London, 2008: A dark night in a city that knows how to keep its secrets

When you pay good money to be scared, this is the kind of place you hope to find. Here we are, in a deserted alley, on our way home from drinking Absinthe at The Ten Bells -- last stop on our Jack the Ripper's London tour. It was a fascinating night of true crime hosted by Donald Rumbelow, a guy who had literally written the book on the case. Rumbelow -- one of the all-time great author names :) -- claims to have been the studio-hired resource who briefed Johnny Depp on the case prior to the filming of From Hell. We met in the furtive shadows across from The Tower of London, and trod the cobblestone streets of Old London -- one square mile bounded by Roman stone and conflicting suburban police jurisdictions. Rumbelow wove a captivating tale, then opened his attache to conduct a little book sales business. I got the last copy! There are lots of folks offering Jack the Ripper tours and they steal each other's business like Gypsy Cab drivers. We were fortunate to get Rumbelow, and we were his last tour before taking a several week break for back surgery.

The good stuff:

Comfort food

Apple cinnamon oatmeal

eucalyptus

Niquel

Antibiotics

glad tidings

great joy

angels - of all stripes

DIY web design

Solstice

It came upon a midnight clear . . . actually it arrived around 1:30 a.m. -- a full lunar eclipse on the winter solstice. Now I'm not up on my druid lore, but that's got to be some kind of triple-witching hour. Local pagans celebrated with drum circles. And I thought of a couple of summers ago, when Darlyn, Meschelle and I were at Stonehenge on the eve of the summer solstice.

Regardless of your creed, there is something powerful about a solstice, especially the winter solstice, the longest night of the year -- standing astride the midnight meridian, staring up into the honest eye of the moon, you feel closer to God, and somehow empowered to ask him anything. This time, I didn't. I just tilted my head back and watched as the lid of the earth's shadow, dropped like an eyelid, until all that was left was a white tip and the moon eye became a buckeye. And then even that was gone, and the moon slept. A silent night, indeed.

I watched through the improbable December blossoms of my flowering peach tree, and whispered two words -- to God, and to Darlyn, whom I knew at that moment was at her home across town, bundled and sapping the heat from her cocoa, staring up at the same night sky, 25 miles away: "Thank you."

Peace to you all.

Pinocchio - the later years

Like many child stars, Pinocchio had a hard time adjusting to reality. As it turned out, being "real" was not a marketable job skill - not like, say, being a stringless puppet. Desperate, he took matters into his own hands, undergoing experimental surgery in Mexico to return to his natural state. The surgery worked, but by then the world's attention had turned to automatons. His life in splinters, he took to freebasing varnish. An autopsy, performed by a noted tree surgeon, placed his age at 37, although his rings showed signs of termites and the advanced dry rot of a much older tree. He was made into a pine box and buried in a private ceremony attended by a cricket, and several smoking donkeys in topcoats and short-pants.

The good stuff:

Pot luck at the Kerouac House

A good yarn

A nice sweater made from good yarn

Apples and peanut butter

Barnstorming hawks

Woodpeckers at the window

Pajama weekends

Community

Linear parks

Writer talk

Pinocchio -- artist's model

Another great sculpture by Cheryl Bogdanowitsch

 

The good stuff:

A warm day in winter

Rowers at dawn

Ferris wheels

Dancing shoes

Wind-up monkeys

Puppet boxing

Packages on the porch

Crisp, shiny apples

chimney smoke

Faces off

This shot of fragments in Cheryl Bodganowitsch's woodpile would make a nice cover image for a poetry collection.

The good stuff:

Blue moons

Spaghetti and brocolli slaw

New office supplies (feels like new school supplies)

Poetry in motion

Infinity - and beyond

Questions without answers

The Three Musketeers 

Traffic circles

Crop circles

Turning in circles 

Fellahin

More beautiful detail from the work of Cheryl Bogdanowitsch. This one reminded me of that famous National Geographic Cover, the one of the Afghani girl with the searing green eyes. This particular photo shoot was so rich with these powerful images. I think I'll keep posting them for awhile.

The good stuff:

The exhaustion of a day well-spent

Cold weather - nature's bug zapper

Woohoo! 30 degrees - no more lawn mowing this year

Getting pulled over for a burned out headlight - on my way to an auto parts store (no ticket)

Silk Soy Nog. Not the product itself, I just like saying it.

