"There was no trace of bitterness in the flavor." he stated. "Nor did I experience any kind of tingling sensation in my tongue or lips. And I waited a reasonable time before I took that first bite." he closed his eyes and tilted his head to one side, a look of sheer bliss on his face. "I almost wilted from the pleasure of tasting it fully." he whispered.
"I quickly pried the pit out of the second half and devoured it as well." he said, eyes still closed. "Then I propped my gun against the trunk of a hickory tree and started feasting on those wonderful berries."
"I don't know how long I stood there gorging myself on them, but before I could leave I had to make sure I was taking as many as I could possibly carry." He opened his eyes and leaned back.
"I filled both coat pockets, then picked as many as I could carry in my left hand cradled against the front of my coat." he said, holding his left hand cupped against the front of his shirt to demonstrate. "Oh and I was still devouring every third or fourth one, spitting the pits on the ground."
"Finally satisfied that I could carry no more I picked my gun up and cradled it in the bend of my arm." he paused to take a big swig of his drink. "I was reluctant to turn and walk away." he added with a troubled look, then his eyes widened as he spoke to the open air of the room. "Then the damnedest thing happened."
"I hadn't taken more than three or four steps when I heard a crackling sound behind me." he paused again to take another long drink from his glass. "When I turned around I was shocked to find that all the leaves had turned dark brown and were falling to the ground. The berries were shriveling up before my very eyes, turning hard and black before dropping off."
"Some of the berries actually split open and the pits popped out. They sounded like stones falling on the ground. I watched as one hit a rock and split open."
"It felt like something was crawling around in my hand and I looked down to find the berries I had picked were also shriveling up. I dropped them, watching as they scattered on the ground at my feet, the only thought going through my mind was 'You're going to die, Ben!'"
"Dropping my gun to the ground I shoved both hands into my coat pockets and pulled out a double fist full of dried berries. As I stood there in total shock watching them spill through my fingers I realized everything was beginning to tilt. I was falling."
"I felt no disorientation." he said, looking up at me. In his eyes I could see the sadness and confusion. "In fact. . . " he continued, "I had no feeling at all, not even when I hit the ground."
"As I laid there, looking up through the tops of the trees at the blue sky, there was little doubt in my mind that I was dying. I could hear my heart pounding and my eyes were filling with tears that I couldn't blink away." He held is drink with trembling hands and I watched the tears trail down his cheeks and deposit themselves in his beard.
I felt silly when I realized how his tears and the tone of his voice had truly choked me up. But I genuinely felt sorry for the old guy.
He held his silence for a few moments, while he tried to compose himself enough to go on. When he looked back up at me, the wet streaks on his cheeks glistened from the lights overhead."Suddenly there was a voice." he said with a bewildered look. "It seemed to be coming from right in front of me, but there was no one there. . ." his words drifted off, his stare seemed to pass right through me into the void of shadows behind me.
After a long silence I asked, "What did the voice say Ben?"
"It said..." his eyes refocused on my face, "'Death has not come to claim you yet.' And then I lost consciousness."
Friday, October 30, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Imagine this
As I ease up to the very edge I struggle to overcome the feeling of vertigo beginning to spin inside my head. A hundred and forty feet is such a long way down. Taking a deep breath, I try to shake it off before placing my feet far enough out so my toes can actually curl over the edge of the cliff.
I know I can't stand here long or I will be overcome with the power of self preservation and instinctively step back a safe distance. So, without giving it another thought, I flex my knees and bend my back, while moving my arms behind me enough to counter all the body weight shifting forward. I must control how fast my body tilts forward so at the precise angle I can put all my energy into the push off.
All I see is the surface below and the face of the cliff I'm pivoting on when I thrust my arms forward and push with all the strength of my legs to ensure I get far enough out in the open air that I'll meet no obstruction on my way down.
My yell is as much a release of my fear as it is an audible display of exhilaration. I'm falling, head first. My yell seems to last forever as the wind quickly builds to a whistle in my ears. The sound of my own heart pounding is the only other thing I hear once all the breath in me is depleted by my vocal display.
