Snow Day!

Paradise Inn, Mount Rainier, Washington. During the winter of 1916-1917, 789.5 inches of snow fell at Paradise Inn. When this photo was taken, in March 1917, the snow was 27 feet deep. To paraphrase John Denver, "Thank God I'm a southern boy!"
More specifically; "Thank God I'm a Carolina boy!"

It has been snowing and sleeting here off and on all morning. There is no accumulation though because the temperature is above freezing. It's about time we got a little taste of winter. It's been years since we had a real winter here or a real snow that actually stuck on the ground and you could make a down hill sleigh run. The daffodils were already sprouting several inches through the ground last week.

Now as to why I posted a picture from Paradise Inn, Mount Rainier, Washington on this blog about the south; specifically the Carolinas... My former boss moved to Washington state near that site last year. All I have to say about that is; HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH! AH HAH HAH HAH! AH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH!

That wasn't very civil of me was it?

AH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH!

Posted by Dread who will soon be planting seed trays for setting out in the spring, and is still snickering about his former boss.

A Second Handed House in a Second Handed Season

I call this shot the Second Handed House in a Second Handed Season, because it reminds me of the house in the movie, "Second Handed Lions". If you haven't seen that movie, it's a must! It would not have been a big box office splash, because teens and young people mostly wouldn't get it. But, if you're under 13 or over 30, you need to see Robert Duvall and Michael Cain portray people who "really lived."

I consider autumn and winter to be second handed seasons, because, generally I don't like them. Spring and Summer are my cup of tea. Although this past autumn was one of the most beautiful in my memory, most years I don't enjoy autumn because its the forerunner of winter, which in my mind is just another brick through the windshield of life that you have to try to survive and get through.

Anywho, I forget who shot this pic this fall; Miss N, or myself. It really doesn't matter as it was a shared experience anyway. We were tooling around the Carolina mountains enjoying the cool crisp air and the magnificent colors of the 2008 autumn. I think this picture was taken sometime in late October.

Posted by Dread who thinks maybe he should share some more of the 2008 autumn pix.

Preparing for the New Year

Posted by Dread, who is busy brainstorming a new method and substance of expression, while still hoping and praying for the best in 2009.

Yada Yada Yada!

..and all that stuff. Some years I get into it and some years I don't. There's a bit of frustration this year... Okay; a lot. Anyway, I hope yours is great. I'll be back about the time you start next year's hangovers. Until then; stay safe!

Posted by Dread without any real enthusiasm.

Bar Window Art, Thrice Removed

Art recalled and documented can become art itself. Somewhere over my rambling readings, I came across the quote below, which I consider to be a quality sample of the art of prose. I think once you have read it you will agree that it is art, recalling art. Here is the quote:

"I was once sitting at a table in a bar when a young woman came up to the bar window, lifted her shirt and pressed her breasts against the window. When she left, there were perfect imprints of her breasts on the dusty glass. I didn't think of it as art at the time. If only I had known."

I failed to document where I clipped the quote, and can't for the life of me even remember when I collected it. But I found it interesting, moving, and thought provoking. It occurred to me that the little clip was art itself, and so the temporal art created by the young lady at the window, moved to a remaining print on the window and a lingering imprint on the writer's mind. Although it can be argued that the act of the imprint and the imprint itself were all one unit of art, does it really matter? Art is in the mind of the beholder.

I suppose that with my posting of the picture of illustration and the quote together here, the art the young lady created, and then was reminisced to prose, is in some way taking on it's third mutation. Yet, in some way, the original art still remains a pure statement of itself.

Some stories loose something in each additional telling while others gain. They evlove through adoption and added perspective. The south is full of art like that; especially here beneath the Carolina moon.

Posted by Dread who thinks it is neat art, when stories like this come full circle, but the original artists keep their secrets.