the idea of scarves had never crossed her mind in the past. she'd seen them, crayon shades on display on vendors tables in every corner of the city. cashmere, cotton, sheer fabric, long, short--each kind was represented and shilled by men with strange accents, willing to bargain a little if the day was right.
scarves filled a drawer in her dresser now. they covered her bald head, her thin shoulders--draped and tied to hide the worse of the disease and it's equally horrific cure. she was glad for them, for the warmth, the rich colors--the sense of beauty she sought in a world of needles, therapeutic poisons and pain.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
FlashDrive Online
Walter Conley has put out another ezine full of amazing photography to go along with the short pieces from writers I admire more than I can say.
Have a look.
Have a look.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
One Word~Success
She’d had a life long relationship with food and its colors--it defined her moods, her place in the world, her status with life. Joy was something covered in chocolate...it was a taste of which she’d never grown fond. Golden roasted chicken, cooked long and slow, surrounded by bright green vegetables served on a deep blue plate heralded a time of prosperity and luck. Ah, but, it was the foods in the white palette that gave her creative success in cooking, its shades comforting and familiar. She'd awake deep in the night, finding her way around the kitchen by the light of the gas ring on the stove....she knew proportions by heart, never hesitating as she moved to boil and stir and bake. Bowls of cream of wheat, varieties of rice in main dishes or deserts, tapioca pudding, grits topped with an egg....oh, and potatoes! Potatoes boiled then smashed with the skins still on, potatoes scalloped with thick cream...potatoes baked until they burst, rich with sour cream and swiss cheese; each of these helped hold off the black.
She seldom thought back to the hours she’d spent as a child, made to kneel on raw rice or grains, for transgressions real and imagined. The memories surfaced when she’d absently scratch a rough patch on her knee, and find a small grain of rice or a bit of corn meal had worked it’s way to the surface--she put them aside, in a special jar, planning the pudding she’d make one day....using those pieces, sugar, cream and hate.
She seldom thought back to the hours she’d spent as a child, made to kneel on raw rice or grains, for transgressions real and imagined. The memories surfaced when she’d absently scratch a rough patch on her knee, and find a small grain of rice or a bit of corn meal had worked it’s way to the surface--she put them aside, in a special jar, planning the pudding she’d make one day....using those pieces, sugar, cream and hate.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
One Word~vase©
I'd never worked in pottery before.. the whole idea of getting my hands dirty with clay was far beyond anything I felt like doing. Still, I'd watched 'Ghost' six times, and the instructor was hot...so, why not?
One night, I stayed late--he'd almost given up on my ever centering a lump of clay. I'd almost given up on his ever noticing the gap in my shirt every time I leaned over the pottery wheel.
Sometimes, things change.
He discovered my, um, talents lay beyond making cups and vases...and I discovered art tables weren't just for art.
Sometimes, creating art can take on many forms--at least that's what I'm telling myself.
One night, I stayed late--he'd almost given up on my ever centering a lump of clay. I'd almost given up on his ever noticing the gap in my shirt every time I leaned over the pottery wheel.
Sometimes, things change.
He discovered my, um, talents lay beyond making cups and vases...and I discovered art tables weren't just for art.
Sometimes, creating art can take on many forms--at least that's what I'm telling myself.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
New Address!!
I'm now a .net!!
www.quinbrowne.net
I hope you'll join me there...
Wow, that sure sounded cheesy.
www.quinbrowne.net
I hope you'll join me there...
Wow, that sure sounded cheesy.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
One Word~President
Marilyn's dream was to sing to Jack, to let him know how important he was in her life. She wiggled and squirmed and flirted her way into that very dream, finding herself in a dress so tight she had to be sewn into it, standing in front of the mic, shading her eyes in order to see exactly where he sat in the crowd, tapping the mic, then launching into a breathy rendition of "Happy Birthday".
It was just as she'd seen it over and over in her mind... with the exception she was a 58 year old woman whose body had given birth to (and not recovered from) 4 children and he was the President of her bowling league.
Still, a dream is a dream, and she enjoyed hers to the last note.
It was just as she'd seen it over and over in her mind... with the exception she was a 58 year old woman whose body had given birth to (and not recovered from) 4 children and he was the President of her bowling league.
Still, a dream is a dream, and she enjoyed hers to the last note.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
One Word~Blocks
Billie was not a pleasant child.
She never felt it was necessary to share any of her toys, including the Barbie dolls. She did, however, allow others to play with her little alphabet blocks. It let her to throw them very hard at those who played with her without having to accept responsibility for harm done.
She found amusement in watching how much damage could be done by a well aimed wooden toy.
Her neighbor, Judy "One-Eye" Jones, didn't.
She never felt it was necessary to share any of her toys, including the Barbie dolls. She did, however, allow others to play with her little alphabet blocks. It let her to throw them very hard at those who played with her without having to accept responsibility for harm done.
She found amusement in watching how much damage could be done by a well aimed wooden toy.
Her neighbor, Judy "One-Eye" Jones, didn't.
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