I'm falling faster. The wind encapsulates my body, I feel it's force even on the bottoms of my feet. I hold, not daring to take the next breath until the last instant for fear I will loose it before I can return to the surface again.
With my arms spread slightly and my head tilted back I watch as the cool surface of the water rapidly approaches, knowing with each passing instant the speed of my decent increases exponentially.
At the last possible instant I suck as much air as will fit into my lungs, straighten my neck and clench my fists together to make a large enough hole in the water for my body to slip into. At my rate of decent I dare not attempt to arch my back, it would easily break if I arched too much.
My body is almost submerged in the hole made by my fists before I even feel the stinging pain of impact in my knuckles. As quickly as the water refills the void of my entry still only my feet are left to slip through it's closing.
The pressure builds quickly in my ears as I plummet deeper and deeper in the chill water. I can feel the force of the water slowing me until finally my own buoyancy begins to alter my direction.
I reach for the surface with both hands and pull with all I am to speed my way back to the surface as quickly as possible. The air is already beginning to burn in my lungs, and I begin releasing a tiny stream of air through my nose as I work even harder to increase my assent.
I feel frantic as the last of my air slips out of my lungs even tho I can see the glimmer of the surface only an arm's reach away... then suddenly I feel the warmth of the air against my face and shoulders and gasp it in to replenish my exhausted supply. My heart pounding so very hard I'm surprised it hasn't leaped from my chest.
Another yell explodes from deep within. More from exhilaration this time than fear.... and I look for the spot where I can climb out so I can scale the face of this cliff and do it all over again.
I know I can't stand here long or I will be overcome with the power of self preservation and instinctively step back a safe distance. So, without giving it another thought, I flex my knees and bend my back, while moving my arms behind me enough to counter all the body weight shifting forward. I must control how fast my body tilts forward so at the precise angle I can put all my energy into the push off.
All I see is the surface below and the face of the cliff I'm pivoting on when I thrust my arms forward and push with all the strength of my legs to ensure I get far enough out in the open air that I'll meet no obstruction on my way down.
My yell is as much a release of my fear as it is an audible display of exhilaration. I'm falling, head first. My yell seems to last forever as the wind quickly builds to a whistle in my ears. The sound of my own heart pounding is the only other thing I hear once all the breath in me is depleted by my vocal display.
I'm falling faster. The wind encapsulates my body, I feel it's force even on the bottoms of my feet. I hold, not daring to take the next breath until the last instant for fear I will loose it before I can return to the surface again.
With my arms spread slightly and my head tilted back I watch as the cool surface of the water rapidly approaches, knowing with each passing instant the speed of my decent increases exponentially.
At the last possible instant I suck as much air as will fit into my lungs, straighten my neck and clench my fists together to make a large enough hole in the water for my body to slip into. At my rate of decent I dare not attempt to arch my back, it would easily break if I arched too much.
My body is almost submerged in the hole made by my fists before I even feel the stinging pain of impact in my knuckles. As quickly as the water refills the void of my entry still only my feet are left to slip through it's closing.
The pressure builds quickly in my ears as I plummet deeper and deeper in the chill water. I can feel the force of the water slowing me until finally my own buoyancy begins to alter my direction.
I reach for the surface with both hands and pull with all I am to speed my way back to the surface as quickly as possible. The air is already beginning to burn in my lungs, and I begin releasing a tiny stream of air through my nose as I work even harder to increase my assent.
I feel frantic as the last of my air slips out of my lungs even tho I can see the glimmer of the surface only an arm's reach away... then suddenly I feel the warmth of the air against my face and shoulders and gasp it in to replenish my exhausted supply. My heart pounding so very hard I'm surprised it hasn't leaped from my chest.
Another yell explodes from deep within. More from exhilaration this time than fear.... and I look for the spot where I can climb out so I can scale the face of this cliff and do it all over again.
The Storyteller (Part Two)
Ben looked to be around 75 years old. His mustache and goatee were almost completely gray. The wrinkles around his eyes added to the character of his weathered face. He wore a sun bleached denim shirt with snaps, and a plaid jacket hung on the back of his chair. As he smiled I noticed a few teeth missing.
I didn't pause as I reached the table, leaning over to set his new drink down in front of him and mine on the table in front of the chair to his right before sitting down.
