Friday, December 19, 2014

Why Grilledeggplant?

My first intent was to talk of food and diet.  But I got side tracked with just chatting and rambling.

Food and the pleasures of food have been a small but important part of my life.

I survive Lenten restrictions and fasts.  I knew from an early age that all food did not come out of a box or jar.  I knew that there were potatoes and then again there were potatoes.

It was some time before I found that roast beef need not be crunchy and dry.

Must and always are two words that may or may not be valid.  The commands and the warnings are really there for those who would cook frozen vegetables in their boxes and in a toaster oven.  Boiling water is the test of nothing.  The real test is the use of pot holders.


My fascination with food and the memories of those who introduced me to the world beyond the spare diet I had had in my mother's kitchen.  She was a cook of habit and not an adventurer in the world of cuisine.  Her  expertise was the ability to introduce new methods for traditional dishes.  Spice and herbs were included with a very spare hand.  We ate more of the root vegetables than our friends and she was able to convince her sons that the green bean was a treat to be valued.  However she erred on the side of safety. The days of week were dominated by traditions.  We had no need  for a calendar to know what day of the week it was.  The days of washing clothes became the day of long simmered meals and the days of her pinochle group was a day of hurry up what ever.

The name came about for a specific reason but people are intrigued by the idea of it.  Grilled eggplant is more an idea than an event.  The eggplant is either loved, hated or endured.  But it has one thing that can not be denied.  It goes well with a great variety of elements.  The history of  eggplant shows up in its name.  The common appellation suggests that those who observed it noted the shape and thought of the egg.  The shape in other varieties is elongated and some are more suggestive of melon and gourd.
My experience with eggplant began while I was in high school.
Our neighbors had a friend who would show up at odd times during the growing seasons with provisions from his garden.  He would cook what he brought and he introduced us to several variations of eggplant uses.  One he called poor man's caviar.  It was a mashed concoction of roasted eggplant, roasted garlic, chopped mint and olive oil.  He admitted that other forms of the dish included yogurt but he preferred the absence of the dairy.  He said a poor man was defined by his lack of funds but not his lack of taste.  The flavor of the eggplant depended upon the skill of roasting and of amounts of salt and lemon.  Lemon in the old world was at hand on the local trees but in Western Pennsylvania it was seasonal and seldom suitable for anything more than lemonade.  He asserted that lemon and mint were often the making of disaster for a good eggplant.
He said you did not want to taste the presence but only to notice its absence.
He told us not accept what was available but always search for something that would  enhance and satisfy.
I know now that he was talking about flavors that were to be sought and by dishes that were complex in flavor but simple in achievement.  He was by culture eastern Mediterranean but his palate was subtle and searching.  
In those days, the mid-fifties in Pennsylvania, it was rare to find someone who used his broad spectrum of herbs and flavors.
He knew how to bring the fresh sea flavor to a locally hooked catfish.  

This friend of a neighbor became a part of the back of my mind and over the years I have had others who were wound with thread from the same spool.  Here and there I came across others who were there when I was ready for new food and new adventure.

Bread and water is a punishment for some and a feast for others.

Too many errors have become established by too many agencies.

The concept of more food stamping out hunger and famine is based upon a false premise.  The lack of food in a country may mean that the food is not being distributed equitably.  An army of well fed soldiers under a tyrant will stand guard over a mass of starving slaves.

Why is the distribution of food left to those whose main intent to gain profit.   The garbage of some suburbs is greater in volume than the amount being served in the restaurants of a near by town.
The livestock of a ranch become fatted by the remnants to the greens grown and discarded in processing.  What weight of the total amount of romaine lettuce is there over the amount sold to the ultimate consumer?   What part of a carrot is destroyed in the preparation of the baby carrot in a plastic bag?   ETC.  ETC.

Reread the novels of John Steinbeck and see the effect of the food industry on the availability of food to the consumer of the food.

What tonnage of plums is kept from the market for lack of a category in grading for size and color?
So often the literature of the poor is marked by the smell of cabbage in the slum.  The carrot is used as a color in a broth but the carrot fiber is sieved out  and  becomes part of kitchen waste.  Cook book after cook book specifies the parts of the vegetable that will be used in a dish.  The rest is disposed of in one manner or another.  They may cry tradition and proven history in the cuisine but it is not valid.  They have forgotten the sources of the dish.  Often there was no discard in the kitchen of a king.  The total was used by the people in the castle.  The great traditions of broths was in the constant soup kettle that accepted all scraps.

I have worn out cook books by reading them.  I have included cookbooks in my writing.  The first thing I read in the magazine is the food section.   I read food.  

The more you know the more you realize how much there is yet to know.  The very idea of fresh pasta at one time was daunting but now there is a possibility of a variety of the goddess noodles.  The cross of cultures that pasta alone presents is wondrous.

Two big secrets that are known to all but the clueless that pastry dough and pasta are simple and wonderfully available to the least skillful cook.   The secret is not the mixing  The secret is in the resting.  Clear plastic wrap and a cool period will make the magic happen.

Show me your ideal eggplant and I will know you well.  
Do you have first memories of the vegetable?  Do you have strong feelings of size and weight?   Do you get that look in your eye when you take that first bite?
Does that dip you have doubled so many times still seem to be not enough and you are convinced that some guests are slipping some of it into plastic bags to take home to analyze it?  Do you notice that at pot-lucks they never serve it but expect your gallon?
Do you forget  a few of your steps and several of your choices?

Do you carefully measure the seasoning and then add a dash or two on the sly? 

Invention and improvisation is the center of cooking stage.  The theater of approximation and the little bit less and the unmentioned more are in each dish.

Allergy and sensitivity to foods are centers of perverse power.  These moments of truth and exposition that say I do not eat this or that will have an effect.  The meatless meatball and the dairy free this or that often change eating habits and often are really little more than trends and power plays.   The giant organic sign is often on the bumper of the traffic at the fast food drive through.

The green tea brigade is often manned and staffed by the midnight half gallon frozen dessert foot soldiers.

You can have a public or a private preference but it is only a preference.  The hot dog and cheesy macaroni may be the remembered comfort food but it is also a sign that food is not food in some people's regimen. 

 A good regimen is good to the corps is not a military slogan.

You can fake out your neighbor with talk of purity and care but your garbage person knows that when there is garbage out there had been garbage in.

An aside for now.  Where are all these military slogans as metaphors coming from?  
Food can be a well known prayer that brings blessing and favor in the midst of  shadows and doubt.

She was a militant vegan who struggled with the enemy of good nutrition armed with half baked theory and coffee-klatch wisdom.

I have in the back of my head the knowledge that early experience with some vegetables allowed me to enter a world of cuisine.  
The crunch sound and the feeling of substance in chewing has been a big part in the enjoyment of vegetables and their presence in dishes.  I love knowing that each of the ingredients are able to add some little something to the flavor and nourishment of a meal.

The small magic of a pinch of this and a squeeze of that which goes into a pot or bowl is like the magic wand of a rose bud opening and shouting both color and scent.  




Sunday, August 31, 2014

Prairie Bride Tells A Story

The first Tuesday of the month, which is usually some sort of election day, the prayer group have a few moments of forgiving the public officals who have failed in their vows of truth and honesty.

The Tuesdays that are not election driven are days of private forgiveness. 
 They talk about the person without names and too much personal information.  A two timing rat needs no name.  But when it comes to him she is not able to mention him to the group.  
She talks only of a long time personal heartache.  She does not mention the past and the death of a friend for over the years she had spoke of her and they knew too much of the man who had not been there when he had been needed.

Now that she has reconnected with him she no longer speaks of a heartache. 
 She now mentions the sorting through pictures while she sat beside he very ill and gradually dying son. 
 Some of the past needs to turn yellow and crackly like old black to yellow faded photos.
Now she carries a few yellowed pictures from a front porch of a woman with dark shadows around her eyes and a long sleeve button  down the front sweater that is grabbed tightly but unbuttoned.
Two children sit on either side of her.  A little girl with unruly curly hair and a small almost baby boy who looks able to walk but insists on clinging.  The three sit on the porch edge and two steps down a man with slick hair and white smoot irined shirt stands.  The woman and the children look towards the camera and the man looks out over the tops of trees that shade the porch.  
The man is almost there.

The second Tuesday prayer group was for feeding the sick and homebound.  That had always been the exchange of successful recipes. 
There were a few understandings that could be read of as rules. 
You had to have cooked the recipe more than one lucky time or to have had a demand for the recipe from someone you admire as a cook.  
The recipe need not be elaborate and does not need to be every possible variation.  
No one wants your fried chicken which only you have mastered.  
They want the grilled chicken that can stand a little neglect and accidents of timing.   There is a real treat in the slighly burned skin that others might desquise under a gravy or sauce.  
Crisp doe not need to the only character.  If crisp is the only virtue wait a few times until you perfect a tangy sauce.
  The fire and the water is not the soup. 
I do not understand the need for secret ingredients. 
 The secret ingredient for some is an of course for others.  A pinch of sugar in a salad dressing is my "of course". 
 A pinch of tumeric can be a secret ingredient in a doughnut recipe but an of course in a cheese sauce.  
And you know we will have a few nays and yeas about that as an "of course".

It may sound as if this is a gab session and a kitchen competition but the intent is to have a circle of concern that can swamp that boat of misery and throw out a few lines and lifesavers.  
Often it is the presence and not the sound that makes the prayer.


The small actions of a person are not always consciously accepted to the mind as being threatening but some who have caught the glimpses of tightened jaws and hard fingerprints on the edges of greasy dinner plates will tell you that the little day to day signals have been there all along.
If she had allowed her actions to match her feeling she would by now be a serial killer and a wealthy widow. Over the years she had encountered many a beleaguered wife with a cold thoughtless husband. She had stood beside such couples at buffet lines in all you can eat restaurants and listened to the murmured criticisms that almost made her want to reach for the large serving fork on the roast beef tray.


