Tag: 67 and thriving

Hugh Mangum Photography at Muzeo

~ GrayMareWrites ~ 2 Comments

We took a trip to the always fascinating local cultural mecca, Muzeo, in Anaheim, home to the OG Disneyland.

I’m going to be lazy and let the pictures do most of the heavy lifting for this post.  The main exhibit at Muzeo right now features the photography of Hugh Mangum, who plied his trade in the late 1800’s to early 1900’s. Traveling by train to set up temporary studios, he captured his subjects where they lived. After his death from complications of the flu epidemic in 1922, his photography studio was packed up and moved to an old barn on family property, to be rediscovered in the 1970’s.  I think the flaws created by the ravages of 50 years in a weather-beaten out building add an aura of alchemy to the portraits.

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Marconi Automotive Museum

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For some people, the scent of a certain flower or food triggers a flood of happy memories.  For me, it’s motor oil.

I grew up in a duplex between my grandparent’s house and the garage where my grandfather conducted his business as an auto mechanic.  The smell of motor oil brings me right back to those innocent days, sitting on a concrete front porch, watching him fix cars in his grease-stained blue pants and shirt, tools clanging, the occasional swear word echoing from the rafters.

The visual equivalent of motor oil, for me, is the Snap-On tool truck I sometimes see in Southern California traffic. The big Snap-On truck used to make its way up the narrow incline into our yard every few weeks.  When I see one now, I get misty eyed.

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Onward to 2024

~ GrayMareWrites ~ 1 Comment

In a previous post (Lessons in Grief – Part 7), I detailed the challenges and sadness that this year delivered, like a flaming bag of poo on the front step. See ya, 2023. Don’t let the door hit ya on the way out!

As 2024 takes its baby steps into January, I’m trying to dredge up some enthusiasm for this new beginning that we conjure in our blessedly human minds. After all, January First holds no real magic.  There isn’t some cosmic demarcation at midnights around the world, tying up the old year in dirty twine, then opening the new one with shiny bows and foil confetti. It’s just another day in the life, filled with the usual obligations, angst, and occasional moments of joy.

Yeah, I guess I’m greeting the new year unusually pragmatic. I’m not making any scheduled goals since recent goals didn’t stand a chance against the vagaries of the universe.  If this sounds like I’m channeling Eeyore, I’m really not.  I just want to temper my expectations: of myself, of the world around me, and of the events over which I have zero control.

Work will continue on my Christmas romance novella and the first in a series of cozy mystery novels, followed by the learning roller coaster of self-publishing. It would be nice to get healthier and do a few day trips.  The most I can plan is to do my best, day after day.

And, so, my word for 2024 is ~

ONWARD

Whether it’s at a snail’s pace, a graceful jete, or a jet-fueled race to the finish line, I’ll scrape the shit off my singed shoe and move ONWARD into 2024.

Best Wishes for a Cautiously Optimistic New Year!!

Photo by Moritz Knöringer on Unsplash

Looking for Some Holiday/Winter Reading?

~ GrayMareWrites ~ 2 Comments

I usually don’t seek out holiday books like I do holiday movies, but this year, I find myself reading to a winter theme. Some are part of cozy mystery series, but you can read them as stand-alone stories. Maybe some will even pique your interest!

The Santa Suit by Mary Kay Andrews ~ After a painful divorce, Ivy and her dog, Punkin, move to a rural farm to begin the adventure of their new life. The discovery of a child’s note in the pocket of a Santa suit in the attic sets Ivy on a mystery that brings her friendship, love, and the life she could only dream about. I’m planning to make this an annual read because it was so lovely and satisfying.

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Lessons in Grief ~ Part 7

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My last blog post was May 23, 2023. By then, we’d already lost our darling girl cat, Raina.

On June 16, her brother, Watson, passed away. He had my heart like no other animal except the beagle I grew up with, Blaze. For eighteen years, Watson alternately charmed us and wreaked havoc around the house. He could be a total pill one minute and cuddle in my arms the next. I miss him every day.

There are people who won’t understand the bond some of us make with our animals. But I’m here to tell you that opening yourself to a furry little creature creates a vulnerability that rivals any other kind of love. And it hurts just as deeply, or maybe even more, when death cuts it short. I did a quick IG post but couldn’t bring myself to write a blog entry when he passed. It’s still difficult to think about; I teared up just writing the previous paragraph.

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