"Thank you." Ben said looking up at me. Then he added, "You look like a John."
I didn't bother telling him my name was Bob. John would be good enough for this encounter. "You're welcome Ben." I replied as I sat down.
"Ah. . . " Ben said, "From your accent you must be from the south. What part?"
"Texas and Oklahoma." I told him.
He frowned and said "I've never known anybody to claim to be from two places."
"I was born in Texas and spent most of my childhood there before my parents moved to southeastern Oklahoma. where I finished school before moving on to start my own life." I wondered why I even told him that. I wasn't sitting there to tell my own story.
"Southeastern Oklahoma huh?" he said with a smile. "The foothills of the Ozark Mountain range."
"That's right." I said, the memory of the small mountain that was my back yard where I lived as a teen came to mind.
"I had a dream about that area once." he said, and his attention seemed to drift away in a memory and he fell silent.
I took a sip of my drink and waited for him to come back to the present. His bottom lip trembled almost as if he were talking to himself for a second or two then, with his gaze fixed somewhere in the past, he started.
"I was standing at the foot of a small mountain in the fall of the year. The colors of the autumn leaves on the trees reminded me of a patchwork quilt my grandma made for us when I was a child. The red, orange, and yellow leaves spotted with an occasional green pine was truly a beautiful sight." he paused to take a sip of his drink before continuing.
The mental picture he was painting was as if he'd reached into my past and pulled it from my own memory. The small mountain that was my back yard was a part of the Kiamichi Mountain Range located in the southeaster region of Oklahoma. I held many memories such as the one he was describing.
"I was wearing an old gray coat and ball cap which left my ears to burn fro the cold wind." he said as he started again. "Under my arm I was carrying a single barrel shotgun."
He looked up at me with a stern expression on his face, "I wasn't going hunting!" he stated. "I just felt safe having it with me."
I understood from my own experiences and memories of the wolves and wildcats that roamed that mountain. Not to mention the black bears.
"I felt like I knew that mountain like the back of my hand." he continued. "And I picked my spot near the stock pond to enter into the woods so I could travel up the ridge in front of me until I reached the first tier."
I was taken a little by surprise when he said that, remembering the path I used to take from my back door which led by a stock pond and up a ridge to the first tier that ran almost the full length of the mountain. 'This is just a dream of an old man.' I thought to myself and waited for him to continue.
"I had barely entered into the woods when a gust of wind blew through the trees and caused a shower of multi-colored leaves to fall swirling to the ground." he smiled at the memory, and so did I. "I waited until almost all of them had settled to their resting place on the ground before beginning to climb the steady grade up the ridge."
"When I reached the first tier I turned to look out over the valley below." His voice grew softer. "I could barely see they old house and barn through the tree tops down at the foot of the mountain. About a mile away was a river and on the other side was a small settlement with meadows to one side and rolling hills beyond that seemed to move on to the horizon."
"The Potato Hills." I said aloud, mesmerized by the similarity of his description and my own memories of standing there on that mountain at home. He either didn't hear me or thought nothing of my comment.
"When I turned back I moved across the plat of the tier then angled off to the left as I began to climb on up to the second tier." He took another sip before going on. "Just as I reached the second one a strong gust of wind knocked another shower of leaves from the trees. The falling leaves all but blocked out the distant view and I couldn't help but stand in awe of the beauty that fell before me."
He reached over and touched the back of my hand, "And then there it was!" he stated. "I couldn't believe my own eyes." he finished wide eyed before taking his hand away.
I wanted to ask what it was but the look on his face kept me waiting quietly.
"It was a small tree or bush, whatever you want to call it." his tone was excited. "Amongst all these autumn leaves this thing stood full and green as if it were the middle of the summer. And it was loaded with berries. The biggest, reddest berries I'd ever laid eyes on."
"Have you ever seen such a thing?" he asked me before taking a gulp of his drink.
"Can't say as I have." I replied. But I was sure I knew that spot he was describing. A huckleberry bush grew there that always had the biggest berries of any I'd found on the mountain. I used to make special trips up there just so I could feast on them before the deer could strip the bush clean.
