Dreams, Moments, Travels
These hands took care of my grandfather 84 years ago when he was just a little boy and his sister was only 11 years old. They held my mother when she was a baby and her father was a young man fresh from the military after his service during World War II. In the 1960’s they cradled me, just a young baby 43 years ago. Today my Aunt Eleanor’s hands are a little more wrinkled and maybe not as strong as they had once been, but still, her gentle touch is as sweet as ever.
It’s getting late in the day and the sun still burns hot, the clouds do little to ease the heat.
As my wife makes the long and grueling 15-year transition from jeans, black t-shirts, and orange hair to feminine jewelry, skirts, and long braided hair, there are moments when she really catches my eye. Yeah, I know, she’s supposed to to that every day for me as we ‘are’ married. But, there are times when to me, she just looks extra wonderful – this was one of those days.
High winds and blowing dust preceding a thunderstorm kicked up this sheet of aluminum into the power lines cutting electricity to our neighborhood for nearly three hours. Typically this kind of storm activity doesn’t begin until July – the beginning of our monsoon season.
My mother went to Florida and all I got was this colon cleaner. From the Sunshine State and Professor Phardtpounder comes this hot sauce “Elixer of Capsaicin Extremus” – Colon Cleaner. If only I were naive enough to wonder just how it does its magic and were contemplating, should I eat it or apply it?
Everything is now right in the world. Tata (Aunt Ann) got her hair done, and now it was time for breakfast at Cajun Kitchen. We’ll hang out until just after noon, reminiscing about all the stuff we’ve probably reminisced about before, but no matter as it’s always great to see their enthusiasm for sharing the highlights of their lives.
It’s already mid-afternoon when we pull off the freeway for some quick sightseeing in downtown Los Angeles. While there’s plenty of blight to focus on in this part of the city, that’s what I was doing back when I was growing up before I had access to a car. Today, I’m looking for striking images.
However, I’m also persuaded to take distorted self-portraits.
And more high rises.
Not to forget the beautiful older and much shorter side of Los Angeles. Enough sightseeing, time to go home.
Passing the Chuckawalla Valley State Prison outside of Blythe, California, on the way back to Arizona, you are warned not to stop for hitchhikers as they just might be escaped convicts.