visuals . . . june

Tampa Bay as seen from the Sunshine Skyway Bridge on the way to camp.

The sock I found on the floor of our room upon arrival and then slung across the room where it stuck to this light fixture and stayed for the remainder of the week and will until, conceivably, the end of time.

The recliner I moved against the bed so I could watch the menagerie of daytime Judge So-and-So shows my cute TV [seen way below for technical troubles not worth the effort to remedy].

My slapdash journal.  I write with pen and paper about as often as I attend summer camps for 6-12 year olds.  My penmanship ain't quite what it used to be back when I was earning solid Cs at J. B. Watkins Elementary. 

Aitchsee!

Aitchsee (soon Sally, sooner Slim) in reference to my thumb.

A lovely view.  An inlet of the Manatee River.

Me and Sidling Sally--BFsF!

Honorary member of the orange team and the green team.  My tags served two purposes.  First, since the campers were halved (a group of individuals equaling in number of individuals a second group of individuals, not, wise-guy, an individual split gruesomely down the middle) to meet the fire-code of the cafeteria's capacity, I was able to go to whichever meal best suited my schedule.  As my schedule was almost entirely wide open until mealtimes, I always ate with the early group because boredom is a hungry beast.  Second, I wore my tags so not to be taken for a creepy old man stalking the grounds of a kids' camp with seemingly no place to belong.

 

Sally after she moved and I thought I had lost her.  If you look closely, you can tell that her head is turned toward me and she is looking into my eyes with that adorable little beady one of hers.

The interloper--all smug and snide and simpering--on the moldy chair.

The phantom poet laureate makes his nighttime rounds while the children are rallying in the Tabernacle.

Testing the waters.  This was as far as I dared venture.  Pitiful, right?  But the sensations of sinking and rising, coming and going are my baseline on terra firma; the last thing I need is to add exponents to vertigo.

There is the cautious smile of levitating malaise.

Garment avant-garde:  Soon every one will be dressing to match the vista's palette.

As it turned out, I did receive an honorarium for my services as Bar None Ranch's phantom poet-laureate. 

 You know how some folks lick a pencil before using it . . . that's how I do with my hedge-trimmers.  I am preparing to get after the haywire bushes at my dad's house.

At this point, I am attacking head-on--blades-a-blur, ill-advisedly using the overhead and towards me technique.   Not only does the owner's manual warn against this, so do all of my pill-bottles, seizure-history, and common sense.

Syllogism: I am approximately six feet tall.  That black orb level with the azalea tops is my ball cap.  These azaleas are approximately six feet tall.

If you've never used brute force to maneuver yourself and a step-ladder through a tight-knit thicket of azalea branches, you just haven't lived.

If you have done the above, you will know that I am now taking: 1] a break 2] deep breaths 3] stock of my practical wisdom.

 

 

My cute TV at camp.  This photo belongs way back up there.  Anyway, don't you love how it fills up that "entertainment" center?  For reference, it was about 6 by 7 Aitchsees.

Ummm . . . clean-up on aisle grossgusting, please. 

Ohhh . . . look what the cat dragged in (from the nether world).

Ahhhh . . . it's like biting into a York Peppermint Patty.