"I walked up to that tree and was totally amazed at the number of berries that hung from it's limbs." he started again. "They were almost as big as a golf ball, and red as your momma's lipstick." he chuckled.
"I reached out and plucked one of those luscious berries from the tree and started to take a bite when this little voice in the back of my mind told me 'This isn't right Ben.' and I held it there, studying it for a moment.
"An image of the guide that took a bunch of us through jungle survival training in the Navy popped into my head. I remember him telling us that when we found something in the jungle that looked edible we should always be cautious and test it first. 'There are many things in the jungle that are extremely poisonous.' he had told us."
"So remembering his instructions I pulled my pocket knife out and cut the berry in half. It was like a cherry with a pit the size of my thumbnail." he held his thumb up to demonstrate. "Then I squeezed a drop of juice from one of the halves and rubbed it on my lower lip before sticking the tip of my tongue to it."
Ben rolled his eyes and licked his lips, "I can almost taste it now." he started to a sip of his drink, then changed his mind and sat the glass back on the table.
"So, I take it the berries were good to eat?" I asked after a moment of watching him lick his lips repeatedly.
"They sure seemed to be." he replied, snapping our of his reverie. The look on his face gave the impression he was a little annoyed at my interruption.
"Seemed to be?" I asked, not paying attention to his annoyance.
I didn't pause as I reached the table, leaning over to set his new drink down in front of him and mine on the table in front of the chair to his right before sitting down.
"Thank you." Ben said looking up at me. Then he added, "You look like a John."
I didn't bother telling him my name was Bob. John would be good enough for this encounter. "You're welcome Ben." I replied as I sat down.
"Ah. . . " Ben said, "From your accent you must be from the south. What part?"
"Texas and Oklahoma." I told him.
He frowned and said "I've never known anybody to claim to be from two places."
"I was born in Texas and spent most of my childhood there before my parents moved to southeastern Oklahoma. where I finished school before moving on to start my own life." I wondered why I even told him that. I wasn't sitting there to tell my own story.
"Southeastern Oklahoma huh?" he said with a smile. "The foothills of the Ozark Mountain range."
"That's right." I said, the memory of the small mountain that was my back yard where I lived as a teen came to mind.
"I had a dream about that area once." he said, and his attention seemed to drift away in a memory and he fell silent.
I took a sip of my drink and waited for him to come back to the present. His bottom lip trembled almost as if he were talking to himself for a second or two then, with his gaze fixed somewhere in the past, he started.
"I was standing at the foot of a small mountain in the fall of the year. The colors of the autumn leaves on the trees reminded me of a patchwork quilt my grandma made for us when I was a child. The red, orange, and yellow leaves spotted with an occasional green pine was truly a beautiful sight." he paused to take a sip of his drink before continuing.
The mental picture he was painting was as if he'd reached into my past and pulled it from my own memory. The small mountain that was my back yard was a part of the Kiamichi Mountain Range located in the southeaster region of Oklahoma. I held many memories such as the one he was describing.
"I was wearing an old gray coat and ball cap which left my ears to burn fro the cold wind." he said as he started again. "Under my arm I was carrying a single barrel shotgun."
He looked up at me with a stern expression on his face, "I wasn't going hunting!" he stated. "I just felt safe having it with me."
I understood from my own experiences and memories of the wolves and wildcats that roamed that mountain. Not to mention the black bears.
"I felt like I knew that mountain like the back of my hand." he continued. "And I picked my spot near the stock pond to enter into the woods so I could travel up the ridge in front of me until I reached the first tier."
I was taken a little by surprise when he said that, remembering the path I used to take from my back door which led by a stock pond and up a ridge to the first tier that ran almost the full length of the mountain. 'This is just a dream of an old man.' I thought to myself and waited for him to continue.
"I had barely entered into the woods when a gust of wind blew through the trees and caused a shower of multi-colored leaves to fall swirling to the ground." he smiled at the memory, and so did I. "I waited until almost all of them had settled to their resting place on the ground before beginning to climb the steady grade up the ridge."
"When I reached the first tier I turned to look out over the valley below." His voice grew softer. "I could barely see they old house and barn through the tree tops down at the foot of the mountain. About a mile away was a river and on the other side was a small settlement with meadows to one side and rolling hills beyond that seemed to move on to the horizon."