Sidewalk chalk

Vermillion

Chartreuse

Cinnamon candles

Spelunking for sweaters

Blue Angel

I hope Cheryl Bogdanowitsch won't get mad. Her work is so inspiring, I played with it a little. Here's my collaborative interpretation of one of her pieces.

The good stuff:

Offsetting setbacks.
New Hope For Kids Christma Light Ride organizers and marshals (y'all rock! Thanks!)
Ray LaHood
Rails To Trails Conservancy
Living on the verge
40 degrees and sunny - mmm, brisk
Buffalo chicken quesadillas
Christmas parties
White elephant gift exchanges
fondue fu

Collaboration

No one but the poet knows, from this beginning, where she goes. To take, and make, from this, a poem. From artist's head, to poet's koan. One to another, heart to heart, a transformation, art to art. And in between, the muses meet. Two strangers passing on a street. Each burned upon the other's eye. Cross-pollination, by-and-by.

The good stuff:

Friends at the Enzian

Snickerdoodles

saying "snickerdoodle"

cheap sunglasses

margarita salt sombreros

moving bookcases

giant libraries

library giants

baby bats

local bands

Wood-witsch

Darlyn had a surprise for me. "I want you to meet my artist," she said. "Bring your camera."

As one of the leading ladies in the Florida poetry scene, it is becoming increasingly common for Darlyn to be paired with an artist, or two, for collaborations guaranteed to amaze. We were on our way to the Orlando studio of Cheryl Bogdanowitsch, a sculptor known for her fantastic wood sprites and spirits carved from gnarled and knotted limbs she strips of bark and stacks like so much, well, cordwood, around her studio on Lake Formosa - a stone's throw away from the community center where Gram Parsons played with his band "Legends," and where bands like The Allman Brothers, Tom Petty, and the Outlaws, hit the small stage before making it to the big one -- a youth club so hot that older teens would get fake IDs so they could appear "young" enough to get in. But that's a story for another day -- one already written by local pop historian and WESH TV reporter Bob Kealing, for Orlando Magazine back in 2007.

The poets and artists in these collaborations have a quaint possessive way of referring to each other as "my poet" and "my artist." Darlyn had been to the studio at the beginning of the process, and was going to pick up a sculpture inspired by her poetry. Under the rules of engagement, she would have to study the piece, as Bogdanowitsch had studied her work, and write an original poem, inspired by the reflection. That poem, in turn, will be given to a painter, who will create something original inspired by Darlyn's ekphrastic phrases.

But Darlyn had an ulterior motive for inviting me along last night. "This place reminds me of the inside of your head - at least the way you've described it to me." She was not wrong. Over the next few days I'll be presenting some of the photographs I took inside Bogdanowitsch's wonderful studio.  

The good stuff:

The REAL Orlando

Lobster bisque and bourbon pecan chocolate pie at Logan's Bistro

Almond brie quesadillas with mango chutney, served sushi-style, at Sip.

Circus train - just passing through.

Creamy Jif, from a spoon!

Getting by with a little help from my friends

Howl - tonight at the Enzian

Living in a state where our politicians actually spend time, and taxpayer money, debating whether a long-dead rockstar, who is buried in Paris, did, or didn't expose his hoo-ha at a concert 40 years ago, and whether he should be pardoned - really. How's that budget coming?

Green and groovin'

Boy have I been a bad little blogger. Went and filled up my dance card with paying gigs and now I've gone and missed a couple of days. To summarize: Sky, flower, frog, freak, cemetery. Ooh, aah, watercolor. In my defense, I have been busy. Look for a couple of stories in the January issue of Orlando Magazine. Just finished a cover for the International Accounts Payable Professionals and a white paper on Regional Water Strategy. Hit send on the water strategy white paper today. You know there's a trick to writing a water paper, right? Well, the trick is, it can't be dry. Badumpum! Ching! Thank you. I'll be here all week. Now see - it's that attitude right there that makes me think about skipping a day. But I'm bigger than that. I'll just sit here across from the Buddha Frog, and look for inner peace.

Japanese beer in American aluminum, brewed in Los Angeles

Spaghetti - with whole mushrooms and fresh basil. No spaghetti.

