Gray Is a Story

Check out Carmi's post for more gray.

When Carmi prompted us to post a gray-themed picture I started thinking about what I might use as my gray subject. What is gray for me? What comes to mind when I think of gray? 

The simplest answer is that gray is a paint chip; one of those little pieces of paper you get at the hardware store with a series of "warm grays" or "cool grays" that you can hold against your wall, scrunch up your eyes and try to figure out what it would look like magnified a thousand times to fill the room. 

Beyond that, however, I realized that gray (to me) is a story. gray is my drive to work 

with the interior of the car in a color that Toyota (that year) called "stone."

Gray can be a boring length of galvanized steel. 

But if I back up a step, I see it has a story to tell, with a hole and rust, and a chain. 

Gray is the color of rocks around here. 

I grew up with rocks that were predominantly beige. New England granite, however, seems to be mostly served up in gray.

The gravel beneath my feet can tell a story; this time the story is about nature's resilience. 

The Civil War Monument downtown is gray, and definitely tells a story, with the names carved in the bottom section. The fact that it is in good shape and not neglected is also a story. 

I just know that this house has stories to tell.

Even the parking meter I used on Wednesday has a story to tell. I see that it wasn't always gray. It seems to me that in a former life it was blue. 

But the favorite gray for me are these chairs. 

Simple folding chairs might seem to be a boring story. But every time these chairs come out of the basement it is because we're expecting company, and that is always a smile-worthy occasion.

Pics Taken with SmartPhone

Carmi over at Written Inc challenged us to share pictures taken with smartphones (or tablets, etc).  I do that occasionally for pleasure when my camera isn't with me.  But most of the pictures I take with my phone are for short-term work purposes like these: 

The one above is when I was helping someone with connections.  We had to disconnect all these wires, disconnect the box, thread everything out of the lectern they were in, then reverse all the steps with the brand-new lectern.  I captured this so we would remember which order the colors connect to the box. 

A couple of weeks later I was on a walk-through of an office area under construction.  Rather than jot down lots of network jack numbers, I snapped a few of these so that I could send the info to someone later.  This one had the advantage of reminding me where in the room it was (next to the light switch).

I don't typically keep these around after the task is finished, although a few end up tweaked into documentation (such as our how-to on using the buil-in audio-visual features in the conference rooms).

Go check out Carmi's post and see what others contributed this week.

Refuse

Refuse

Meditation was a taxing chore,
so-called sage counsel for self-healing.
I never knew there were so many rocks
in my couch cushion, so many scratchy tags
in my shirts. I carried a pout on the inside
of my face
and NO in my heart.

And one day,
and one day I forgot
to pack my heavy anger,
and I floated over time,
breathed deeply and heard the sun
sing in my veins, carrying joy
to my fingertips,
and YES into my soul.

The Pose

I haven't posted poetry in a long time, but this one wanted to be shared. I think I'll link to it over at Monday Poetry Train Revisited.

The Pose

The sun was nearly done with the cold sky when
I turned the corner at the graveyard and noticed
the teenager walking on the sidewalk by the road,
wandering somewhat aimlessly, gracefully.
The young man seemed to pose liquidly,
as if both hyper-aware of his body and also unfamiliar with it.
He didn't pose for me, anonymous in my Camry,
and I don't think he noticed Mr. Baseball Cap in the car ahead.
Perhaps it was in response to what he heard through the
ubiquitous white earbuds connected by a tether to his palm.
I saw the elfin curve of his body in my rear view mirror,
still at the corner, on this side of the cemetery's stone wall,
until the road's bend hid him from me.

More Summer 2010 Books

One of these was buried on my bedside table and didn't make it into the last books write-up. The other two I read in the last couple of weeks.

A Homemade Life, by Molly Wizenberg
a memoir

I stumbled across Molly Wizenburg's food blog, Orangette, years ago and was immediately hooked on her writing. It wasn't all about the food, yet the food was integral to each story. I was thrilled to hear she had been chosen to write a regular column for Bon Appetit, since I subscribe to it anyway. I was not disappointed with the columns, each ends with a recipe, but starts with a story, pretty much like her blog.

I knew (from her blog) that she'd been working on a book and finally remembered to buy it. I devoured it. The subtitle is "stories and recipes from my kitchen table" and it has the same delightful touch as the rest of her writing. She starts by introducing her family, pairing each, relatively short chapter with a food or recipe. The end of each chapter has one or more recipes, each written so clearly and with such friendliness that I have no doubt that I could make each and every one successfully.

But this isn't just about the recipes. Any reader of this memoir is granted a gentle view of her life, from childhood to present. Have I used the word "delightful" yet? I see I did, but I have no other word that so aptly describes how I find this book. It is a quick read, and one where an occasional phrase just MUST be shared with people around you. Such as this one:

"It's just that my mother and I have had decades to sync up our priorities. They are as follows: eat, walk, eat, walk, window shop, window shop, and then walk to dinner. As you might guess, we do especially well in France."

How can you NOT want to find out where the rest of that chapter leads you?



Magic Bleeds, by Ilona Andrews
A Kate Daniels Novel, fantasy

Like many series, this is probably not the book to start with, but it does have all the regular characters from previous books. Kate and other residents of Atlanta live through waves of magic that cause tech to fail, and waves of tech that cause magic to fail. They have local trouble-makers enough, but someone new is in town -- a big, bad someone bringing death and plagues.

Kate's investigation leads her to uncover more than even she bargained for. And it doesn't help that she is struggling with her personal life too.

This is a fast-moving, entry in this series and one of the better ones. Kate is sure of herself (mostly) and is surrounded by other characters equally sure of themselves. The stage is set for some fierce struggles.



The High Priest and the Idol, by Jane Fletcher
Lyremouth Chronicles: Book 4, fantasy

I ran the first three books in this series in 2009 and when I saw there was a fourth I decided, "why not?" I'm glad I did because I enjoyed this a lot more than the last one. The earlier books work to set up the relationship between the two main characters and also the response of their world to their relationship. The last book was tedious and heavy on the melancholy.

This book presents the two main characters as quite sure of themselves. It made it a pleasure to read of their adventures. The other thing I liked about this book is that the "getting from here to there" bits were omitted. If the story wasn't advanced by travails of getting from one part of the world to another, the story skips ahead to the end of the schlep. A definite improvement. There were also some nice twists to the story.