All three include one metallic color that really pops out when viewed at the right angle in the right light, but are difficult to capture in a photo.
The number of paintings and the size (all 10x20) were selected to fit a specific wall area.
So, on to the next project. Maybe dragonflies. Maybe not,
On 1.13.22, we held a celebrity roast for my good friend, David. After 7 years of hard work as president of our pickleball Association, he decided it was time to pass the gavel on to someone new. And someone younger; he's 78.
Yup, that Vladimir, Vladimir Putin. President, prime minister, whatever; the infamous leader/dictator of Russia since 2012.
Vladimir and I had a pleasant conversation one evening in the hotel lobby where he was staying. I was just sitting there, dressed in suit and tie, enjoying a bit of alone time. Mr. P took a seat in the chair next to mine and introduced himself (as if I didn't know who he was the minute I saw him). He spoke perfect English, only slightly accented.
He asked me where I grew up (northern Minnesota), and commented that he, too, was raised where the winters were bitterly cold (St Petersburg). The conversation continued for several more minutes, just a couple of guys getting to know each other.
And then, I went on to the next dream, which had nothing whatsoever to do with Vladimir.
Dreams are our subconscious minds, hard at work, dumping the daily trash or performing other functions, which nobody really understands. Vladimir probably deserves to be in the trash but I have no idea how he got into my trash. He was a spy in the KGB before rising to power, and spies are very clever. That may explain it.
Summers meant a lot of hard work on the farm in northern Minnesota, where I grew up. Feeding the livestock was a year-round constant, as was milking the cows twice a day. Plus, in summer: plow, disc, drag, pick rocks, plant, cultivate, harvest 3-4 crops of hay, harvest grains and bale straw. Come fall, we were more than ready for the end of the growing season - and hunting.
We hunted for meat, not trophies. Squirrels, ducks, pheasants, partridge, deer; all were a nice change from the usual beef and pork served up 3 times a day. Our guns were relics, a single-shot 22 and a single-shot shotgun. Two of my brothers bought a new German Mauser WWII era rifle and modified it to use as a deer rifle. I shot my one and only deer with that rifle.
Fast forward several years. I'm living in the Seattle area, married and have 2 sons, Tod and Adam. I think they're old enough to learn how to shoot, so I bought them each a BB gun for Christmas. I showed them the basics of shooting, how to hold it, aim, and so on. Cautioned them against shooting at each other, or anybody else (you could put an eye out).
Anxious to give the guns a go, they took them outside Christmas morning. This is where it gets ugly.
I was big on holiday decorating, both inside and out. Large, freshly-cut tree with all kinds of decorations inside; lots of lights and other stuff outside.
My mistake was not providing my sons with targets. Not to worry, they found their own targets - the large-bulb Christmas lights strung along the eaves of the house. A couple days later, I noticed that several outside light bulbs weren't working. Upon closer inspection, I discovered the shattered remains of the bulbs on the ground. I. Was. Pissed! I confiscated the guns and gave them back to the guys several months later.
On the upside, the boys sure learned how to shoot those guns in short order!
I posted this on Facebook a while back, forgot to post it here.
Maces and swords have been replaced by small round
missiles. Missile launchers (aka paddles)
propel the missiles (aka balls) towards the opponents at incredibly high speeds.
Small courts have replaced arenas, ensuring
combatants are always within missile striking distance. Instead of heavy body armor, braces and wraps
are used to protect vulnerable body parts.
Some things haven’t changed, totally ripped physiques for one (see image below). Also, spectators still applaud, cheer and make disparaging comments as in the old days.
However, giving the thumbs-down gesture to
indicate the losers should be put to death is now a rare occurrence – except in
parts of Texas and West Virginia.
Ever buy it, make your own pizza back in the day, 60 years ago? I did. Don't recall how I and others in rural Minnesota even became aware of it. TV ads, probably.
My first real pizza (1962), at a small restaurant in Moorhead, MN was sheer delight. OMG, it was good! Couldn't wait to bite into it, burned the roof of my mouth several times.
I thought the rapid growth of pizza restaurants and grocery store frozen pizzas would wipe out Chef B's business in short order. I was wrong. Most grocery stores have it in stock.
Hector Boiardi started his pizza and pasta business in 1928, changing his last name to a more phonetic version. He built a factory in Milton, PA, and hit the jackpot in WW II, producing 250,000 cans a day for the troops. The C-rations I ate in Vietnam probably included some products from that factory. The brand is now owned by Conagra Foods: https://www.chefboyardee.com/
Circa 1960, typical family farm in Minnesota: 40 cows, 30 pigs, 50 chickens, 200 sheep. And, what do all those critters produce? You got it, MANURE! And, what does manure produce? Flies. Zillions of 'em.
We sprayed good old DDT - long since banned - by the gallons in the barn. I swatted thousands of 'em on the front porch of the house. Regardless, lots of flies got into the house. We didn't spray DDT in the house, uh uh: we hung fly ribbons. I doubt that many if any, city-dwellers used fly ribbons. Correct me if I'm wrong.
tThe most prominent fly ribbon in the house was the one that hung from the light fixture, right above the dining room table. Can you imagine a more appealing centerpiece? It did the job though, mostly.
Can't help but think all that exposure to crap, flies and who knows what else, strengthened my immune system. Could it be, I'm immune to the C-19? Possibly, but I'm still gonna get the booster shot.