Clearance, Clarence

Roger, Roger

Leslie Nielsen - RIP

Mr. Natural

Kilroy

Banksy

Obey-Giant

Public graffiti walls

Scribbler's Corner

Darlyn at work is a beautiful thing. ... Darlyn at work is a beautiful thing. I had the opportunity to see Darlyn in full-on frenetic work mode this weekend. She has agreed to do some part-time bookkeeping for me and was helping me get my office in order. Sixteen hours later, I had to unplug the computer to get her to stop. That's just the way she is. Whether she is writing, or working (for free) on behalf of the Central Florida writing community, she gives all she's got. I took this picture in October, at the AM 810 studio, where she was broadcasting her Scribbler's Corner radio show. (Second Saturday of every month at Noon(ish) during the second half of Yo Soy Latino - yes it's in English). Typical Darlyn -- edge of her chair, coiled and ready. She looks as if she's ready to spring into action. And, speaking of Scribbler's Corner . . . Next Saturday (Dec. 11) Darlyn will be interviewing me, and my colleague Diane Sears, owner of DiVerse Media, on how getting laid-off can be a blessing, and how you can earn six figures freelancing.


The Good Stuff:

Bluejay at my window
Warm, fuzzy socks
Hot ginger tea
Pom Pom's Teahouse and Sandwicheria
Chocolate Guiness cupcakes
Snowy nights and Christmas lights. Tinsel afternoons.
First Friday arts strolls
Orlando Shakespeare Theater
The Innocence Project
Scribbles

Bric-a-brat

Well, I swan. It's a Southern expression -- because it's not polite to "swear." I'm sure there's a great legend depicted by this figure, but it's not coming to mind.

The good stuff:

"Snow" falling softly on Market Street at Celebration

Florida winter - both days

Fireplaces - just because

Rock Band Freebird - family style!

Airing out the sweaters

The first seasonal whiff of a heater

Outdoor cafes with propane heaters

Cold, clear nights - so many stars!

Christmas lights

Holiday decorations

I am the wall-rus

This particular gargoyle from the Parc de la Ciutadella in Barcelona, is probably not what John Lennon had in mind when he sang "I am the walrus." -- Although, judging from the lyrics, I'm not sure he was thinking much of anything at the time. Still, it never hurts to Imagine. As the media machine cranks up to celebrate the 30th anniversary of Lennon's assasination next week, I wanted to post this as an off-the-wall tribute of my own.

The good stuff:

The Beatles catalog is now available on iTunes!!! Finally!

Strawberry fields

For the Benefit of Mr. Kite

Norwegian Wood

Blackbird

Yesterday

Everybody's Got Something to Hide Except Me and My Monkey

Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds

Maxwell's Silver Hammer

A Day in the Life

Dog House

A busy, but good, day yesterday. Had to escape to my watercolor happy place. This Key West cottage is, well, soooo Key West.

Pastel paint: Check.

Gingerbread: Check.

Dogs on roof: Check.

Mermaid figurehead on the attic vent: Check.

Homeowners association says: "two snaps up."

The good stuff:

Big lazy dogs

Blue lazy days

Cocktails served in a hollowed out pineapple

The tractor beams of Christmas

Snow (on tv)

Sun (on my face)

Formal flip flops

Moving vans in the neighborhood - moving in

Wayward pelicans

The smell of fresh bread.

Here comes the sun

Big, bright and happy - what's not to like. And I say . . . It's all right . . . which reminds me of a scene I witnessed at a redlight, taking my daughter to school the other day.

Sirocco

She enters as motion
At the corner of my eye
Left to right
In a solar arc
All elbows, knees, and jiggling excess
Bold as brass
Dark as bronze
Big as a Sousaphone

She takes to the streeet
As if it were a stage
In her own private parade
Dancing to beat the band
With a hyperbole of gesture
No doubt scripted for aerobic effect

She takes her time
Taking in the moment
When she reaches the refuge of the far corner
A car honks
And it looks, for a moment
As if she might return for an encore
But she continues on her way
After a simple jig
Blowing west
In a cloud of construction dust



The good stuff:

Takin' care of business
The light at the end of the tunnel
Double rainbow
Big hairy audacious dreams
Good old-fashioned elbow grease
Comic books
Sultry looks
Yogurt-covered pretzels
gingerbread
volunteers

Alleluiah!