She remembered the books she had brought home from the library that she read for her children.
 Her own preferences for reading were not of a general vein. She was particular in her own taste but she had been open to the desires for books with pictures and for figures who were not part of her ordinary life. 
Bits of them stuck in her head. A glance at at shelf in a book store would take her back to cuddling moments of her young ones childhood and bedtime story and rainy day or slight cold but no fever days in the bed.
 Over the years some books could be traced to  a period of measles, cold and sprained ankles.

Several journeys  to the lands over the rainbow could be traced to a summer heat spell and the air cooled town library.  It was the August before ninth grade and  the broken axle on the truck We both had the bikes the boys down the rode gave to us when they got their new bikes.  The older one got the truck.
He said it was a truck but it was two seater car with a wind shield and  no roof.  The back was converted into a wooden platform with make shift wooden sides.  The thing was barely legal to use on the road.  The horn worked sometimes and the lights showed some light but not enough to use at night on a road.
Mom used their truck for groceries and we use the rust bucket bikes to go to the library early enough to get there before the hot sun of ten AM. 

Literature and weather is a country thing for our family.  We were readers and we all worked in the out of doors during th hottest days.  But we were also those who wanted the extra ice in the lemonades and the quart canning jars of spring house cold water at the elbow when we sat in the shadowy porch of the low house we knew as home.







She found herself reading a school book from the time her daughters were in school. In the ancient times the home was protected by goddesses. Families were protected by one female force that kept the bed and table separate from the world.
Finding the inner goddess while remaining a good Christian prayer group member.
It is not so much about the gods but about the story that was told.  The hearth was the center of the home and the woman was the keeper of the stew kettle.  I know that is a crude way to say it but it has proven to be true.  The house falls apart when the woman is excluded from the  role of housekeeper in the sense of being the one who is the center and who makes things work when the others fail.



The old days seemed to have an appreciation for the goddess who helped keep the house and home a safe and happy place. That was way before honest maids and housekeepers. The very idea of a house was the hearth where a the weary of the world could find a cup of warm soup and enough heat to sooth the cold weary bones of work.

Children at the library will sit for a time and look at the pictures of a book and not question the words at the bottom and top of pages.   The pictures are part of a later memory when they realize they remember things that have not words..

Early history was often mixed with stories of the old times in Rome and those cities in Greece and there about.  The gods and the goddesses were many times just too ornery.  They were often stories of warning to the young.  Some went a little too far and some of the young looked upon them as being not only heros but also as an example of how to get along in the world.  
I suppose that someone who wanted to travel the world in a boat to find others of their kin and kind they could find some value in those old stories.

A goddess kept the house. the flame of the hearth was the light that shielded the family from the dark of the world. It was to this fire the family welcomed the guests. Strangers knew that a special rule of safety was given to those who accepted or gave shelter.
It was hospitality.  The word means more than tea and cookies.  There is a sense of an oasis where worldly animosity is interrupted by recognition of the humanity shared by the humans.
It has to do with weeing the sameness and the agreement of peace.  The false host is the bane of civilization.
We were appalled by the action of a man who killed a guest.  We were appalled by the guest who betrayed the generosity of the host.
Nothing can be less welcome than someone who eats a meal and then grouses about it at the next bridge mixer.   The salad that is not to your taste may become an event of tact.  You do not request a change of dressing.  You inquire about the source of the recipe.  You need not say more.  The host who serves the meal deserves that amount of respect.  The idea brings to mind the restaurant request for changes and substitutions.  The event is at the least rude and at the worst a form of character assassination.  To be blatently opposed to the work of another in a very personal way is terrible.  What is the best thing to do if you find something is uneatable?  Take it home in a doggy bag and say you must enjoy it later.


We all have a goddess side in our ways.  We know that there is that soup we make that is truly much more than the ingredients.  We have stirred some small bit of something wonderful into it.
The vestal life was the higher rule of life. Home was on the higher level above society or government politics.




Food was prepared with her guidance and advice. Little inspirations became family favorites. A scorched meal was more a warning for the house than the neglect of the cook. Many a cook cleared her reputation by claiming goddess intervention. A burned soup could be claimed as an offering.

Vesta was hampered by one attribute. she could not fall in love.

Away from the home fire the world became a place of urgency and rule. The success of the world and the success of the person was harsher and had determined consequences.



Juno was not a homebody. She was busy with the needs of government and she ruled as queen of the gods. She inspired and confused women in her day. Her father was Saturn and her husband was her brother.





She and Jupiter and Minerva were the heavenly three. The Capitoline Hill in Rome was the site of their temple.





Juno also had some children who were well known.
Being well known would mean being in the pulic Olympian eye and subject to the minor late afternoon gossip around the reflecting pool.   No one likes a good juicy story than does a minor godess.  The godettes have too much time on their hands and almost nothing important on their minds.

Out here we do not always realize that the drought and the swirling du;st devils are the mourning of some ancine mother.  The woman who will kick the dust at the entreance to the vast underworld and wait for the promised and often delayed retu;rn of her green daughter and the renewal of the land.










He saw all women as being the extension of the women he had known. She had been a friend of one of his wives. He attributed the same characteristics to her that he had to his wives. They were to serve and bend. She knew this in him and she decided that she would see how far he would go with his presumptions.
thought he lacked feeling for marrying so soon after her death. She had rationalized it by saying he provided a mother for his children. But she knew that that had not been the result. Now she saw him and he told her that he had recently lost his wife. She knew the woman by reputation but had not been a friend.
A free man who walked around the problems of others needed to find a problem he could not excape.
She decides that he deserves a little pain in his life and she will give it to him.
Dorothy and Dora worked in the same office. The backs of their desks faced each other. They watered each others office plants and knew each others recipes for quick spaghetti sauce and knew what not to put in the potluck bean cassarole.
In the midst of her grief she hears a voice. A stranger who is not a stranger. he is the man she noticed at the gravesite. The face alone did not give an answer but the voice was one she had heard a thousand times. He had been married to her fellow employee, the woman who worked at the desk across from her at the town office. Daily, before three, the phone would ring and it would be the notice that he would or would not be home at the usual supper time

The widow is talked about by her home town friends over herb tea. They are amazed at her resilency. Recently a widow, again, she is determineds to continue her plans to go for a cruise in the tropics and to visit the daughter of an old friend who lives in California. And there is such a coincidence that the old friends daughter has recently written to the ladies about her father visiting with his new lady friend.
The story covers the past of the two main characters, the bride and the widower.
Use the time frame of the two characters to include the people of their lives.




His life was shaped during his military years. A few years on one side of the world would follow by a few months travel before he was assigned to another area of the world. He was not one to keep notes of his day. And after a few years the only record of his travels was the record of his service. And for all the accuracy and records keeping there remained gaps which were not explained except for single words. Vacation and leave and the few notices of duty and temporary assignment covered many months and several periods of quiet existence with others who were either slightly recalled or carelessly forgotten.
He is more complicated by a series of marriages and non-marriages. He was in the military and used the opportunity to travel to escape the consequences of his liasions.




He was in the Pacific Islands, in several parts of the United States and went to Europe as a veteran. Bits and pieces of his life were alive somewhere and only time would bring them together.










Little did she know that she would develope a gradual change of opinion of the man and of her place in the world. He had survived this long and she began to see why.




The slick man who strutted in the world and who seemed to have no concern for others was just a small boy looking for someone to love. He had the idea but not the skill. Love often meant a cozy bed and palatable food. One or both often were enough for his simple needs.




He liked the sweet scents of flowers and spices and for lack of a nose he may have been more constant in his affections. He could be drowsing on a long bus trip and the scent of a maple doughnut brought a romance. He would say that he never begged for some but he did perfect a very cute puppy dog drool.




He had never been taught good manners and the small skills that allow him to reveal his private silly self.

She had an urge to step on his instep and tell him a long story.  But she decided at the last second that she would marry him and make his life miserable.  A man who lives for home cooking is not hard to please.  She knew he was a secret friend chicken man.  He would brag about his barbeque but he really was a sit in the shade sort of smoker who avoided sitting down wind from the smoke and scent of the meat.
He probably autaomatically said apple whe anyone mentioned pie but he was really a banana cream guy who would not say those words at a lunch counter full of men.  He would make agreeable sounds when he tasted something he really liked and make one long sound when he was in new territory.

He would be hard to hate.  Her Christian duty said to forgive everyone.  There was no room for exceptions.  The rules of judgment and revenge were very clear.  She needed to  find another space where she could manuever.  He was not a big one for truth but then again she found she had allowed herself a bit of leeway there.  SHe could smile in the face of a dang lie if it seve someones feelings.
She stood back for a secone and the full plan came in the flash of insiration.  She would become the mate he should have been in those years past.

He said his name was Larry and he supposed he was a high school graduate.  He said that his mother had “wrote to him” and she said they had mailed him diploma a few weeks after school let out.  She said it was dated and signed and all the important parts seemed to be there.  She wrote that she supposed that the army would be glad that they had caught themselves a real scholar.  She said that she thought the bank could make a copy of the diploma and she would sent it to him.
He figured she would do it if he wanted her to or not.  So, he just let it go.
A few weeks later he got it and showed it to his drill sergeant. The sergeant said he would see that it got to the proper place.
A few days later the sergeant started to call him the professor.  It was funny to the sergeant and the others but it was not funny to him or the guys in the barracks.

The army went well.  He had good food and he liked the boots.  They deserved the daily shine.
He had already had an idea about shooting and walking.  In the army you walked a lot every day and any bit of fat or droop you may have had seemed to just go away after a few weeks of boo camp.

They sent him to a raining where he learned how to take care of trucks and jeeps.  They said he had a real knack for engines and just about everything on a vehicle from the front bumper to the end of the tail pipe.

The first place they sent him he ended up in the motorpool and one of th eguys asked him where he was from and he said North Carolina.  The guy said that he had never met anyone from North Carolina.  He was not sure where it was.

