...)

 

" "...You don't have time to sterilize it properly."

"I said yes, my Swiss army knife.  Clean and sharp.  But what the hell for?

"Use the small blade," he said, and then he explained how to perform an emrgency tracheoltomy, told me how to cut into my daughter's throat and windpipe without causing her to bleed to death."

 

I've done this one on so many other folks' blogs, I think all my friends may be tapped out...  but read something anyway, and if you get hooked on that 123rd page, give me a few sentences!

Art Sunday with Dogs

Titian aka Tiziano Vecelli - Venus and Adonis

oil on canvas - 1553-54, Museo del Prado, Madrid, Spain

 

From the article "An Artist's Best Friend: The Dog in Renaissance Painting" by Edgar Peters Bowron, BARK May/June 2006

 

Another little picture...When I started running with Adonis, I started running with the big dogs.

 

 

Art Sunday with Dogs

Titian aka Tiziano Vecelli - Venus of Urbino

oil on canvas - 1538, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence, Italy

 

From the article  "An Artist's Best Friend: The Dog in Renaissance Painting" by Edgar Peters Bowron,  BARK, May/June 2006

 

  Here's just a little picture of me, when I was going through my small dog phase....

 

 

 

 

(That's Tinkerbell back there heaving...I told her not to drink those frilly drinks!  Ohhh, she knows what I'm talking about!)

Art Sunday with Dogs

 

 Mark Ulriksen's "Ball Hog"    1996  24"x36"  acrylic on canvas

 

 

While we're in the dog days of summer, I'd like to introduce you to BARK, my favorite magazine.  I picked it up during a hiatus of  Oxford American, and enjoyed it ever since.  It's a literary, imformative, entertaining and pertinent magazine that I liked so much I bought the tshirt and bumpersticker. 

 

The May/June issue included articles by Elizabeth Berg, Chris Lemmon and Catherin Ryan Hyde, an interview with Amy Tan, a quick take on the dogs of NASCAR and a pictorial "The Dog in Renaissance Painting."  And always, there are two pages of smiling dogs.

 

Oh, and did I say?  The artists, the paintings, the drawings and the photographs featured in BARK are incredible.  Pick up a copy and see what you think. 

 

The BARK e-zine has a feature on artist Mark Ulriksen.  That's his "Ball Hog." 

Norma Minkowitz--Art Sunday with a Hook

My name is Suzanne and I'm a crocheter. 

 

But not like you might think!  If you've looked back though my blog, you'll see I appreciate the sculptural and way outside the knitting bag sort of textile.  

 

Norma Minkowitz is one of my heros, taking crochet to a wonderous three dimensional place. 

 

The Smithsonian Archives of American Art has an excellent interview with her here. 

Xenobia Bailey - Art Sunday with a Hook

The picture above is of "Bit by Bit, Little by Little", 1999, Hand crochet, cotton, acrylic yarns, 4’9” x 7’10”

 

Xenobia Bailey is another favorite textile artist.  I've had the pleasure of holding her wearable work  in my hands, and being able to turn it inside out.  (This is something textile lovers simply must do, and the only reason you'll ever see me wearing white cotton gloves!) 

 

An interview with Ms. Bailey can be found online in The Crafts Report.

Why I love the Red Dog Squad

A lot of my friends on here and some in real life, have been battered wives.  I was one too. 

 

I am one of the lucky ones.    I don't know Investigator W. L. Jones, but he might have saved my life on November 1, 1989, when he shot Lee in the chest and killed him.  I know Lee had been hunting me for at nearly two years.   I was afraid to go anywhere alone. 

 

Anyone who knows me, can't believe that I was that scared, but, somehow, someway, a simple twist of fate, something happened that freed me and strengthened me for all time. 

 

Here's to the Atlanta Police Department's Red Dog Squad.  Thanks for my life.

Just for Tinkerbell

A little something Tinkerbell  suggested...

 

If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, (even if we don't speak often or if you are a random reader) please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me. It can be anything you want - good or bad - BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE. When you're finished, post this little paragraph on your diary and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON'T ACTUALLY remember about you... Should be interesting....