There's a big old cross around the corner from my house that towers high over the landscape, poking up into the rarefied air reserved for skyscrapers, cell towers, water towers, and Mormon temples. Early odds had it that this monument was, in fact, a cell tower. A couple of other churches in town had already monetized their monuments, and given the prime location next to the cross-town expressway, it seemed a logical step. Except this cross was no golden idol. Central Florida Baptist Church built it as a beacon of faith -- and a nifty navigational landmark. "Look to the cross," and turn right.

At first I wasn't sure what to think about having my neighborhood high ground, near Gotha, turned into a gol-darned Golgotha, until I saw the cross backlit one stormy evening at sunset. I keep meaning to get back and stake out a spot the next time the light is right. But in the meantime, this will have to suffice. I shot this back in August, but have been holding onto it for the right moment. After Darlyn and I went to hear the wonderful free performance of Handel's Messiah last night at The Bob Carr, the time seemed right.

The Good Stuff:

Sacred Music
Renaissance Art
Cinnamon pecans
Freshly washed cars
A week full of possibilities
Holiday spirit
Morning rain
Sunny and 70 degrees
Hot apple cider
Crawfish etouffee

Azaleas

Florida fall is in full effect - sycamore leaves twirling in the wash of passing cars. Acorns crunching underfoot. And color! Sweetgum, sycamore, red maple, sugarberry, persimmon, black cherry, sassafras, and the flowering dogwood. The West Orange Trail this weekend was a riot of color. But my favorite season, by far, is just around the corner, when the camelias will bloom, followed by the azaleas and magnolia. Paradise! 

The good stuff:

A well-organized office

Handel's Messiah - FREE!

Facebook - in moderation

A good book (or three)

A well-stocked library

Scrooged

The morning paper

A job well-done

Dandelion fluff

Maple seed helicopters

Juvenalia

Spent yesterday going through my home office, digging down through the layers - the art from the refigerator period, the various tools and paraphernalia of the scrapbooking period -- all the way down through the college textbooks I saved because I thought I'd need them, but never did, and into the stuff I did when I was a kid, that my parents shipped me in a big old box to get it out of their house period. This picture was not from any of those periods, but it captures the essence of all of them -- demolition derby, monster trucks, mayhem . . . beer -- rendered as a cartoon, suitable for even the finest refrigerator.

The Good Stuff:

Clean closets - No. REALLY clean.

Old photographs

Sharpies and Post-its

Toy telescopes

Late-night guitar sing-alongs

Vodka and cranberry juice

Venetian masks

The way everything, always seems to get done, eventually

Blue skies, smilin' at me ...

Puppies in passing cars

Winternacht

Cold air is just made for walking at night, bundled up in a long black felt overcoat, snuggled down into a baby-soft cashmere scarf, hands in pockets, shuffling down empty streets beneath a stark, fat moon like a character from a Leonard Cohen song. On cold nights, we are all gifted with rabbit ears, as sound, unfettered by the baffle of humidity, travels fast and far to bring news of things unseen. The chicken-chatter of children, the suspicious report that sounds like gunfire, but is probably only a taxi backfiring. The cell phone conversation on the fire escape, and the fight in B-12. These are the nights for which neighborhood bars with fireplaces and Irish coffee were invented. Comfort food is mandatory.

The Good Stuff:

Long weekends

More leaves on the ground than on on the trees

Fall colors

The sorting hat

Confessional poetry

Passing the phone at Thanksgiving

Getting organized

Tipping points

Poinsettias

Big pots of spaghetti

Moto

The good stuff:

A long walk on a cool night

A fire in the fireplace

12-cold drinks and a powerful thirst

Leftovers

Improvisation

Three kinds of dessert

Purple and pink sunsets

Traditions

The smell of cookies baking

Breeze

Bicycle Boulevard Barcelona

Just one of many beautiful vistas in Barcelona. This one, from the Parque de la Ciutadella, looking through the Triumphal Arch toward Tibidabo.

The good stuff:

Coffee on a cold day

The celophane sheen of lake ripples at sunset

Anhinga roosting

Fountains

the village at Versailles

baking cookies

vanilla

the irrational exuberance of dog owners

the potential of libraries

the opposite of conspiracy theories

Two - redux

As with the butterfly a few months ago, these two wouldn't let me get away with just my original altered picture. They wanted me to show them as I found them.

The Good Stuff:

campus visits

The Swamp Restaurant.