I told him I was on all the maps.  He laughed and said that was a funny way of knowing where a person was from.  All you had to do was look at a map and there would be the place.

She listened to his story and thought she detected  ”an innocence” in his way.

Later she realized he ran that little story into the ground.  He was world smart but still played the slow talking hick.
I have to admit he had a way of getting what he wanted.  He never played dumb but he did a very confused but willing to learn bit that got around the objections of almost everyone.

He had a thing when he ate at a “pricey café”.  He always found a way to get the most for his money.  Service bowed to his not understanding that something would be an additional charge.  They scratched through the bill and subtracted charges.  He may have kept a list of waiters and mangers.  When he entered the restaurant he often greeted the other by name.  It may have been a memory thing but he did carry a small spiral notebook.  Of course it also meant he had a memory for faces and the memory of what happened the last time.

It was true of other men who wanted something.  They smiled and gave that pat on the arm when shook hands.  They gave a firm grip but not one that was a challenge to the other's strength.

 “I never noticed him failing to get that little extra.”




Thursday, August 28, 2014

The State of the Welfare State

Ths is an editorial of a single person and I represent no groups.   I am really learning that what I say will  have an effect on the thinking and lives of others.  At least that is my intent if not my result.


The levels of government are many and varied.  The small town sheriff is a variation of the president of a small country.  Laws and the enforcement of regulations are the duty and work of both.  The number of people affected may
differ but the effect is the same.  One person controls the others.
How many people in this country are employed in the enforcement and regulation
of laws?  The fire department of a small town is regulated by other agencies and
in turn enforces those laws that were generated by an agency of another time and
in another space.

We have at time allowed others to decide for the moment in which hand we would hold our rights.

They will tell us at times that we made the wrong decision and must now pay a forefit.

The shame of the young is that those who will protect them are lapse.

The quiet talk over a dinner table is missing and had become the lecture hall of the heavy fist.

Who will allow the world be ruled by invisible arbiters of manners and mores.
We have a good idea of what we want but we are often told that is not to be the result of our lives.

Writing Ladies of Rank Fiction

It was not a mistake in the sense of  an error  but a mistake in the sense of compounded lack of good sense.  To invite a group of people to an opening and to advertise to all but them that the names had come from a mailing list that had been presented in error.

The men at the agency had a very large budget for the event and they had been determined to share the wealth among a rather small group.  The secondary contracts had been given to those who had been helpful in the past but not necessarily  good at their work.  It was seen as an opportunity to do some payback for small favors.

It was a big night at the gallery.  Most of it was the result of a clerical error.  The wrong list of names got sent and the wrong list demanded a fee.

A celebrity seldom needs to pay for such openings but when a fee is demanded there will be a special reason.  For some it was an opportunity to support someone new and for others it was an opportunity to have something to say at the next dinner party.

The clerk who prepared the envelopes had no way of knowing the names of those who were being invited.  But those who happened to have lunch that day of the planning had made one or two small decisions off the cuff while in the cups.



I never thought of it at the time but all this was probably part of another story.  There was a gallery that wanted  to get a lot of publicity for one of their artist.  They made up a mailing list from his files over the years and had an agency create a mailing list.  One of the lists was put into a file for invitation for the opening.

The list had been created through a misunderstanding among the gallery, the ad agency and the associates of the agent of the artist.
They invited twenty six women to an art opening as special guests and it was all a misunderstaning.


This is the party that resulted from the flawed mailing list.
The women were known as the Ladies of Rank.

DRAFT

This is an idea for another form such as an illustrated book or a form of video or film

EXAMPLE:
C- Cybill went fishing with her father the day he drowned. It had rained the night before and the day was damp and she had been hoping that he would postpone the trip until the following week. But he had been insistant. Now, all these years since, she had dreaded the thought of rain on that anniversary. the window had been covered when she woke but she heard the sound. The day had been grey and she waited until the evening to have her time of private mourning. Thick quilt drapes mute the rattling winter windows. Warm apple pie a few teaspoons shy of sweet. Coffee hot enough to steam. Lip sipping totty voice soothing. Splendor in the enough.








An urban fugue with a nod to the cocktail party converstation and the  vaudeville pin spot and the black our revue.  The sweep of a follow spot and the glamour moment of an opening night gala.  Each person will have a say and others will have an opportunity to deny or reinforce the  comment.
There is a nod to the stage manager who will cut through the fourth wall and address the viewer and who will join in the groups to bring up the forbidden topic and to re-freshen drinks.  More than one person will perform such a function.  Some action will be re-enactment of past events.



Need to set a deadline for the beginning of this. Michael has driven me to completing something and I think this will be the one.


Determine the number of pages and leave blanks for illustrations. Some illustrations will be on even number pages and others, fewer will be on odd. Decide on a list.

(Gorey drawings but w/Zippy griffith overtones. Pictures on one page; comment on the facing page. A few half pages with comment beneath or above. Name in calligraphic letters or initials Front cover and title pages variations of one letter.
Some of my small water color head drawings and a few of the architectual vignettes such as windows and shutters ala the windows of Matisse.  The view from a window to a street or hillside.  The sort of view one would have if one were writing notes to friends and the little stories are really not gossip but observations about life.  (Oh, okay, they do have a bit of gossip but that is how it is.)
Among the women of the alphabet are a few outstanding personalities. They stand back at the cocktail party of life and make wry comments and sharp observations. One may be a social arbiture, one a political wit, one a bitter witness. Some use the truth as a weapon and some avoid the truth at all cost.

We all know the women who wore hats and gloves. Black anything with a good piece of jewelry was just right. Children were not a topic of conversation and motherhood was part of history. A bright scarf with a simple black dress was a sure sign that the budget was tight. A black dress with belt loops and no belt was a sure sign of carelessness.

Drawings from a list of elements that suggest lifestyles that come in black and white and some suggestions of moss and damp. A window with a crack in the glass at the corner or a missing panel in a stain glass. Architectual elements from the classic forms but drawn in a pen and ink shaky hand. A dribble of ink on an edge would be acceptable and preferred.

I lost the card for  few of the names but I made a note and finally found them.  The alphabet is complete now but I am not sure this is final.
O- Olive done   Olive was a name of one of my mother's sisters.  She is linked to much of my fiction.  She is not the only Olive in my life.  One of my dear childhood friends was an Olive know as Ollie.  She was the protector of small children and my brother Chuck's first big crush.  She was a year older than me but was in my grade in school.  Chuck was two years younger than me but he always sought her out.  We were allowed to go to the movies at night if Ollie was among the ones who were going.  She had no feathered wings and no sword and shield but she was the guardian angel most kids only dream of.

S- Sandy done

U- Ursula Need to do Ursula

W- Willamena

X-Xenia done

Y-Yvonne



Create a temporary line for each of the three.

Intro: Behind the adult is the girl from the past. Some were loners and now feel pretty secure but others have the extras. They have the long time group of gossipy friends. They pray for a balance of power. Part of their fear of success is the casual interview from the past. Small confidences, late night confessions add up.

The scenic background is a gallery of an art opening. The rooms are a series of little sets from a play that were designed by a welder artist. The sets include a version of a cocktail lounge with a Victorian/New Orleans sense of style. The smoking area is a wrought iron balcony with wrought iron draped curtains and iron pots of iron ferns and jungle leaf plants.

All friends are friends for reasons that may have changed with time but which could not be tested with firm discussion. It was not simple but it was not involved.

I want them to arrive at a physical point such as the red carpet of the movie premier. But not the same public view. That place where they get it together and chuck their appearance. I want unstudied elegance.

The feeling of a theater and a form of performance is heightened by the dimming of side lights and use of baby spots. The use of incidental music and the artifical voice over coming from a large display of an art piece.

L- Linda Tattooed by acne and ribbon ink in high school typing class.

M-Marcia Abandoned her parents and kin to be abandoned in her honeymoon bed. A new name her only souvenir.

N- Nina Dreams of a red convertible. A slick haired dark eyed man who smoked roll-his -own and splashed his after shave into the warm air going by, speeding into the Summer moonlight

O- Olive- She was a beauty during the early years. Her boyfriend took two photos of her. She kept the one she liked and it was not the boy friend. The picture was in a carved ivory frame. People often admire the frame.

P- Patrice- She shuffled the mail post cards. Three Europes and a pair of tropical cruises. A full house of thoughtful wishes. Beating flushes of windowed bill and two pair of credit card offers.

Q- Queeny She was thirteen when she ran away from foster care and changed her name.

R-Rita  Her parents had wanted her to be the housekeeper in a rectory of a small town church.  She would live at the rectory until she retired to her parent's nursing home where she was first an attendant and later bedridden and attended.  Rita thought it over and said no.

S- Sandy- Her brother and her sisters turned out well. She would take the credit but no one else would admit to her role in their life. She wants more for her children than she and her siblings had.  When she is nervous she smokes cigarettes and sits on the edge of the hassock in the living room.

T- Theresa- Wet teary money plastering her life like raining leaves on the windshield. Wealth threatens and betrays. The why of all effort fails. Numbed and blinded by too much.

U- Ursula retreated several times from life. Once she was a novice in a convent but she shortly decided she wanted to learn to drive a truck that did overnight hauls into the midwest. She had dreams of meeting someone who would take care of her. In a few dreams it was a short order cook at an allnight truck stop and other times it was a rich woman who had known her mother back in the hills. Her mother had mentioned a special friend but no other details.

V- Vivian One beer in a frosted mug. Or two dry sherry in an heirloom thimble. Her foot tread in the blues of the hall runner, measuring paces, measuring days , measuring her life.  If she had a nickle for every time she has sworn off those bar snacks she would be well heeled.  The laws of resolution will always  win.  The exact thing you hide from will find you.

W- Willamena believe fiercely in organic gardening. She spent an hour each evening during the warm growing season picking crawling things from her plants and flowers. She put them in the small white bag she had gotten with her morning pastry at the coffee shop in town.

X-Xenia - She quoted first lines of poems and laughed knowingly as others recognized the line.

