Stolen art journal…

This past weekend, I attended an event with my family. Somehow, my art journal/sketchbook sprouted legs and went home with someone else against it’s free will. It’s really sucky, because if the person who took the book had only asked, I would have given them any or all of the sketches there. I just can’t believe the disrespect… and this, out of those who say they are family. Sigh…just goes to show that the one people you should be able to trust, you can’t.

So, I’m without a sketchbook/art journal at the moment. Which also means that I have to sit out this week, and maybe next week’s art therapy sessions for which a sketchbook/art journal is a requirement for attendance. I really enjoy this group and find it immensely helpful. sigh… feeling really, seriously discouraged at the moment.

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Weekend for remembering…

There is just something about the silence of dawn at the national cemetery. Those few hours before the public enters, when the fog is just starting to raise from the earth and the tips of the stones are just poking up within it. It’s a sight, a spirit that just can’t quite be described. I only regret that I had neither my camera or sketchbook with me to capture the moment. Words alone fail. We were there early to get ready for the service.

An hour later, I stood with my adopted daughter while she waited to stand up and speak about her dear Father. She clutched his flag to her chest as if by doing so, she could feel him with her again. When she stood up and walked forward to place her Father’s flag beside the POW-MIA memorial, it was all I could do not to completely lose it. Then she began to speak about her Father and the example of living that he taught her and her brother and I saw the wise and wonderful young lady and warrior that she has become. Her words were so very profound and touched the hearts of everyone there. I am so damn proud of her.

This is Grim…

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This is Grim. Grim began his life with me as a lonely three leafed little breakoff out of a planter from my Mom’s funeral in 2012. I brought Grim home wrapped in a generic wet paper towel and then stuck him in a jar of water. He stayed there until one day I realized he’s sprouted a root. This root wound around the inside of the jar in a pretty little spiral. Then, after a few weeks of continually forgetting to water Grim, I invested in some of those expand ball things that hold water. It was hard to keep Grim’s “heads” above water, so to say. The balls were miraculous. Not only was my forgetfulness solved, but also Grim’s propensity for attempting suicide by drowning!

In honor of Valentine’s day 2013, I added a few drops of red food coloring to the water. The play of the green leaves against the red water and white root that still spiraled around the jar looked wild and crazy. Great! Then, I noticed one day that Grim had added another leaf to his stash…then a few months ago, I noticed another. I also noted that he’s added some more roots to his underwater entourage. Grim is thriving!

This year, I’m going to start replacing the waterballs with dirt…we’ll see how it goes.

Friday Fictioneers… The Memorial…

98 words. Thank you, Rochelle ( http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ ) for another excellent photo prompt! I hope you enjoy this week’s submission! More poetry than prose, but seriously deep.

Copyright -B. W. Beacham

Copyright -B. W. Beacham

Every year,
we come.
the scene the same.
we stare across to the white poles on the opposite shore.
Father would watch the execution ceremonies, watch the old ones die.
we stood and watched them led out, chained up, silent.
the scene the same.
Every year,
we come.

This year,
we come.
the scene the same.
we stare across to the people on the opposite shore.
You watch the execution ceremony, watch the old ones die.
we stand silent before we’re lead out, chained up.
the scene is the same.
This year,
we came.

Next year,
you come.

Recent sketches… 2014

I’ve been doing a sketch on sunday mornings as a way of taking sermon notes. These are some of the ones from recent services.

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Friday Fictioneers… The Red Cross

This week’s picture really didn’t do it for me, but instead, the quote from Henry David Thoreau hit the nail on the head.

“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.’ Henry David Thoreau

borrowed from Google Images

borrowed from Google Images

The vehicle pulled up to the orphanage, the large red cross emblazoned upon the side. The symbol, standing for the medicos who brought life-giving medicines to those in need. The orphanage had a need, attacked as it had been by the very ones who opposed the murdering of innocents. The vehicle pulled up to the orphanage, the back doors opened. Inside, soldiers who’d exchanged their Khaki and digi-camos for scrubs and white jackets, stood up and began to pile out into the street.

Snipers and soldiers held their fire. They were doctors and nurses of course. They were here to heal the sick, the wounded. It was against the Geneva conventions to fire upon them.

The soldier-docs entered the orphanage at a run, afraid that they would be fired upon despite the emblems that marked them as non-violent participants in the war. Inside, they finished their mission…

The Tinkerer

C. Douglas M. Macilroy

C. Douglas M. Macilroy

HAPPY EASTER EVERYONE!

This is a write for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers. This week it IS Science Fiction. Very busy with Easter preparations so I’ll do my best to read others. Hope you enjoy…

They said I’d never be able to go home again. I wouldn’t be able to breathe the air. Artificial lungs couldn’t handle the impurities of the atmosphere. I intend to prove them wrong, and I have.

Old technology did it. I found the scuba gear being traded in the bottoms of the space station, it was rusted so I got a good deal. I tinkered with it for months.

Today, I used the public transporter, and I sent myself home. I was excited to see my children. I never intended to terrify them…

(99w)

Adeiu sweet dystopia…

Last night, I viewed a program on the Therensdadt Orchestra and Choir.

Last night, my mind was filled with the old dreams again. I walked through the camps as a prisoner, seeing the horrors, hearing the pure hatred from the enemies lips. Therensdadt, an utopia of sorts… designed, manipulated, created as nothing more than propaganda smoke screen to the world. And sadly, all too sadly, the world fell for it for way too long.

in my dreams, I am there…

Today is the First day in the rest of your Life!

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