"The Potato Hills." I said aloud, mesmerized by the similarity of his description and my own memories of standing there on that mountain at home. He either didn't hear me or thought nothing of my comment.
"When I turned back I moved across the plat of the tier then angled off to the left as I began to climb on up to the second tier." He took another sip before going on. "Just as I reached the second one a strong gust of wind knocked another shower of leaves from the trees. The falling leaves all but blocked out the distant view and I couldn't help but stand in awe of the beauty that fell before me."
He reached over and touched the back of my hand, "And then there it was!" he stated. "I couldn't believe my own eyes." he finished wide eyed before taking his hand away.
I wanted to ask what it was but the look on his face kept me waiting quietly.
"It was a small tree or bush, whatever you want to call it." his tone was excited. "Amongst all these autumn leaves this thing stood full and green as if it were the middle of the summer. And it was loaded with berries. The biggest, reddest berries I'd ever laid eyes on."
"Have you ever seen such a thing?" he asked me before taking a gulp of his drink.
"Can't say as I have." I replied. But I was sure I knew that spot he was describing. A huckleberry bush grew there that always had the biggest berries of any I'd found on the mountain. I used to make special trips up there just so I could feast on them before the deer could strip the bush clean.
"I walked up to that tree and was totally amazed at the number of berries that hung from it's limbs." he started again. "They were almost as big as a golf ball, and red as your momma's lipstick." he chuckled.
"I reached out and plucked one of those luscious berries from the tree and started to take a bite when this little voice in the back of my mind told me 'This isn't right Ben.' and I held it there, studying it for a moment.
"An image of the guide that took a bunch of us through jungle survival training in the Navy popped into my head. I remember him telling us that when we found something in the jungle that looked edible we should always be cautious and test it first. 'There are many things in the jungle that are extremely poisonous.' he had told us."
"So remembering his instructions I pulled my pocket knife out and cut the berry in half. It was like a cherry with a pit the size of my thumbnail." he held his thumb up to demonstrate. "Then I squeezed a drop of juice from one of the halves and rubbed it on my lower lip before sticking the tip of my tongue to it."
Ben rolled his eyes and licked his lips, "I can almost taste it now." he started to a sip of his drink, then changed his mind and sat the glass back on the table.
"So, I take it the berries were good to eat?" I asked after a moment of watching him lick his lips repeatedly.
"They sure seemed to be." he replied, snapping our of his reverie. The look on his face gave the impression he was a little annoyed at my interruption.
"Seemed to be?" I asked, not paying attention to his annoyance.
The Storyteller (Part One) The Dream of Benwar
My luck had seemed to hit the bricks lately and I was just driving around mindlessly hoping the scenery would change the feeling that had settled into my soul. After an hour of dodging traffic though I spotted the sign for Allen's Pub and pulled into the parking lot.
I'm not a drinker, not even socially, but the thought of getting drunk seemed appealing at that moment. As I stepped through the door I paused to scan the room. The bar tender was about my age with more hair than I have left, but it was mostly gray. A couple sitting at the bar was quietly talking while enjoying their drinks.
The girl working the floor was wearing skin tight black pants and a low cut top which accented her assets a little too well. There was one old gentleman sitting at the corner table partially hidden in the shadows staring back at me. I felt no malice in his stare. He seemed content to study me briefly before returning his attention to his almost empty glass.
I move on over to the bar and took up residence on a stool directly in front of the tender. His name, Bill, was embroidered over the left breast pocket of his shirt.
"What'll it be friend?" Bill asked, leaning slightly on the bar.
I searched my memories of a time when I used to go out with the guys during those training seminars, trying to think of the name of one of those drinks they were always pushing on me, hoping to get me drunk. Bill waited patiently for my answer. Maybe he could tell from the look in my eyes or the expression on my face but he said nothing more.
He grinned as I focused on his face once again and asked for a long island iced tea. "It's been a while hasn't it?" he asked as he pulled a glass from under the bar and started mixing the drink.