Y-Yvonne ironed her hair during her school years and abandoned the practice when she discovered backlighting and pastel ribbons. A friend said she looked like candlelight.

Z- Zenobia Her mother was her sister. She knew but waited for the older woman to bring up the subject. Pretending distain. she denies her envy of the frivolious butterfly. Ignoring it taunting and resisting the urging to dance in the moments warm light. Yet she sees regret in the declined invitations.

A-Z ideas of how each looks according to the attitude she expressed in her quote.

#1 Her friends loved her travel notes and post cards. She knew naughty phrases in several languages. Cow girls can shoot from the hip.

#2 The weather said floral, her mood said tweed. She seldom sang but when she did her voice shook the chandeliers.

(Looking for #3 and #4)

[Women #3 and #4 are missing.]

They are not among the chosen for the big event. But they can be replaced by those who know the alphabet. The number does not coincide with the alphabet. But when all is said and done, the two will be identified and redeemed. Now it is time to match the numbers and the names.

Two women who will have names that are not pulled at random will be the missing women. The two women know more of the total of the group but are more known than knowing. The fame of gossip and history are important connections.

#5 It is a wig. Not a good wig but a wig. When everything is big life zings along.

#6 Any soul that weights more than a feather is heavy. She ran three times a week and swam most evenings for about an hour.

#7 Over the years, the Catholic school-girl look became a habit. For a few moments in high school she flirted with the idea of becoming a nun. It left a slight stain.

#8 Pearls seemed formal but the tiara was festive. Very skilled with tools and mechanical things.

#9 Everything is another form of art. Long term storage of high fashion investments. 60's hair pieces in plastic boxes.

#10 No jewelry after dark. Each morning at dawn she works in her garden.

#11 An adjetive without a comma opens a world of possibilities. Late shift, a rush every now and then and her spiral note book.

#12 Math is something you get or you don't. She payed her way through beauty school by tutoring science subjects.

#13 Listen to anyone and hear the story they tell. Bothe jewelry design and

#14  She was a mime and she talke dirty with her hands.  Those who knew the code would blush when she entered the room and walked towards the snack table.

Numbers and quotes


A - K Names

A- Anne It was mistake to marry her brother's best friend. Loose tea morning Last evening's rain puddled in the sunken part of her brick patio. Like a mirage in a red desert.

B- Brenda She brought a black bra and hid it in her green rubber boots.
That was long ago but she has kept the boots as a memento and the black bra is probably still somewhere in a small lake near the old summer house of some guy from high school.  Some flimsy fabrics last longer than true love.

C- Cybill went fishing with her father the day he drowned. It had rained the night before and the day was damp and she had been hoping that he would postpone the trip until the following week. But he had been insistant. Now, all these years since, she had dreaded the thought of rain on that anniversary. the window had been covered when she woke but she heard the sound. The day had been grey and she waited until the evening to have her time of private mourning. Thick quilt drapes mute the rattling winter windows. Warm apple pie a few teaspoons shy of sweet. Coffee hot enoough to steam. Lip sipping totty voice soothing. Splendor in the enough.



D-Deborah When she wore her grandmother's pearls she was no longer Debbie. Caught in the mirror, looking for her soul. lost in the green eyeshadow, mourned by mascara.  Her aunt had always said that there were two sorts of pearl.   They were Summer Pearls and Winter Pearls.  Do not confuse the two.  Most people who know the difference will not say anything but you will know that they know. 

E- Eleanor She stayed a home for a Summer and the entire school year when her mother had her sister in mid-winter. The Delphic signs of dark clouds hover over her wedding memories. No signs of dread in bird flight but, he bit the flower bouquet and she threw the cake.  Years have pat but she always remembered how happy her Dad had been each time he had a chance to spend an evening with one of the kids.

F- Frances She wrote to her grandmother twice a year. The day of her mother's birth and the day of her death. Permitting the last note of the sonata to come to silence in her mother's Vowing to water the violet and , perhaps, to turn it towards the window light.

G- Grace Holding a loss, she chose sadness. A flower, a blown blossom, loving the first Spring bee.  She gave herself freely but not with great concern for the effect upon the other.  One who has not survived  a broken heart will know it is not fatal  The heart keep beating but it has a constant ache.

H- Hillary Unforgiving as a translucent bowl dropped on a marble stair and measured pearls spilling to the floor in the middle of the waltz. Stepping into the minor abyss.

I- Irene She danced to heavy metal. Having learned the waltzes of life from a drill sergeant father and a gym teacher Mom.

J-Joan Left unread the last four pages of mysteries. Joy in the mystery, the ride and the hunt. Fox allowed to have another winter.

K- Katherine She placed her hand to hide the lost button on her blouse. Fate and worn thread had offered her a minor abandon. She fisted her hand, not sure of her manicure. No one was looking but it was her manner of being. In life she was a beginning actress and each role was an opening night. She felt she did not know her lines and the play had begun without her. Would she be the clumsy maid in the second act or the laughing heiress who is discovered in an intricate lie?

#3 and #4 no longer missing.

Women #3 and #4 are missing.

They are not among the chosen for the big event. But they can be replaced by those who know the alphabet. The number does not coincide with the alphabet. But when all is said and done, the two will be identified and redeemed. Now it is time to match the numbers and the names.

Two women who will have names that are not pulled at random will be the missing women. The two women know more of the total of the group but are more known than knowing. The fame of gossip and history are important connections.

I imagine the two who did not make the list as the two young girls in the school play who were the understudies who never made the highschool performances but who developed an intense interest in theater and performing. Both have careers in tech theater and live the life of the constant gypsy. They live near each other when they are in the same productions of regional theater. They are not making a lot of money but they are a big influence among the theater people. They are a joy to work with at work and a joy to play with during the rest of the time.

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Twelve Star Apple Pie


TWELVE STAR
 (Apple Pie Movie)


Like homemade pie and ice cream.  Good because we put our hand into it and we knew enough to avoid excess sweetness.


An idea of a movie with the use of a personal camera and computer programs and private music sources.

 Determine the various elements of a movie and divide the process among a small group of people who will complete the entire process.
Avoid the talking head. Stay away from the  closeup of a person talking.  It is so newscasting, mike as a baton cheerleading  early preacher and healing evangelist  and blah, blah.  A person reacting to dialogue from off screen however will be the return to the time "we had faces, then."
I am not one to allow another to have too much say but I could allow another to show what they have to show.
I remember long visuals from some actresses and actors who said so much with a glance and a revealed emotion.  The final moments of a scene in which everything has been said and now is the time to reveal.  One moment of silence is often the only thing worth remembering.
I will do this one myself to show how it is done.
Using the tape recorder and using a keyboard for music and sound.  Timing the segments and having them transcribed into simple music
Movie premiere with twelve hidden stars.

 The evening is exciting as the crowd gathers with the media to welcome the twelve stars of the new movie.  The red carpet is ready and the pundits are speculating about who will show for the big gala.  It is explained that the stars will all be there but they will of course be in disquise.  They are all performing cameo roles in the experimental film. Everyone is excited

.
I have the notes for the making of a feature length film without major parts and without any cost.
  The film will be in the writing.  The dialogue will create the action.  A few scenes will be repeated in variation so that a few pages will become quite a few minutes of film.
 I will need only the use of a few cameras, the computer for editing and a electronic keyboard for music and sound effects.


The length, including preview title, title and endtitles will be between 104 and 108 minutes. I will not need any creative input but I will need to have someone look at things and tell me how it can be done.
Getting the computer and the programs necessary for the editing of visual and sound.

Create a list of specific events.

Events and effects are both special.

The lights go out at a dinner party and the guests are each given a candle at their place.  The candles are filmed at various heights.   The settings of each place  goes through the courses.  The water glasses are filmed at various levels.  A variety of hands are seen picking up glasses with varing levels of liquid.
Shadows of servers are seen moving around the table.  The faces of the guests are shown in reactions for various emotional displays.  Image is changed with a slow pan for each face and from right to left or the vice versa.
Dialogue is based upon the menu.  The flavors are talked about with agreement and dismissal.

Each guest has some fact to reveal.  The character is told by another that the fact is either false or very true.  The character is shown  listening to the other.

The seating arrangement changes for the dessert.  The table is divided into groups by the presence or absence of coffee.

The coffee is made in the area and brought to the table on small trays.  The cups are after dinner hand painted bone china.  The cups are similar but each is different enough that the hand holding the cup identifies the talker.
The cups are in focus when the cup goes to the lips.

The sugar and the cream are in large supply but not used.  The coffee remains black and the cups are often replenished.
The coffee server is a silver ornate container.
Those who do  not have coffee are drinking water in iced tumblers.  
The water is served from clear glass pitcher.  The ice is tonged into  the glass from a ice bucket.  The water may have a sprig of mint.
The mint is removed after the first sip by each water drinker.
This is seen in a series of dips and retrivals by finger tips.

The most surprising event is the turn in the conversation to the memory of apple pies.  The tines of forks touch the flaky edges of the slices of pie as each one remembers that very special apple pie from some distant time.  

A quiet woman makes the final announcement that the very best apple pies are always made with pears.

Late Jury Poll


How  do you explain that you know something and you have the evidence but the evidence is not on paper and is not part of the scientific data?.  The innocent person who acts guilty because he has a reason that you understand but can not be proven.  How can you know and allow the great injustice to continue because it is in the interest of those who should be seeking the truth to reinforce the series of lies, misinformation and the prejudice public opinion.

I think an innocent person has been tried and convicted in the tabloids.  I have a vision that perhaps he knew who the killer was and who he thought may have been guilty but he was mistaken.  The case was tried many of years ago.  After that he did some stupid things but things that could be explained because he knew he was not the murderer.

The mother and father of the man are now dead and they knew he was a person who would not kill but would do anything to protect his family.  He thought some member of his family was either the perpetrator  or knew something that would put them in danger.

Any thing I may write could be seen as naive and misdirected but I will put this on record so that later when the truth is revealed I will have this record that his innocence was felt by those who were familiar with him and his family.