The Swamp

university libraries

Hari Krishna lunch

racoon bandits

pipe organ

carrilon

marching band practicing

balcony seating

El Gallo

More Key West, more watercolor. There's just something about that place.

The Good Stuff

Urban assault chickens

A night out

rainy days

Mondays

Cuban coffee

etouffe

balloon arches

swans at night

the vulnerability of a sleeping vagabond

dueling guitars in the park at dusk 

World Wide Web

The big blue marble in this pic - actually a blown-glass fishing float - reminded me of the big blue marble we live on. I spend a lot of time, professionally, thinking about this marble - writing about sustainable water strategy and advocating for healthy lifestyles, diversity, and sustainable development. It's easy, in my line of work, to get caught up in all that is wrong on our marble, but like the net in this picture, we are all connected. Yesterday that point was hammered home for me.

I started my day with whole wheat toast, and honey - harvested, as you know, from the killer bees in my yard. Darlyn and I met up with a group from Bike/Walk Central Florida and Commute Orlando to ride our bicycles to the Winter Park Harvest Festival - a celebration of locally grown food. On the road, along the way, to and from, we passed people we knew, some also on bikes. They smiled and waved. Sometimes we stopped and talked, and it struck me as wonderful, the way a couple of winding residential thoroughfares, connected by a paved park path, is rapidly becoming a bicycle highway - well-travelled by a growing number of faces - faces I recognize, because we're not all flying along at 55 miles an hour behind tinted glass.

The recently installed bike racks in Winter Park's Central Park, were filled to capacity. And all around, I saw families on foot - parents pushing strollers, kids lolling in the grass conversing with bugs. Everywhere we turned, we found people we knew. And when we got home, there were emails from friends we'd missed, who had heard we were there and wanted to say they were sorry we'd missed each other.

Next to the Harvest Festival, which was new this year, was the Winter Park Farmer's Market, which is held every Saturday -- fresh produce, homemade breads, beaugainvillea and bromiliads. Hard to find fault there.

Later, in my car, I passed the venerable Citrus Bowl, where the Florida Classic, the annual match-up between Florida's two predominantly black universities, square off every year in one of the nation's truly great Football traditions.

I was on my way to Clermont, where bike club officers from around the state gathered in a conference room at the base of The Citrus Tower - a tourist attraction dating back to the days before Interstates, where, when roadside attractions thrived. When I moved to Central Florida, in 1985, you could still go to the top of the Citrus Tower and see mostly citrus groves below. These days, you see mostly houses, and varicolored ribbons of cycling clubs, churning and burning their way up, down and around the region's verdant rolling hills.

The meeting was organized by one of my clients, The Florida Bicycle Association, which was reaching out to ask club leaders how they might better serve the cycling community. It was a great dialogue, followed by a reception at the Cycling Hub bike shop, headquarters for the Horrible Hundred, a ride named for both its 100-mile distance, and the challenging hills on the course. The ride itself took place today.

Just 24 hours - one turn of the marble between the thumb and forefinger of God. So much hope. So much life. So much to celebrate.  

The Good Stuff:

The Horrible Hundred

Community

The Cycling Hub in Clermont

Cycling Savvy

Five Guys hamburgers

The Winter Park Harvest Festival

Blue Jays at breakfast

meeting friends at the park

momentum

college visits

Apothecary

I've always liked this photo. Not sure why. I'm going to the dentist this morning, so I'm not feeling particularly creative. I'll post The Good Stuff when I return.

The Good Stuff:

Van Morrison played during a root canal

Quiet waiting rooms

Flexi-straws

Walking around with Elvis lip --Thank you. Thankyouverymuch.

A break in a hectic schedule

A fire in the fireplace

The anticipation of mail

Big gnarled oak roots

Snow birds headed south

Butterbeer recipes on the Internet.

Heron Gone

Great Blue Heron -- they don't pose for pictures, but man are they pretty.

The good stuff:

Kids on bikes

College campuses

Green transportation

Stomp the yard - for real

Fraternity row

Revision

Crocuses

Swallow swarms

Goalies

Goonies

Wild Blue

One of the art world's dirty little secrets revealed here for the first time: Because Picasso's blue period preceded his green period, the famous artist, in the fashion of the day, simply plucked the blue periods he needed from several large exclamation marks and left the discarded tops upended in this public park. Later, he would realize the error of his ways and become an avid recycler, crushing all of his refuse into convenient, disposable cubes. Thus, Picasso would go on to become known as the father of cubism.

