Huntin’ ‘n’ Fission

I’m told that it’s both fun and useful to have hobbies. There are certainly plenty of books, magazines, news articles, classes, clubs and social organizations devoted to leisure-time pursuits, all of them trumpeting the value of such avocations. Some of them are decidedly age-specific: I haven’t seen a large number of free solo rock climbing promotions aimed at senior citizens, for example. There are hobbies considered preferable to persons of certain economic strata, fitness levels, sexes, nationalities and any number of other identifying categories, some active and some quite passive or spectatorial, some of them expensive to learn and requiring extensive training and practice and others free and simple to master. Regional favorites abound, like, say, noodling (catching catfish by hand), which would be hard to enjoy in desert climates unless you happened to be both a big fan of the sport and dedicated enough to stock your own evaporation-protected pond. Some of the more intellectually stimulating hobbies, like competitively designing robotics for cage fights or nuclear plants for home use, are highly entertaining to their practitioners but utterly escape the attentions of us more modest-brained folk as either too highfalutin or just plain incomprehensible. Sudoku, popular with millions of people cleverer than I am, falls into that too-challenging category for me since I’m so mathematically unfit, but I do like some kinds of word puzzles reasonably well if I’m in that rare mood.

Should I take up golf, having decided to move (when my spouse gets around to retiring) to a place on a golf course partly for its–surprise!–affordability and its location in a great town in a great part of the country, and in no small part as well for its great view into the green and leafy first fairway of the course? That would require my learning which end of the club is the grip and which the head, not to mention a whole bunch of other stuff, and on top of that, paying dearly for the privilege.photoWhile I’m still living in Texas I’d certainly be in a logical place to take up hunting, but that doesn’t appeal to me at all, unless it’s with a camera. For that matter, I’m more inclined to practice target shooting with a longbow, something I’ve enjoyed briefly in the distant past, than with a gun as well, being mighty skittish about those things. Being on the fast track to old age, I could probably pick up something more sedentary like knitting and crocheting if I had the patience. My single brief fishing moment post-childhood actually garnered me a cute little throw-back bass (as a kid I never caught anything but one big scary looking White Sucker that even my older boy cousins wouldn’t touch) and was enjoyed in good company while sipping a fine Texas brew; maybe that should inspire me to get busy with fishing.photoThat’s the thing, though: I just don’t enjoy games and sports, puzzles and pastimes much at all. Whether this arose or was reinforced by my longtime social phobias, perfectionistic fear of being seen as incompetent, dyslexic inability to keep anything I’m doing on a standard track, hilariously hideous sporting skills or any combination thereof is probably irrelevant. You see, there’s no separation of church and state in my life. I spend my days and evenings doing the very things that lots of folk can only do on an occasional basis and to fill their free time.

If I took up drawing, concert-going, reading and writing, cooking, DIY projects, gardening, photography or collecting weird bits of Stuff as a so-called hobby, what would I do with my day job? The truth is simply that I’m a fully fledged frivolous person. If eccentric creative activities and ways of thinking are on the periphery of real life, then I am a bona fide fiction, an imaginary character myself. If on the other hand art is, as I’m convinced it should be, central to existence and well-being, why then I’m just ahead of the curve; I won’t need to retire to any old rocking chair or go in a desperate search for something to keep me occupied, because I already have too many fun and pleasing things to do. Either way, I’m keeping busy.

Tough Neighborhood

Watch Out for those Kids

We were playing at boules and pétanque

In a park not so far from the Seine

But the children we played were so bloodthirsty there

That we vowed not to play them againdigital collage

Mystery Story No. 1

I don’t know when, where or how the first fictional mystery story came on the scene, but since I thoroughly enjoy a good puzzle of the not-going-to-affect-me-in-real-life sort, I do like a good mystery story. So sometimes I like to create mysteries of my own. Mostly, visual puzzles. Pictures that invite interpretation, participation and invention on the part of the viewer. Images that demand a second look, or a two-hundredth one, because there might be clues in there, tales to be uncovered, plots to be discovered, fun to be made from the gossamer webs of pictorial intrigue custom-made for playtime. So here, for (I hope) your delectation and mystery-mongering, is a collage created with puzzling in mind. Enjoy!

And don’t forget to tell me if you devise the novel of the century after being so deeply inspired by it. Wink, wink.digital collage

Nervous Nellies and their Little Mysteries

digital drawingHyde and Seek

In my youth my friends and I,

When we were of a mind,

Played little games, amused ourselves,

Were seekers of a kind,

But then grew old and cynical,

Unable to unwind

The fright of not just how or when,

But whom, we feared to find.digital drawing

Things of which one ought to be scairt

The fretful Porpentine, I hear,

Grows scarier from year to year,

No less than Jabberwocks and ghouls

That frighten us and make us fools,

And like Godzilla and his ilk,

Make desperate for hugs, warm milk

And night-lights, all us children who

Are scaredy-cats, like me. And you?

The ABCs of Me, Episode 2

The Awesome Blog Content Award, Courtesy of HRH ‘Nessa of the Stronghold, requires that I provide you with an entire alphabet of Me-itude in response, so in order to prevent your eyes from snapping back in your head like the cylinders in a slot machine and your brain going into hibernation, I have subdivided the alphabet into three parts. I will reiterate only the award rules–to get the rest of my response to it you should head back to Episode 1–and share the second series of letters in today’s post.

Rules of this award:

1. Pass this on to unlimited fellow bloggers.

2. Share some things about you, using the alphabet.

photo

K is for Krumhorn

not clues in Trivial Pursuit,
but instruments from ancient days–
I’ve newly learned to sing their praise.
Light, come clear the darkness, break impenetrable night
to let in day and sanity and set the wrong aright,
to open hopeful windows wide, to raise to higher station
these wond’ring, wand’ring souls of ours through your illumination.
Mute as the grave, voiceless and weak,
I haven’t a singular word to speak
when the signal fails and the synapse strays–
but only on my worst dysphonic of days.
Night calls to me. I love the velvet
darkness of its touch, its song,
its slowing breath, the way a well-met
dream can draw me right along . . .
Ossified as I can be,
a stuck and stubborn brute am I,
unwilling and unchanging–see?
I let the whole quatrain go by–
Peculiarity is my gift! My adoration for the weird
knows few bounds–I get a lift from thinking fish could grow a beard,
from dreaming idle silly dreams of lizards singing, candy socks,
electric sofas, grey ice-creamsand giving grown-ups nasty shocks.

photo

Q is for Quiver

Quiver full of arrows, yes? Here in my heart I quiver with glee
because in love I’m a quivering mess,’less Cupid comes to puncture me–
No, no!–the quiver, instead, should hold an armload of arrows of skill and wit
to set ye a-quiver, as though fell cold, in astonishment I had thought of it.