There are the cliches that surround the case.  The best friend has a car identical to the accused.  The young daughter has recently returned to the family estate.  The young son has gotten an advance in his career.  The former wife and friends of the family are living on his wealth.  His father was dying of a strange infection.  His wife
and he are divorced and share public time with the children.
He grew up in poverty and his family have now decided he owes them more than he has given.  


Inside the mind of the woman who never lost faith in the goodness of her son is the mother now dead but who  had that moment before she died when she was looking for the way to find final peace.
For the final days she decided to forgo the painkillers.  She wanted to go into eternity with a clear mind.  She could handle a few days of pain but she could not handle a fuzzy forever after.

She was sure she was not asleep when her husband came to her bedside.  She knew he was dead now for a few years but she did not want him in her dreams.  

He said something and as usual he mumbled and she was a bit sharp with him when she told him to speak up if he wanted to say something.

She was sure of what he said.

"I want you to know he did not do it.  But I think for all I know that he thinks he knows who did."

She looked at the tall shadow and for the first time in a long time she agreed with him.

She thought for a moment and when she decided to ask him who it could have been he had faded away.

Just like it not to be there when she had something to ask.

Why would he put himself through all that and for whom?  I always knew it was not his way.  He would do somethings that were not the kindest but he would owe up to them.  He knew he did not do it.  He would not allow anyone kill her and get away with it.  He had a reason but what could it be?

She would take these questions into eternity and perhaps find the answer where the lines of all stars cross.
 She allowed her head to fit into the hospital pillow.  She wanted to think.  She regretted all those books she only half read.  She knew she never found out the end of too many stories.

It was like one of those stores that held everything into the very end to try to explain what you thought you knew.

The mother  wanted to know but she knew it would not be her luck to be around when things got sorted and people would know for sure.

She tried to remember those last few days before she died.  The time was part clear day and part foggy cold night.

They were there on  that big screen she had called the world.
"They all came crowding into the room when I was allowed visitors."
  She was the one who stood back then.  She was the one who had comforted them while they waited.  It was no accident that she lived in a cottage a few yards away from the door that needed guarding.

She was the one who waited to have a few words as the others drifted towards the door.  She allowed me to hold her hand.  She just looked and said nothing.  But she pulled her hand away gently and then when she held my hand and I felt a firmness.  She caught my eye and held it.
"I want you to know I know he did not do it.  But it is his way to make it seem that he may have.  He will work it so that he will stand alone and not allow them to go after someone else who might suffer the abuse of their justice.
Her eyes looks at the ceiling in her bedroom a few weeks after she has been released from the hospital.  The kids, they are all the kids, call and visit regularly with the exception of the two babies.  It is more that she asks about them when she talks with their father.  
The daughter  is the one who makes sure they hear the news about the family.

They have taken away all the scrap books that have been crowding the room.  After it was discovered that the room is not secure from petty theft.  Too much small stuff disappears and shows up in the tabloids.  Now she reads what she asks for each day and it is brought to her while she is awake.  She hates bits of paper crowding her dreams at night.  

She always liked to do a little reading.  It was a retreat from the duty of the day.  But now she is in the middle of a crime novel that has become the life of her, her son and the rest of the world.  There was just too much plot and not enough life in this book.  Every thing seems to be part of a puzzle that has a few extra pieces and everything that seems to fit seems to be slightly forced into place.

One of her friends from work always had a mystery out for reading at break time or during a few minutes of slack time.  She would complain when things in a book were just a little too convenient and showed up when the detective needed a new direction to prove his case.  She always moaned a little when that one thing just fell out of an old hidden drawer.  Too much of a clue is always suspect.  A whole lot of them makes you want to say whoa.

I think back to the days when I would ride the bus and see his picture on a mural on the side wall of the grocery store at the bottome of the hill..  He was more the person on that mural than the person who was hounded by the media.  His essential being was established when he and his parents decided that he would help make the life of his family better.
I remember his humor and his quiet dignity he showed in public events.  

Friday, February 21, 2014

Peace to the World


"Did you know that if you say something with firm belief that the subconscious will accept it as true and will manifest the belief?"

"Sort of saying it will make it so?"

"Well, not exactly."

"More like the idea that the idea whose time has come?

"Yes!!.  The idea whose time has come!"
"I can see by your exclamation points you get the point.  Exciting isn't it?"




I have found that children all over the country are drawing peace symbols on their possessions.  The symbol is very popular and is used as a sign among the young that perhaps they have something in common.  The symbol takes many styles and each style is so personal that the kid loves to show why the choices work.

One child drew one of the peace symbols as a tangle of barbed wire.  The wire had a special meaning for her because the edge of her yard had a barbed wire fence next to a cattle meadow.  She says that the cows come over to say hello when they see her arrive home from school bus.  She says they see the school bus and they come from the shade of the tree that is in the middle of the field and come to the grassy area near the fence.  She explained her drawing choices.  "They do not see the barbed wire as a thing keeping them in, they see it as a place that is safe for them to just be."  She added that that was what peace meant for her and the cows.

I just made that up but you have to admit it sounds like the truth.

A flight of fancy often gives a bird's view of  the twisted path.

Is there some truth to the rumor that children are now drawing a daily peace symbol as a form of prayer.
Kids are very firm in their personal choices.  They do not always talk about what they feel to others.
Many children are surprised when a long time friend confides in them and they find that over the years they had shared so much but had not spoken of it.


The new favorite party is a peace of pizza.  Of course everyone has a favorite piece of peace.  Some like the veggie peace.  A section of greens that combine a few of the usuals and a few of the not thought of befores.  Spinach and basil with a touch of mint and dandelion.  A green of parsley and have you ever tried Sorrel?
Fresh artichoke stems, and broccoli flowers sprinkled like thousands and thousands over mashed potatoes greened with lots of parsley.  Potato and turnip with turnip greens and kale. and lots of garlic.

Everyday children between the ages of eight and thirteen draw a peace symbol as their morning prayer.

How many each day?  Could be thousands but more likely the need for peace would inspire the prayers of millions.

If everyone who ate a cheeseburger for lunch were to not do that for a time someone would notice it among the friends or family.  But imagine if a million people did it there would be more of a notice among the people of the world.

Years ago the March of Dimes was established.  The idea was a dime was needed from everyone to fight a disease.  A dime even then was not much money but imagine a few million people giving a dime every time they went to a movie.


The signs are all there and they are rather similar but each has a difference.  The intent is the first difference.

For some peace is a lack of conflict but for others it is something that is a necessity for living.  The calm mind and the assurance that tomorrow will come shapes the dreams of the young.  Possibility is greater in the times of peace.



The fabric of our life is colored and shaped by our daily choices.  Peace is a blossom that is strong and fragile, cool and warm, stands in the rain and sways in the breeze.










Do you keep a calendar of your events each year?  Do you mark the holidays and other special days with a little check or perhaps you circle the day in a red or bright hue that will catch the eye?
The days of the week are known to the smallest of children and soon the will tell you that a special day is coming up and they will point to the calendar and tell you to look.

But there are parts of the world where there is no longer a need for a calendar for each day is often presumed to be the last.  The wedding of friends is no longer a celebration.  The birth of a child is not marked and those who have been around for a time will not be looking at the the candles on a cake and singing a happy song.

This is the age of  the remote killer who will bring into the midst of you and those who are in your area a small package of death.  The drone attack of a small package perhaps not bigger than a book will come and be for a few seconds in your midst before there is a violent denotation and the warm day become a last time.  There was no mark on a calendar to say this will be the last.

There is a  video center in a city where someone is hunched over a  video screen and pushing buttons to maneuver an image on a screen and the image follows a map that has small icons that show the screen world of some place far away and exotic.  The hunched over figure will be looking at a few spinning numbers and making adjustments of altitude and speed.  The figure on the screen will make long sweeping moves until it finds a number with perhaps a check mark or a circle around a number drawn in may be red or a bright hue that catches the eye. 

On the bottom and side of packages there is often a disclaimer that protects the company.  The small print of the life that says we may have done it but it was not our intent.  We read the pages of small print that comes with medicines and health products.  We read the announcement that something may not be entirely what the big printing says.
The big print that says healthy and natural will be on the same label that says in very small print that some people may die if exposed to the contents of this package.  They do not use those words but the fact is there and it is a warning.  It will become their defense when the surviving relatives sue for wrongful death.

But the law will protect the few and demand suffering to the many.



Wednesday, November 20, 2013

The Real Bear

I live in a small town with a local library and regular patrons.
 Everyday we see the same group of visitors to the library.
We notice their absences and we notice their changes. New glasses will bring a nod and a gesture of recognition.

One section of the place is the children's reading room. There are pillows and benches that the new readers gradually claim as their own.

We see the young parents come with children almost ready to walk and already used to the sound of the read story.

It is a faintly noisy place at times but usually it is no louder than a before bedtime settling in and time to nap sort of sound.

I could feel her concern. She went to the children's room at the library to be where things were familiar.
She had been there many times. She had been visiting there since she was very small and since before she could read.
Since she was less than four she had been coming to this place. That had been more than half her life and now things had changed.
The bear was missing. The big stuffed bear that had always been there was gone and another bear was looming in the room.
"Where is the real bear?"
I have a cousin named George. He got my teddy bear when I out grew it.
It was determined that George would be a good person to care for the old guy.
I was glad that he got it instead of some careless small kid with too many toys and too little kindness.
It has been years since my bear was practically stolen before my very eyes by my own mother.

She attempted a form of deceit by saying that the missing bear was not mine but my younger brothers.
I pointed out to her that the remainder, the half of the bear pair, although it had on the proper ribbon and had been brushed and fluffed was not mine. Mine had a bit of red thread attaching the left eye.
This bear had not only no red thread the eyes were in the less then cheery angle of mine. This was Chuck's bear and mine was gone.

"I knew the real bear and this one is not it."