The good stuff:

A forgiving audience

Dilbert

Designer sheep's clothing, for wear-wolves

Free speech - with purchase

FIVE GOLDEN RINGS!

Patents pending

Self-cleaning ovens

Self-cleaning babies

Count Count

A Muppet Christmas Carol

Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde

Whenever he'd go out, he'd hear the people shout: "There goes Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde! Da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da." . . . Which was unfortunate, and more than a little disturbing. Plus it wouldn't fit on the book jacket. So he shortened it -- his name, that is, not the book jacket -- that would have been silly, like having yourself buried in an Art Deco Egyptian modern tomb within kissing distance of your famously flamboyant fan base.

Little known fact:: He was born with three middle names. One he had surgically removed. The others he sold for food and firewood during one particularly harsh Paris winter.

A favorite quote: "People who count their chickens before they are hatched, act very wisely, because chickens run about so absurdly that it is impossible to count them accurately."

The good stuff:

Big Hairy Audacious Grave markers

Jambalaya, crawfish pie, and file gumbo (that's fee lay)

Bluesville

The Writer's Almanac

Cedar Waxwings -- I just like the name - very Icarian.(would that be vicarious?)

The Fringe Lottery

Peach yogurt

Crunchy ice cream

Free deli samples

Anything cinnamon

 

Orchid angel

Orchids do well in Florida. It's not for nothing that Ponce de Leon named this place Florida - which means "flowery" in Spanish. You can argue till you're blue in the face about how pretty the leaves are (for two weeks) in New England, but I'm here to tell you, we've got color year-round. From the tawdry red of the hibiscus, to the delicate pink of the Moth Orchid, Florida is a feast for the eyes. The camelia outside my dining room window is bursting with buds, ready to blast open into a fuschia orgy of the most beautiful lush flowers you could ever imagine. They look good enough to eat. This moth orchid lives at Le Petit Cadeau, a paradise on Big Pine Key, where Darlyn and I go, when we're lucky, to write and count the deer and iguana. Once, we were fortunate enough to go out on a boat with the cottage owners, Dan and Katherine Vaccaro. I reached into the muck and pulled up a perfect - empty - queen conch shell, that sits today, like an orchid, on a pedestal on Darlyn's porch. 

The good stuff:

Time to waste

flip flops in November

geese gaggling

Excedrin

Eden Brent singing Goodnight Moon

Boogaloo Ames

muses

Chinese fortune cookies, with fortunes - in Spanish

Hulu

hullabaloo  

Hogwarts

Amazing use of perspective almost makes you feel as if you're in the book.  Hope y'all aren't sick of my Harry Potter pics yet. Lots of good fun

Last night, I attended Jazz on Edge, a wonderful event produced by Joseph Hayes and Jennifer Greenhill Taylor, featuring creole cooking from the Roux Memories cookbook by Belinda Hulin, who was on-hand to share stories with us, and phenomenal Django Reinhardt-style Gypsy guitar music from Jason Cook and  The Cook Trio. Poet Sharon Hoffmann rounded out the bill, filling in ably for Summer Rodman, who was unable to attend.

Great night! Great food! Great people! Great fun! Thanks Joe and Jennifer.


The good stuff:

A full weekend of local entertainment
Frogen Yozurt
Squirrel Honey
Colombian Burger with Pineapple
Coffee, coffee, coffee, starts with C
Elaborate inside jokes - that you keep to yourself.
eggs and grits
guacamole
The Cook Trio
Django Reinehardt

Got butterbeer?

Cheers! And speaking of cheers, Darlyn and I ventured to New Smyrna yesterday for the 7th Annual Wham Bam Poetry Slam -- a crazy-good event put on by the great folks at the Atlantic Center for the Arts. Fifteen poets, three judges, no preparation, and five minutes to compose an original piece, based on a prompt drawn from a brandy snifter. Three rounds, and cash prizes. Darlyn had been asked to judge this year. I was a tag-along, who decided, at the last minute, to sign up and compete. What fun! The event was conducted in three rounds, with us writing and performing each piece before continuing to the next round. Each performance was scored, and three winners were selected based on total combined score. This year's prompts were: "Turning the tide," "That's money," and, "Washing my hands."