"Yes it has." I replied, glancing over my shoulder as the old man in the corner coughed. He smiled at me and raised his empty glass in my direction.
"That's old Ben." Bill informed me, setting the drink on a napkin in front of me. "He's probably hoping you'll buy him a drink." he added with a chuckle.
"What's his story?" I asked, lifting my glass to take a sip of the blended rums and tea.
"No one really knows." Bill replied. "He walked into the bar about 3 years ago, settled into that seat you see him in now and he's been a regular occupant several nights a week ever since."
He paused for a moment, wiping a glass before setting it back down, his gaze fixed on a spot on the bar. "But if it's a story you want... " he started, still transfixed on that spot on the bar, "Old Ben can certainly spin one for you."
With that he looked up at me, picked the glass he'd just cleaned back up from the bar and started mixing another drink. "Why don't you take this over to Ben and see where it leads." he said with a smile.
Now, I couldn't think of any reason why I would want to do that. But then, I really couldn't think of one not too either. So I lifted both glasses from the bar and slid off my stool.
Before I could turn away Bill leaned over the bar and spoke under his breath. "Friend... one thing you should know about old Ben." he said looking me straight in the eye. "He has an uncanny way of pulling a story out of his hat that directly relates to your situation." That being said he waved me on and returned to washing another glass.
The thought of possibly hearing a story that would make me think more about my current situation did not appeal to me, and I almost sat back down. But when I turned and looked across the room at Ben he motioned for me to come on over as he slid his empty glass across to the opposite side of the table.
'I can always get up and leave.' I thought as I forced myself to walk away from the bar.
I'm not a drinker, not even socially, but the thought of getting drunk seemed appealing at that moment. As I stepped through the door I paused to scan the room. The bar tender was about my age with more hair than I have left, but it was mostly gray. A couple sitting at the bar was quietly talking while enjoying their drinks.
The girl working the floor was wearing skin tight black pants and a low cut top which accented her assets a little too well. There was one old gentleman sitting at the corner table partially hidden in the shadows staring back at me. I felt no malice in his stare. He seemed content to study me briefly before returning his attention to his almost empty glass.
I move on over to the bar and took up residence on a stool directly in front of the tender. His name, Bill, was embroidered over the left breast pocket of his shirt.
"What'll it be friend?" Bill asked, leaning slightly on the bar.
I searched my memories of a time when I used to go out with the guys during those training seminars, trying to think of the name of one of those drinks they were always pushing on me, hoping to get me drunk. Bill waited patiently for my answer. Maybe he could tell from the look in my eyes or the expression on my face but he said nothing more.
He grinned as I focused on his face once again and asked for a long island iced tea. "It's been a while hasn't it?" he asked as he pulled a glass from under the bar and started mixing the drink.
"Yes it has." I replied, glancing over my shoulder as the old man in the corner coughed. He smiled at me and raised his empty glass in my direction.
"That's old Ben." Bill informed me, setting the drink on a napkin in front of me. "He's probably hoping you'll buy him a drink." he added with a chuckle.
"What's his story?" I asked, lifting my glass to take a sip of the blended rums and tea.
"No one really knows." Bill replied. "He walked into the bar about 3 years ago, settled into that seat you see him in now and he's been a regular occupant several nights a week ever since."
He paused for a moment, wiping a glass before setting it back down, his gaze fixed on a spot on the bar. "But if it's a story you want... " he started, still transfixed on that spot on the bar, "Old Ben can certainly spin one for you."
With that he looked up at me, picked the glass he'd just cleaned back up from the bar and started mixing another drink. "Why don't you take this over to Ben and see where it leads." he said with a smile.
Now, I couldn't think of any reason why I would want to do that. But then, I really couldn't think of one not too either. So I lifted both glasses from the bar and slid off my stool.
Before I could turn away Bill leaned over the bar and spoke under his breath. "Friend... one thing you should know about old Ben." he said looking me straight in the eye. "He has an uncanny way of pulling a story out of his hat that directly relates to your situation." That being said he waved me on and returned to washing another glass.
The thought of possibly hearing a story that would make me think more about my current situation did not appeal to me, and I almost sat back down. But when I turned and looked across the room at Ben he motioned for me to come on over as he slid his empty glass across to the opposite side of the table.