And now I am finding other imposters.  I have recently been informed by letters from my sister-in-law that she has a cold and distant relationship with my brother.  She told me of a man who seems a stranger to me.
She informed me that he never said he loved her.  She talked of his constant problem with drink and erratic hours in a bar.  She told me that he was a devoute Catholic and had a firm belief in God and a solid patriotic stance.  I say this is not the brother I knew.  Perhaps it is that the guy I knew I knew before he was married and the family man he became through the years.

And now another chapter of the library and bookstore bears.

The bear that left the library reading room went to the book store and now the news that it has gone away.
The book store owner said that Triple Came and hauled it away as a total wreck.  There is a sadness to this that shall be corrected.  Old Bears are not totalled by the love and affection of young readers and their readers.  The bear will appear again.
Now there is another bear that rose up from the junkyard of very used bears and is now been rewelded, patched and renewed.  This bear is now a monument of the mind. 
The bear has two names.  One is Patches, who insisted upon repairing the fabric of the exterior and have added color and embellishments.  The other name is Roar.
This bear is a poet that will appear at festivals and will appear when there is a lull in imagination or a moment of great sentiment.  This bear bears his name proudly.  This bear Roars.

Monday, November 11, 2013

Sans Everyhing

Third in a series of revisions.   The idea of people who love movies and have spent a lifetime among other movie lovers is the base for an indy film.

They talk about what they have experienced and of how they would approach making a movie.
They do not always do what they say but they do comment on their lack of follow through.

It is a little like those meetings where people are recovering from some strong addiction.  But the difference this is more a form of bragging than a confession.
The one story that leads to another and then another.  The hours of talk that are about hours of watching and focus.
Shared moment add up to become shared hours and accumulative days and months of sitting in the dark to absorb the flickering world and words of light and sound trances.
The silly question of what is your favorite movie is like asking which pair of socks were the most comfortable.  
Some movies will come to mind but with thought and time the list goes on and on.  There are some that now are only a memory of a moment but you hold a fondness for the thing.  You are sure you saw it and can not imagine life without having seen it.  Some you know you saw but you have blended it with others of its kind.  Who knows what circle of wagons went with what attack by the men of horeseback with bows, arrows, feathers and loud cries.  You still know that the sound of bugles will bring a crowd of men dressed in uniforms and one of them will have a raised sword and another will be holding aloft a banner.
The train going across the trestle will derail and the cars will follow the engine into the river gulch.  
The bat wing saloon doors will swing and creak when the stranger enters the bar.  A piano will play loudly and the sound will seem to be made of some tinny metal.
You will jump and some popcorn will fly when the clawing hand reaches out of the dark and touches the shoulder of the innocent young.
No scream or shout will get a bigger reaction than that moment.




They are all older than middle age and they have just finished a day of being with family and friends of their children.  The group dates back to college and very early years of settling in a small town.  They often worked together or with others who knew othes for years. 
Some of them work each day with groups of people and others work alone or with one or two partners.
The movie part of their lives are joy piled on joy.  They are aging fans and agless enthusiasts.
What do you call a band that only plays someone elses hits?
And what do you call it when the hit is not done by the composer?
We all have words for things that do not work out in the ordinary way.
A long dead composer becomes famous when someone plays the unknown work.  A poet is discovered in a library shelf under years of dust.
What about a poster that is more famous than the film?
Or the classic t-shirt from a song lyric.
The line from the one hit wonder that loses a lawsuit from a greeting card company that has a copyrights on all the synonyms for the word crap.
There must be a fortune in that.
Everyone who wears it gets sued.
Or forced to wear a disclaimer.
I saw the movie and I hope the book is better.
Could it be less and yet better?
Less moving than movie?
I saw the movie and the sequel.  The end titles moved me.
Saw the previews and am waiting for the book.
Popcorn movie at the very least.  And popcorn movie sequel.
The mezzanine was closed during matinees.  The budget, no usher for the upstairs.  Popcorn guy tore the tickets and kept an eye on the stairway but we still managed a few sessions in our private space.
And a few times discovered that we were not the only ones.
Best seats for wide screen was center of balcony and third row.  The first row had the handrail brass pipe right across the lower part of the screen.
Front row floor sticky with the gravity flow of spilled soft drinks.
Or years of emotional sweat.
We each have a history of hours in the dark houses of film.
We had a movie night on campus.  The theater was small and you had to get tickets around noon time for the evening show.  There was no public notice but if you knew someone they spread the word among the worthy.
Some professors, not theater but probably speech or lit, woud make the announcement at the end of class when the mass had fled the room.  Those who lingered to make points got the word.   The word was the word.
I remember rainy nights and the heat would be on high and there was the smell of wet wool.  Wet dog nights at the viewing room on the edge of the tenderloin in San Francisco.  There was the local critics and the guy who ran the place.
Some one said he made his fortune in stale popcorn and out of date vending machine candy.  He was a movie guy.  He had binders of glossy prints of actors who sent him autographs.  He got them at a time when they would respond to a request if you sent a post card to the studio.
There were stories of some getting sacks full of requests.  The kings and queens of the eight by ten glosseys.  
The fan magazines were at the news stand in the corner drug store and at the train and bus stations.  Small towns and big cities had the regular customers but most of them were being browsed by those whose small sums went to the box office directly.
I had the days of famine during Lent.  I kept up with the ones I missed and went to see them the first chance I got.  Not that many when we only had one theater so there was a lot of movies that never made it to town.
There were the local watch dogs who determined what would be shown or not.  They kept the kids away.  My parents did not seem to be harsh but others  were.  The word was mentioned to the right ears and the talk would be the buzz of the week.
One of them has called them the million movies and thousands of gallons of beer group.
We pause for beer breaks.
Now that could be a good disclaimer on the running time of a film.  With or without beer breaks would change the length.  The short subjects could become features.
From the days schools they have all been movie fans and they would get to gether with movies and beer and talk for hours.
The first years had been the Saturday matinee and the double features with the selected shorts, newsreels and cartoons.
No one needs to explain the cartoons.  Everyone now has introduced them to another generation.  Now there are college courses on the influence of their secret vice.
With the use of the video camera and the access to classic films at all periods of the art they now are exploring the early films to study the conventions.  They are finding small segments that they recognize as transitions and other which establish time and location.   The movement and the sweep of an image is pointed to with familiar acceptance.  The sound effects that are cinema and have another reality in the day to day.
The sound of metal agains metal is the sword fight and the sound of the industrial kitchen.  The roar of a the engine  and the hum of traffic are all a part of the great out of doors.  The ocean and the bath tub are water creature flopping about in storms of water and wind.  The mix is continuous and unending.
The hiss of the snake and the ice cream soda live in the same gas station and auto repair shop
The murmur of gossip at the entrance of the king's favorite will also be the shuffling of papers at the desk of the busy secretary.
The stars of a heavy concussion will also flash from the candles of a birthday cake and the swish of the magic wand.
The jungle birds and the new born infant will be part of the truck wheel on the narrow curve.
We have a lot of footage of some caves and tunnel being explored by a group with cameras and some lighting.  They must have spent some time just finding their way around in an unknown space.  What they shot when they finally got the hang of the equipment is a tour of a cave and the examination of structural faults in a cement structure.  This is just left over bits and pieces that one of them wanted to collect to create a pattern of shadows and light.  Most of this is a copy they made to be able to share with some editors.  There is the effect that they had a lot more time and film than they had ideas of what to do with what they got.
But the total is like a game of learning to see by someone whose brain has not developed the idea of sight.
We added some color sense to the whites.  The flashes have the feelings of explosions of emotion.
Perhaps we are reading too much into the mood but there is a feeling of saddness and torn emotion in the moments.  
I had expected boredom and impatience but not so for me.
That might just be you.  The editors started to recognize shapes that I think are really just boredom.