Here's my favorite, of the three I wrote:

Bard

Washing my hands

I turn and churn the bar of soap

Slip, sloppy suds

And I wonder

As the bar erodes

How much of that is soap

And how much is me

Swirling and gurgling down the drain

10 times a day

for 48 years

365 days each

plus 12 leaps

There must be a whole me down there

collected in the bend

And I wonder what my doppleganger would be like

If I were to crack open the works

And gather me up

All those soapy bits

And squeeze them together

Into a new clean and shiny person

99 and 44/100ths percent pure

Bar Brad

I'll call him Bard.

The good stuff:

k.d. lang singing about the big-boned gal

poetry under pressure

cardinals dogfighting in the crape myrtle

Atlantic Center for the Arts

Bonfires at biker karaoke bars on U.S. 1.

crazy, quirky poets getting their muse on

tiny, cozy cabins amid the palmetto and cabbage palm

deer on the swale

dressing up - for a radio show . . .

biscuits and gravy at It's All Good, New Smyrna.

 

Queue-riosity

Here's something you don't see everyday -- an empty queue line at Islands of Adventure. Oh, sure, everyone was lined up waiting to buy a wand at Olivander's, but still, you have to appreciate the beauty of it. This was taken at 11 a.m.

The good stuff:

Cold beer

Hot deadlines

Old friends

Bold type

Rold Gold Pretzels

Shiner Bock

Finer rock

No socks

Talk

Spock

Sidewalk chalk

Hang on

More random beauty from my trip to Islands of Adventure. Yeah, I know, there are other things to take pictures of, but few as worthy as this lone hibiscus flower, the only sign of life on a leafless skeleton of a tree. I felt as if I were photographing the last star in a dying galaxy. I wondered if this one flower was all that stood between this plant and the compost heap. As an entrepreneur, gritting it out through sometimes sparse cash flow, I could relate. I thought, "Hang in there, Buddy." I suspected this heroic effort would be for nought. In tourist world, even the foliage is expected to perform. Still, like the tiny wrens in yesterday's post, this close encounter of the wonderful kind made my heart race in a way that Spider Man and Harry Potter never could.

The good stuff:

Faith in success

Random peacocks

Ends meeting

Meetings ending :)

Arlo Guthrie's City of New Orleans

Creative noise

Local heroes

Dinner delivered

Time in a bottle

A Wrinkle in Time

Two in the bush

As much as I liked the new Hogsmeade area at Islands of Adventure, it's this picture I keep coming back to -- two wrens, keeping house next to the exit to the High In The Sky Seuss Trolley Train Ride. They're right there at eye level, and easily within reach. I guess there's so much going on all around that two small brown birds don't peg anyone's whoopee meter.  

The good stuff:

Doing it all, and then some

Shopping for comic book illustrators

Date night

1,000 pictures . . . that's what, like a million words?

Lions, and tigers, and beers

The first Christmas song of the season

The LAST Christmas song of the season

low-hanging fruit

double coupons

village squares

Instant bestseller - just add writer

Dear literary agent,

As you can see, my next best seller has all the makings of a classic -- a manual typewriter, strong coffee, and lots of leather-bound notebooks. I've even thrown in a clipboard and an uncomfortable chair, to show the quality of my research, and my ascetic work ethic. I have yet to write the first word. But having assembled the essentials, the rest is merely a matter of putting letters on the page and moving them around until they form sentences. There are only 26 letters. How hard could it be? I'll be sure to send you a copy, as soon as I know what it's about.

p.s.: I would prefer direct deposit for all my royalty checks.

The good stuff:

The hundreds of drivers who DIDN'T almost hit me on my bicycle yesterday

Going to bed early

Leftovers

The serenity of a quiet house, when even the dust motes hold their breath

The Dalai Lhama speaking at the University of Miami

The question: Does a designated deity have "human" rights?

The first fire in the fireplace

Austerity

Private sector cheese

Self-portrait

Mama always told me it was important to make a good impression. Here's an impressionistic interpretation of your blogger.

The good stuff:

Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey

Butterbeer at Hogsmeade Universal Orlando

Pumpkin Juice

The Three Broomsticks

Hogwarts castle

69 degrees and sunny

Chocolate Frogs

The Incredible Hulk roller coaster

Spiderman, the ride

Short lines at theme parks