'I can always get up and leave.' I thought as I forced myself to walk away from the bar.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
The title "In the Mirror"
You may be asking yourself why I picked a title like "In the Mirror". Well it's mostly because I wanted to let myself be known in this blog. There are things I might change about my life if I had to go back and do it all over again, but when I look in the mirror I still like who I am.
I see a man looking back at me that has done some things that even makes me wonder why? A man that, by all rights, should not even have had the opportunities to do the things he did.
Some of the experiences I will write about on this site will surely make some of my readers think I've got a few screws loose... Some will leave readers doubting that it really happened... Some may make you cry... and some will have you laughing... But, above all, I hope that none will leave you feeling bored with what you are reading.
I see a man looking back at me that has done some things that even makes me wonder why? A man that, by all rights, should not even have had the opportunities to do the things he did.
Some of the experiences I will write about on this site will surely make some of my readers think I've got a few screws loose... Some will leave readers doubting that it really happened... Some may make you cry... and some will have you laughing... But, above all, I hope that none will leave you feeling bored with what you are reading.
I found a face in this picture
My wife had asked me to take some photos of deseased trees in our local neighborhood so she could look for similarities in the books she had about such things. At the time, the only program I had which would allow me to see the picture at it's full size was window's paint program. The resolution was so large when I brought the first picture up it spanned almost 3 screens wide and 3 tall.
I was amazed at the detailed view it offered and began scrolling around the photo to see more. At one point I had stopped to look and the patterns the bark made when I found half a face staring back at me from the edge of the screen. When I scrolled back I was surprised to find that had I not already seen it I wouldn't have spotted it.
So, I scrolled back to get the face at the edge of the screen again then cut that screen out and mirrored it.
The image at the top of the screen is the result of that effort. I mirrored it once, then flipped it and mirrored it again which produced two heads connected at the crown.
For months I afterward I searched every picture I'd taken extensively and found a multitude of images which resembled strange faces or creatures. Finally, I gave up on finding new faces and just started working on producing patterns. Some were truly awesome, while many were merely mediocre at best.
Then one day I splashed some water on a knarly root system to wash away the trash and dirt that coated it. When I snapped some pictures of it I found that by enhancing the color of the picture I had captured a lot of reflection of sky. This produced a blue tone to the woodgrain which really made for some fascinating pictures.
Current Hobbies
For the past few months I've been concentrating more on writing than on my artwork. I've had these tidbits of stories bouncing around in my head for years now and really think I turn them into full blown stories if I can manage to take advantage of time without distraction to work on them. It's difficult to work on anything that requires my full attention when I'm not alone in the house... there's always something going on that diverts my attention or makes demands of my time.
At the present time I have two stories that I am trying to incorporate into one. One is about a repeat dream that I actually had about 26 years ago. It was when my daughter was still in the womb. This dream became a regular experience every night for a period of about 3 months. It reached a point where as soon as it started my sleeping mind would recognize it for what it was, and yet I still had no control over it. It was exactly the same every night without variance.
In my endeavour to utilize this "dream" as part of another, and totally fictitious story line, I decided that I had to write it in the third person. The delivery of the story is by means of a storyteller found by the main character of the story in a pub. This all takes place somewhere in Western New York, (ummm.. probably because that's where I am right now...LOL)
With respect to the rest of the story, "the fictitious part" I believe the old storyteller will offer the opportunity to best deliver that plot line as well. In pondering the overall picture of the story "as the storyteller relates it" I've begin to notice an underlying story that surrounds him and the main character that is going to allow the story to continue as time goes on.
Before this though I spent the past couple of years searching photographs I've taken of deseased trees for hidden images and patterns. Including the photographs taken and the pictures and patterns I've created from them I now have over 16,000 pictures saved on my external hard drive. I'll have to go through and make some thumbnails which will still show some detail so I can show you what I'm talking about... I'll wait until then to give you a more in depth explanation of what I was doing. It would just get lost in the words if I tried now.