"So tell me the difference.   One is adlib and the other is improv."
"A writer would object to an adlib and would wish silently for a good improv."
"An actor who knows his lines will adlib.  The actor who tears his pants will improv."
"Do something or say something.  But do it and make it work."
Night and shadows with the infrequent glow of something vague.  The movement through space inside of some shell.  The interior and the promise of light at the end of a long narrow space.  The tunnel and the cave are always the suggestion of some other place not yet visible.
The weather is bleak.  The trees have lost all of their leaves and the gates of the school play ground are packed with blown debris.  The gutters are flowing with the recent rain and clogs of leaves and wads of newspaper.  The sky is grey with clouds and the shadows of low fog softens the edges of grey masonary walls.
The world is grey tending towards black.  There is one dim light in a distant window.  Some oily slick puts a shine on a dull grainy stone surface.
The slow line of a morning commute is in the far distance near a flat horizon.
All this is revealed to be a table top scenario in an empty production office.
Odd pieces that have been considered but not included litter small boxes and wire baskets.  The in and out of the desk top include color samples and fabric swatches.  The scale of things is shown by the miscellaneous inclusion of a such things as a spool of thread or a pair of shears.  A dried leaf leans against a model car.  A saucer for a coffee cup holds a chewed wad of gum with a piece of wrapper and the branch of  tiny tree.  A forcep holds together two flower petals and butcher's white cord is wound around a length of electrical wire.
A picture of a cat's yellow eye is glued to the side of a small building and is illuminated by a reflected light.
The interior is late night with unlit spaces along passage ways and niches.
"In a world of constant shadow the glimmer of a sequin becomes a distant show girl."
The hallways are empty except for the movement of cleaning staff and a security guard who is making coffee in a breakroom.  The guard's flashlight rocks back and forth on the counter.  The sound of a morning music station is more static than song.  The news suggests the continuing of the rain into the day.  The morning traffic is slow and one lane is stopped by a big rig tilted into the edge of the overpass.  The gravely voice of a news announcer growls and defies anyone to call to lift his spirits.  
"This is a day to take the day for sleep and maybe kill off the bottom of last night's bottle."  
"Never allow anyone to talk you into midnight sea food."
"That dog was so mean....  Come on now finish that line.  Promise a few free tickets to some over the hill touring band."
The other janitor comes in and takes some coffee and turns the radio off.
The security guy starts to argue but turns to a smile when the offer of bright pink donuts is made.
"A little bit of sunrise after all."
"Way past midnight neon."
The view out the window shows a bit of eastern horizon.  The color is not yet sure but the rain is being wished away.
In  the dark room they are on pause and the beer is being uncapped and poured into beer mugs like civilized people who watch movies and know the names of all the actors and can see the thoughts of a few of them.
I have no favorite actors.  I have some I will watch over and over again just to hear the lines again.  The sunsets are not moments but there have been moments when the rain gushes down a creek bed.   The jolt of sudden movement gets me.  But not all sudden movement.  There has to be a moment in it.
There were a few child actors who knew how to milk the moments.  The tear in the eye and the eye twitch.  I used to call it the dazzle.  The realization that the flood was beyond control.
I alway hated the wringing handkerchief.  
Working a prop  is  an  art all in itself.
Almost always  a case of less is more.  The liar with the tea cup.  Threaten to stir but don't.  Move the saucer but not too much.  
The extra moment to get the story together.  The pretense of not remembering.
Or the not remembering but knowing.  I cringe when I see that look of relief when the character has finally gotte through the long speech and takes a gulp of air and feels a sense of relief.
I do not like the feeling of someone being forced to accept a role that does not fit.
Is she too tall for him.  Is she too old for her sister.  I want them to have something going on when they are not in the scene.  I do not want to feel they do not know each other.
My holidays are not movie time for me.  I like a movie on Thursdays in Summer and Tuesdays in Spring.  The more vacant the theater the better.  I want to see and hear only the movie.  And yet now there is also the movie at home with others and we talk and watch parts over again and it is like finding great bits of chocolate in the middle of an ordinary cookie.
Last year I had a few days of flu with soup in  bed for a retreat from the rush of the day.  The first day I was the perfect sleeping patient and the next day I had too much of hot lemonade and the in and outs of short naps.  I ran a few movies that were there when I came out of the sleep.  I hit at random a few of the scenes that must have been the ones I had never seen in the middle of a sneeze.  I took another look and there was always something there new for the viewing.   The characters who sat on the other side of the aisle on the bus now were the martini drinkers in the bar and later they were walking a dog along the street.  Different shoes and coats but she had a scarf that showed at her neck and later it was knotted with a sweater.  He had the same rings and the same glasses.   Suddenly they became the couple with the scarf and the rings.
Now I look for my duplicates.  They are sure to show up in streets and bars.  But once in a while they will pass in a slow moving car.  If he waves I shall wave back.
And I told some one at work about watching while I had the flu and now I am being accused of seeing things while high on cough medicine.
How I regret those two martini matinees.  Not a cheap motel sort of thing but still the loss of time and the quesy mix of gin and chocolate.

A teen is brushing his teeth in a too brightly lit morning shower room of a local college dorm.  The visual is in a mirror and the brushing is slow and deliberate.
The face glances to a book open on a small shelf.  The illustration is geometric and scientific.  The book has a pressed flower as a book mark. 
Heads across campus towards morning shift at the cafeteria.
The cook gives him coffee and a hot and sticky off the grill.  The two start packing paper napkin dispensers and filling salt and pepper shakers on metal trays.
Other workers arrive and move chairs into place and set up the lines with ice and metal servers.
"No banging or talking allowed.  Desperately need five more minutes of sleep."
is the message scrawled on the morning menu white board.
Student has a play script on top of his books.  The wall  near the door announces the week's rehearsal schedules at the theater.  The past had been X'd out for part of the month.  The old play poster has a bit of praise scrawled in one corner.  
"Marvelous,  The Brightest Night of the Year!!!"""""
"Thanks.  Mom."
Four people are pacing back and forth across an empty stage.  There are three men and one older woman.  The men are stooped over with the suggestion of age but will occasionally stop and stretch upward to full height.  The woman is alert and brisk in her stance and walk.  She holds a handful of papers to her side and glances briefly at the top page.  The men read from the pages when they recite.  
I hate those pink donuts they bring.  But I eat them anyway for the first rule of acting is eat what is on the plate for tomorrow there may be no plate.  
We always feed the actors.  The techies get coffee by the gallon and the guys with the lights are our minor gods.  There is nothing if there is no light.
The people recite the same words in turn but each has an original sound to the words.  The woman's voice is calm and quiet.  The men are in a range of anxious, fearful and angry with each line they look off to the side for affirmation.
The woman has a purse on a chair seat and the men have chairs with folded coats.  

Lines are numbered.  The men and women are named by a physical characteristic.  One may be red head, one may be moustache, one is glasses and the other is curly.
A voice announces the speaker's turns.
The readers stand on triangles on the floor.  They look up into the lights overhead and stare into the brightness.  The light becomes a leafy pattern of a tree branch.  
The squack of the sound system makes them each begin again.  The squack is part of the sequence.  The sound is artificial with a sound of static and an abrupt change of volumn.
A man with a yellow pencil taps the lit face of a mechanical device.  
An overheard conversation between two people in an empty classroom includes the  fragments of the list of statements that are repeated in various settings.
One voice confides that the words are arbitrary and can be omitted if things run too long.  He loves the visuals but so much of it seems to just come off the top of the head of anyone at the moment.
The casual nature of the neglected moments that others are present for a minute or only a second.
It is an idea more than a story.  The waiting and the delays that confront us each day show up everywhere and time is spent being in line and pausing for a moment with everyone else in traffic.  The cars ahead and behind are all metial containers of people on hold for a moment.  Multiply that by how many, hundreds alone would be amazing amounts but then you realize the numbers are thousands, millions and billions.  
You hear of estimates being made of the numbers of things and grains of sand seem huge in size and amount.  
On the other hand we have the notions of few and several and a couple this and that.  The fingers on both hands and the petals on a flower.  Not much there but we talk of them all the time.
" In a restaurant a waitress talks of tables being full and in the theater there is standing room only.  On the road the cars and trucks are bumper to bumper and none of the numbers amount to very much."
The world is about to collapse and the ordinary moments of life are being to an end.  The light switches turn off but not on  and the keys will unlock but not lock.  Water spigots turn off but not on.
This list will be heard and various people will speak the words but they will be a list of things said and a list of thing heard but there will be no discussion about them.  The will be no affirmations or denials.  The words are really repetitions of statments oveheard and half recalled.  
"We all have walked past others while they are talking and we pay scant attention to the words or those talking or listening."
"I have been known to read a paper for some time before I realized it was a week old"
"Watch the news with the sound off and watch the running tags along the bottom."
1.  Twelves and sevens make up the year.  The days are heaped in corners of the parking lots.
2.  His credit cards are twisted and torn and he is a poorer man for all that.  The machines can not begin to take his complaints.  
3.  The cards are his only key to the life of prosperity and ease.
4.  It has been hours since he has heard a car.  
5.  The street lights are catching the glow of late afternoon sunlight but they are all dead without the needed power.
6.  Dependency on technology became a big mistake.
7.  We have allowed the world to end with this passing of life based upon remote control by electric power.
8.  All the fire in the world does not bring to life these small boxes of life.
9.  The vehicles are out fuel.  
10.  The kitchens are cold stoved and room temperatured refrigerated.  
11.  Ice makers are flooded with stale water.
12.  Dazed humans are mocked by constant howls of wind.
13.  They told us that chemistry and physics were constants.  
14.  They told us that gravity would always be with us.  
15.  Time would be there after the last clock and hour glass had ceased to be.  16.  They talked a great deal about knowing for certain and of things that would always be true but maybe change was not all they thought it would be.  
17.  Some change came and was very unexpected.

A voice asked each one to repeat Number 17.
The voice calls  the name glasses.  Glasses looks towards the voice.
The voice says thank you and the man with glasses  goes to his coat and carries it out to the end of the trailer  and jumps down to the pavement rather than using the loading ramp.
Glasses walks along the empty street.
One day a piece of paper blew across the pavement of a parking lot and someone picked it up and was ready to crumble it before tossing it into a container.   The hand that crumbled the paper stopped and the other hand helped  the first to smooth the paper.  The words on the paper were almost legible.  The ink was greyed and only slightly darker than the page.  
But the words were there.  
18.  Life is not so certain after a certain point in the period of change.
Finger traces the surface of the paper.
The paper was embossed with some sort of official seal.
That was the only proof that it was an official document.
Glasses looks up toward a monumental wall of a large building.
His voice says the following:
The now absent government of the other times had left one last message to the remainders of life.
A thought arose in the reader.  A feeling of gratitude that they had not left without a last goodby.
Man gives a hand salute to the overhead sky.
On the distant horizon a craft rose from a hard surface and shimmered for  less than a blink of an eye and moved to a point before becoming a point.
Two very tall men in spotted tights walked by with sandwich boards announcing the new age of circus every day with a guaranteed free lunch for all.
A dark colored van is parked next to a green park.  The windows are opened a small crack and a dog's nose and eyes are looking out.  The park has benches near a group of recycle containers.  The ground around the containers and benches is littered with empty coffee containers and wadded newspapers.
A small sign is attached to the van.  
"Peace comes with the morning coffee and the daily newspaper."
On an empty street in the canyon of the business area of a city the small pieces of trash swirl briefly.
A gust of wind blew a black top hat down an empty street until it rested like an empty vase.  
There was a pause that was timed only by the changin of the light on the sheen.  A white bunny hopped out and went to a small crate of carrots near the curb.  
Paradise was at hand.
The rabbit sniffed the few carrots that had spilled from the crate and stood on its haunches and wiggled its nose.
Rabbits do not speak but this one seemed to have something on its mind.
Above its head there appeared a thought balloon.
In the middle of the balloon there appeared a smile of a single upturned line.  
Around the line appeared a stroke of bright  red lipstick.
The thought balloon bust in a shower of confetti.
After everything there will be a cartoon and selected shorts.
The black and white count down appeared on the screen and the frame got caught in the cog of the projector and the image melted.
In the dark there was a grunted curse and over to the right two people stood and dumped large containers of popcorn on the seats in from of them.  
There was a boo and a shrill whistle as the house lights came on and the screen was flooded with white light. 

