White full size carnation

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QUOTES…from James Joyce

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“Mistakes are the portals of discovery.”

“Irresponsibility is part of the pleasure
of all art; it is the part that schools cannot recognize.”

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Beautiful sculptures from…Bored Panda

http://www.boredpanda.com/wire-sculptures-richard-stainthorp/

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Eddie Montague

Image 4Eddy Montague was a writer.  Unfortunately, Eddie was such a clever writer that he was arrested almost every time one of his books was published.   You see, many of his readers thought he was writing about them personally and they were horrified that he knew them so well.  Eddie’s books all had the standard, “All characters in this book are fictitious and bear no resemblance to anyone living or dead,”clause printed in the front, but no one believed him.  No matter what he wrote, at least one or two people had him arrested for defamation of character.  The police told Eddie that if people thought he was writing about them, they didn’t have much of a character to defame.

Eddie wrote murder mysteries.   He was quite prolific, actually, since he saw treachery everywhere he looked.  His plots were full of twists and turns and people waited in line to buy his books.  Eddie also wrote poetry, under the pen name of Flossy Price.  Women carried Flossy Price’s love poems in their coat pockets and in their pocketbooks.  They slipped them into dresser drawers and read them during quiet moments alone.  Women loved Flossy and would have been shocked to know that their favorite poet and their favorite mystery writer were one in the same.

Eddie was also well liked by the police.  They appreciated the clever way he solved crimes and the meticulous way he described police procedure.  Some of Eddie’s story lines came directly from the cases he heard heard being discussed while he was at the station.  His book, THE AUTO MECHANIC, a story about a mechanic who murdered his best friend because he took his car to a new repair shop two towns away, was a bestseller.  The police had been talking about a man who did that very thing, but instead of being a mechanic, the man was a dry cleaner.

Marion was Eddie’s childhood sweetheart.  They married young and he loved  her very much.  Sadly, Marion died one bright sunny afternoon, after falling down a flight of stairs while working at the Museum of Plants and Stems.  She had been supervising the final touches on the HUNGRY PLANTS exhibit, which was to open the following weekend. That was two years ago and while his friends told him to find someone new, Eddie felt that Marion was the only woman he ever wanted.  All of the love poems he wrote were written to his wife.

Arriving home late one night, Eddy noticed that his front door was open just enough to let a thin sliver of warm light fall across the floor of the porch.  He took out his note pad and started jotting down things that he might want to use in his next book.   When he was finished, he closed the pad, placed it on the seat next to him, opened the door of the car and stepped out into the night.  He stood, staring at his house, hands stuffed deeply into the pockets of his brown slacks.  He rocked back and forth on his feet, for a moment, and wondered if he should call the police.  “That would be a nice change,” he said to himself, as he moved slowly toward the door.

“Hello?” he said, pushing the door open with his foot.  “Anybody home?”  He listened, but didn’t really expect anyone to answer.   “I’m coming in,” he said.  “Stay calm.”

After walking through the entire house, including the attic and the basement, Eddie decided that nothing seemed out of place.  He checked the door but there were no signs of forced entry, so he shut it and turned the key.  He changed out of his suit, washed his hands and face, then went to make himself a sandwich.  When he got to the kitchen, his favorite sandwich was sitting on a white plate, waiting for him.  A napkin was tucked neatly under the side of the dish and a glass of water, droplets running down its side, stood next to that.  “Marion?” said Eddie, turning around.

“I’m here Eddie,” said his wife.  “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” whispered Eddie.  “Where are you sweetheart?”

“I’m right in front of you.”

Eddie raised his arm and waved it in front of him. “Marion?”

“Listen Eddie, I don’t have much time.  I didn’t fall down the stairs, I was pushed.”

“WHAT?”

“I was murdered.  Paul Marsen was stealing artifacts from the Museum and I found out about it.  He saw me looking through his desk and knew that I knew.  He followed me into the hallway and when I turned to talk to him he shoved me and I fell Eddie, all the way to the bottom.”

Eddie sat at the table, his head in his hands. “I should have realized that it wasn’t an accident. How did I missed that?”

“You couldn’t have known.  It’s not your fault.”

“I’ll get him Marion, I promise.”

“I know you will, Eddie.  I love you.”

“Forgive me,” he whispered.

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

“Can you stay?”

“I can’t.”

“Will you come back?”

“No.”

“Can I hold you one more time?”

The sudden pressure against Eddie’s body felt familiar.  He chocked back a sob and tried to lean into it, but he just stumbled forward.  She was gone.  Eddie sat at the table for a very long time.  Eventually he tided up, turned out the light and went to bed.

Thanks to Eddie, three months later the Museum had several of their artifacts back, Paul Marsen was behind bars for theft and the murder of Marion Montague and Eddie’s latest book, MURDER AT THE MUSEUM, was being read by just about every person who was able to read.

When things finally calmed down Eddie went back to his solitary and rather secluded life. He stayed away from the public and refused to give interviews .  He wrote love poems to his wife everyday, but his heart was broken and his interest in the things around him continued to wane.  Eddie died quietly in his sleep, one night, dreaming of his beautiful wife.

While cleaning out his desk, his sister found the beginning of Eddie’s latest book.  It was titled, LOVE NEVER DIES, a true story.  There weren’t enough pages to send to Eddie’s publisher, so his sister simply put the thin manuscript into a box with his other papers.  They haven’t been seen since.  The public grieved for their beloved mystery writer but as time went by, everyone wondered what happened to poet, Flossy Price.

 

 

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Kitchen guardian…

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERADebbie bought this for me at an Xmas art fair.  She lives in the kitchen, among the plants. She is rather quite, to be honest, but I think she communicates with the flowers.

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Large white carnation

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Orion…from Astronomy Picture of the Day

http://apod.nasa.gov/apod/astropix.html

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