At the present time I have two stories that I am trying to incorporate into one. One is about a repeat dream that I actually had about 26 years ago. It was when my daughter was still in the womb. This dream became a regular experience every night for a period of about 3 months. It reached a point where as soon as it started my sleeping mind would recognize it for what it was, and yet I still had no control over it. It was exactly the same every night without variance.
In my endeavour to utilize this "dream" as part of another, and totally fictitious story line, I decided that I had to write it in the third person. The delivery of the story is by means of a storyteller found by the main character of the story in a pub. This all takes place somewhere in Western New York, (ummm.. probably because that's where I am right now...LOL)
With respect to the rest of the story, "the fictitious part" I believe the old storyteller will offer the opportunity to best deliver that plot line as well. In pondering the overall picture of the story "as the storyteller relates it" I've begin to notice an underlying story that surrounds him and the main character that is going to allow the story to continue as time goes on.
Before this though I spent the past couple of years searching photographs I've taken of deseased trees for hidden images and patterns. Including the photographs taken and the pictures and patterns I've created from them I now have over 16,000 pictures saved on my external hard drive. I'll have to go through and make some thumbnails which will still show some detail so I can show you what I'm talking about... I'll wait until then to give you a more in depth explanation of what I was doing. It would just get lost in the words if I tried now.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Where I am now
Right now I'm living closer to the Canadian border than I ever thought I would be. Being born in the state of Texas I would have bet my life that I would never have ended up in the state of New York. Yet, here I am. In April of 2010 it will be 10 years since I moved up here. Wow... that's a lot of years in one place. Taking into consideration that I've lived all over the eastern side of the United States.
I moved up here in April of 2000 to be close to the woman I met online... yeah.. yeah.. I know, I've heard it many times. Those relationships never work out. But I have met people that met online, got together, married and have lived happy productive lives together. I can't say exactly why it worked out the way it did for me, other than we had the chance to really get to know each other and decided that we stood a class apart from each other. In other words, I just didn't make enough money to meet her idea of security. Funny tho, I hear she finally married a guy that didn't have a job.
It made for an interesting story tho... and in time I'm sure I will get around to including that story with the rest that I will be exposing you all too.
I did, however, meet and marry the woman I am deeply in love with now. Now there's a story worth telling when I get started. We'll be married for 3 years in January. We met at work and still work at the same place. She is an overnight stocker and I work as a member of the inventory maintenance team for a major department store chain.
There are things I would rather be doing for work, but thanks to an accident that took place while I was on active duty in the navy I am limited to the level of physical demands I can put this old body through. So, I work what I can instead of plugging into a system that would be wanting to "try" to enhance my quality of life through surgery and treatments that offer little guarantee of success.
I moved up here in April of 2000 to be close to the woman I met online... yeah.. yeah.. I know, I've heard it many times. Those relationships never work out. But I have met people that met online, got together, married and have lived happy productive lives together. I can't say exactly why it worked out the way it did for me, other than we had the chance to really get to know each other and decided that we stood a class apart from each other. In other words, I just didn't make enough money to meet her idea of security. Funny tho, I hear she finally married a guy that didn't have a job.
It made for an interesting story tho... and in time I'm sure I will get around to including that story with the rest that I will be exposing you all too.
I did, however, meet and marry the woman I am deeply in love with now. Now there's a story worth telling when I get started. We'll be married for 3 years in January. We met at work and still work at the same place. She is an overnight stocker and I work as a member of the inventory maintenance team for a major department store chain.
There are things I would rather be doing for work, but thanks to an accident that took place while I was on active duty in the navy I am limited to the level of physical demands I can put this old body through. So, I work what I can instead of plugging into a system that would be wanting to "try" to enhance my quality of life through surgery and treatments that offer little guarantee of success.
Getting started
Just how does one get started in this blogging game? Do you just create a short story or voice an opinion on something controversial... maybe... you just say Hi... I'm Benwar... This is the first of many posts in which you will get to know me.. and perhaps if you are willing to share I may get to know you as well. I will be posting thoughts and feelings and short stories about events that took place in my life that will help define the person I am today. All questions and comments are welcome. Opinions will be subject to interpretation and will be managed accordingly.
Personally, I'm looking forward to finding out if my old professor was right.
Personally, I'm looking forward to finding out if my old professor was right.
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