An usher came to the seats and said in a very low but distinct voice that everyne was meeting in the conference room on the mezzanine.  The voice added with a slight sense of friendly advice that there was time for using the restrooms.
The usher went over and swept the popcorn into a large silent butler.
The aisle of the showing room led to large padded doors with diamond shaped windows at eye level.
On the other side of the doors there was the tiled wall of a subway station with a metallic subway car being filled with commuters and a woman with a seeing eye dog.  The dog sat on an empty bench in the car and the woman stood and hung onto the strap.  The car doors closed and left the station.
He left the subway station and walked into the sunlight of a side street of San Francisco.  The street was wet with either a recent rain or a street cleaning truck that was employed to aid the night shooting of a movie.
He went to a  canteen van and ordered coffee.  The old man put cream and sugar in the cup without his asking for the additions.  The man also wrapped two cake donuts in a square of wax paper and put them  in a fold of cardboard.
He went over to the monitor sitting inside the tech van and watched a few minutes of a tech shot of the small green park near the corner.  The picture was live and the assistant was talking to someone in the  area of the scene.  A handful of leaves was being placed over a blue paint mark on the ground near the curb.
A man in a red zipped jacket  pushes a series of small buttons on a machine near the truck.  He complains that the power panel lights are blinking.
The man goes to the coffee truck and gets a coffee and two donuts.  The man serving coffee gives it to him black.
He takes a bite of one donut and asks for one more and says he also wants a regular tea with two sugars.
The night went black and only a few emergency light showed he position of those who were suddenly in the dark.
The book fell to the floor and the two boys were asleep on the bed. One had a pizza box on the bed near his legs and the other had a reading light above his pillows.  He was now eating a piece of pizza and the other was leaning down to pick up the book from the floor.  He was half on and half off the low bed.  The pizza box was now between them and the light began to flicker.
A popcorn machine in a theater lobby was making a fresh batch.  The lights were flickering on and off.  The view out to the street was showing lights in a store front blinking.
The trees along the side street were filled with water being sprayed from a fire truck.   The water was running along the curb.
The back of a trailer truck was open and inside there were two rows of chairs facing each other.  Men and women in winter street wear sat with folders of papers in their hands. Some were clutching folded newspapers and others were resting brief cases on their laps.  The women had heads wrapped in heavy scarves and the men all wore colored scarves around their necks.  
A man with a clipboard walked back and forth in the middle, looking carefully at the appearance of each and making adjustments to the position of the scarves and the folds of the newspapers.  Each newspaper was to be carried in the left hand.  Other folders were to be left on the seat until after the shoot.  He repeated the same instructions into the face of each person.  A woman in a dark coat came and gave him a container of coffee but he waved it away.  She gave the coffee to one of the seated women.  He took the coffee away from the woman and gave it to the assistant in the dark coat.
The sound of a bell rang clear in the silence and a red revolving light flashed on the top of a dark car roof.
A photo copy machine spits out several papers.  The flash of its lighted edge is reflected in the large expanse of a dark night window.  The window becomes a series of horizonal blue light lines.
Stacks of paper are being stapled and positioned on the edge of a wooden table.  The only thing on the table is a slender glass vase with a few red flowers. A hand removes the vase and the papers are dealt around the table in front of the chairs.  The one place has a paper coffee cup and a  ceramic mug of automatic pencils and markers.
One voice reads with slow cadence and without strong emotion.  The words are being spoken with clarity but not feeling.
A hand is making marks on a stack of papers as the words are being read.  There are three variations of this editing.  The are no scratch outs.  There is paragraphing,  underlining and  question marks.  There is the suggestion of an alternate word.
The sun rose over ther hill and the trees began to cast shadows on the land.
The chickens ran across the yard and gathered for the scattering by sweeping hands of grain across a dusty yard.
The face of a outdoors woman called to the chickens with sounds of chook, chook, chook.
The man came out onto the porch and checked the reading of the thermometer on the post at the top of a few wooden steps.
The shadow of a vulture moved across the flat fallow field.
A black telephone on a small table rings.  The view of the room goes to a windowseat where a young girl is reading and making notes in a spiral notebook with an ink pen from another time.  The fashion seems to be from the mid twentieth century.  A small screen black and white television screen shows an identical soundless picture of the girl reading in a windowseat.
The phone continues to ring with a muted next room sound.
The bar is dark with the colors of wood paneling and candle shaped sconces above the booths.   The two women are across from each other and  the men are at the bar getting them drinks.  The women see defects in the make up of the other woman and in their minds they are deciding the  best way to bring up the subject without being critical and catty.  They smile and one plays with a ring on her right index finger and the other smooths her finger tips over a cigarette case that is to her right.
The one with the ring asks for a cigarette and the other suggests they wait a moment until the men bring the drinks.  
The other agrees with the choice but does not speak outloud.  She tells the other that they should make plans to go to the  school dance recital over the weekend while the men are out playing golf.
A  voice calls cut and others come into the scene.  The assistant mentions that the lines had been changed.  The school event is a play and the men will be going to the boat race at the pier.
A man sits next to the table on a folding stool and tells the women that each line will be a reverse.  The camera will be on the one listening.  But he wants them to show a feeling of withdrawal from the event.
They do this and then he suggests they do it again with a firmness of the mouth.
The man read the lines. He was kneeling on the floor and his hands smoothed their skirt hems as they waited for hair and makeup adjustments.
One woman swept her hand across the table top and knock  the cigarett case onto the floor.
The director called for props to examine the fallen case.
The woman moved his hand from her lap.
A siren is heard weakly in the background.  The director calls for fifteen minutes.

The director and a dog are on a porch.  The dog gets up and goes to the top of the steps and runs down to meet two people coming up the walk from a picket fence gate.  The two people are a tall woman and a young man wearing jeans and a shapeless sweatshirt.  The young man is carrying a large stuffed animal that has a bandana around its neck.  
"Look who has come to see you."
"My inner animal and the bandana I lost at the ball park"
"Not the one but a duplicate.  The original is now framed and on the wall of my room at school."
"I'll get it back someday."
"When I graduate and we are all in France drinking the first wine of the new year."
The woman and the director hug and the young man teases the dog with the stuffed toy.
The woman and the dog are now in the kitchen.  The dog is sleeping on a braided rug near the door and the woman is checking the contents of the oven and moving a basket of vegetables to a table near a window.  The table is a chopping area and she is cutting vegetables for a large salad.
The boy enters and she gives him a small basket of tomatoes and asks him to wash and slice them.
The director comes to the interior doorway and begins to read from a script.
He reads the list of statements from one to seventeen.
The woman and the boy begin to recite the ages of man from Shakespeare.
The man with the glasses is at the bar and the two women are waiting at the table.  He begins to talk to the other man.  He recites the seventeen statements but his voice fades and he is seen from a distance and the movie crew are all around him.
A young woman came and stood near the others as they passed pages back and forth.  One man noticed her and inquired if she needed anything.
She said that she noticed that they had overlooked number eighteen.
18.  Life is not so certain after a certain point in the period of change.
"We are so caught up in the trees we have overlooked the forest."
The people with the sandwich boards are now standing next to a coffee wagon and the people who had been in the back of the truck are standing with their newspapers.  The ones with the red scarves are given rolled umbrellas and French berets and string shopping bags with bagettes and various vegetables such as celery stalks and bunches of carrots.  Others have oranges and apples in the bags.
The voice speaks over a PA system.  "Keep the bags swinging in synch."
The man at the table tells another man that that would be a big mistake.  There would be hell to pay in the editing.
He leans across to two men who are wearing peaked caps.  One camera concentrate on the string bags.  Get a pattern of left and right.  Get the color red as a dominant color.  The line will be below mid screen.  The speed of a slow walk.  Do a few copies to make it more abstract.  Keep sharp focus.  
The man in the ball cap makes notes on a yellow pad using a dark green marker.
"About five swings per pass?"
"You got it."
"Use it later for titles and end titles."
This voice is the young girl who seems to always have a clip board and who hands coffee to people.
"Miss Smith, take off your glasses."
She laughs and wacks him on the shoulder with the board.

A round oak table in a kitchen setting.  The chair by the door has a cat on a pillow.  The window over the sink has pots if green herbs.  The dish rack is filled with clean coffee mugs of bright colors.  The stove has two tea kettles on the back burners.  The canister on the counter says sugar.  The two large mugs have handfuls of teaspoons.
The microwave oven display seems to be constantly doing a count down or displaying the time.  There is a young man with a video camera recording the changes of display.  He is making notes of times and ranges of diminishing countdowns.
"Time and timing is often a flash of a moment of a clock."
"The kidnapped victime is photographed with a front page of a newspaper."
"Not anymore."

Perhaps this sounds petty but there are a few words that bother me.
I trust your judgement.  You are right it probably is petty but give it to me.
Number eleven.  Stagnant water not stale water.  The sound and the meanings change and perhaps clearer.
"Yeah.  Stale water is like stale bread, dry and sticks to the roof of your mouth.
Water should never stick to the roof of the mouth."
And number twelve.   The word howls."
Reads aloud number twelve.
"Funny, would have thought dazed and mocked would get your veto."
"Mark the entire line.  We need a few readings for that."
 He is now at his table in the kitchen and talking to another person.
"How do we get this far with something that is just not right?  And someone makes a slight remark that brings everything into question.
"That will be the case.  But in the big picture there will always be small blurbs and scratches that only one or two will notice.  The perfect picture will strike someone as too something or other."
"There will always be the period that is upside down."
"But we will look at this several months from now and you will go all gushy and mushy.   Watching your baby take big steps." 
"I always cry at weddings."
"Only your own."
"Why yeah.  But not all of them."