"She's Such A "Good Egg!"

Paula's Dozen Plus...

 Good "you're such a good egg" Thursday Morning, all bodies.

When I walked into the coffeehouse, Mimi was having an egg fritata with a friend. She waved and said hello in between bites.

I promised Mary (Giddy Up's "don't call me a barista", barista!) a half dozen or so from the two dozen or so of fresh eggs a friend had bestowed upon me. I didn't have an egg carton, so I placed the eggs, nice and snug, in a small square box stuffed with plastic grocery bags and delivered it to Maddie who was working the counter.

Maddie's a "good egg" and can be completely trusted with delivering the goods.

Badass was sitting all alone, so I decided to spend some time with him, but soon the two sofas were filled with friends chewing the fat. Phil brought a dolphin skull for Frank to put on the community shelf and Big Al had to get up to further inspect the alien being.

Someone said the skull and Al had much in common.

Dennis, who has relatives from Australia, got to talking about aborigines and boomerangs with Erich, while I tried to talk to Jeanie about her days in college at USL. MaryJane and Maureen waved hello having arrived late from the local gym.

About twenty minutes later, Paula Alario, who provides me, on occasion, all the eggs I need, dropped by to return a baking tray that I used to make her a ham and cheese quiche earlier in the week.

It was my way out, having already spent so much time. As it always happens, when one person decides to leave, EVERYONE decides to leave too!

Having temporarily solved all of the world's problems, I grabbed my baker's tray and split.

First decaf cup this morning...

Copyright 2023/Ben BensenIII

"Sometimes, The Mindless Doodle Is The Bestest!"

The Elusive Bird..

 Good "Friday" Morning, all bodies!

Well, I reluctantly left the coffeehouse knowing that there was so many things I needed to do that I just didn't want to do. Like a buddy of mine, who decided to leave as I did, admitted he, too, was just procrastinating.

As I drove along the driveway, a small branch from one of the oaks, brushed along the roof of the car a bit more heavily than the day before... and the day before that, and the day before that.

"Okay, okay, I said to myself, that'll be the first thing I will tackle this morning!"

But, when I opened the car door, there was that bird song that some folks tell me belongs to a wood thrush... and maybe it is. I took out the pole mounted pruning saw and headed straight for that driveway branch, but the bird's call seemed to get closer and closer.

What IS that bird?

I can't miss an opportunity like this, I thought. I need vindication!

So, I headed back into the kitchen to grab the best of the three binoculars I own and headed back out to get a glimpse. Oh man, it was so close... so close as I carefully maneuvered my way into a shady position where I could comfortably hold up the binoculars and scan the mid morning sunlit trees.

At 10:30, I was already feeling the heat.

With my back up against a pine tree, I followed the song with every move from one branch to another, but never found the sound. Within ten minutes of my aerial pursuit, the treetops that surrounded me, became silent. The bird's warbling song was not gone, but migrated from one tree to another and every momentary peek I had following that noise produced one regular yardbird after another.

I snuck up onto some commotion in one of our blueberry bushes, only to see a female cardinal fly away with a big, ripe berry in her beak.

"Hey, Lady, I said, glad to be of a service to you!"

The bird call became distant, then, just above me. Then, to the left of me, then, to the right. There had to be more than just one "cheep, cheep, cheree!"

For over three summers now, from late Spring to early Fall, there's a vibe that I can hear, but can never see and maybe, for me, it is just not meant to be. So frustrating!

Seems like we, as a species, always have to find a solution, fix the problem, make all the pieces fit logically, have some sense of reasoning, attempt to explain or justify our existence, and maybe, to seek and inadvertently, destroy.

I don't know, but once again, after wasting about an hour chasing that sonic dream, maybe, just maybe, I'm better off allowing some mysteries to stay mysterious... and magical.

It was something to contemplate indoors, in the air conditioned studio, with a ginger ice tea. And, ya know, that hanging tree branch will still be there hanging tomorrow!

First cup!

Copyright 2022/ Ben Bensen III

" All Is Quiet Up In The Trees, So Far, Except For Him"

 

Good "Aftermath" Monday Morning, y'all.

I trust everyone celebrated the Easter weekend to the fullest. For us, the weekend sure ended with a stormy, stormy night, and I've decided, with a first cup in hand, to check for any early morning damage.

There doesn't seem to be anything major save a few more tree limbs and branches. A stream of water from last night's rain trickles as it dances its way downhill to the culvert out front. Could've sworn I saw trout in there.

With no Pierre to take out in the quiet of the misty dawn, I have been missing the beauty of Spring. Life surely is a double edged sword. All the leaves on the trees are a bright and fresh yellow green. They won't stay that way for long.

Below, are the wildflowers like clover, dandelions and a blue flower that Tee planted in a pot years ago only to escape and participate in Spring's wild enthusiasm.

Very enthusiastic, high up on a cypress tree, is our resident mockingbird. I don't hear or see much of him during the winter, but this morning he's letting loose with all his new riffs much to the disdain of the other birds. All is quiet up in the trees, so far, except for him.

I guess he's just glad to have survived the storm to live another day... Me too!

Second cup, y'all.

Copyright 2022/Ben BensenIII

"My Men Wear English Leather Or"...

 

It's Friday again... Good "TGIF" Morning, all bodies.

Had a great time yesterday talking to my SoCal friend. Ninety minutes sure flies by when you are having fun. But after that, I had even more fun.

In an never ending struggle to rid myself of stuff, I chanced upon a used up bottle of men's cologne. I've seen it shuffled around in the medicine cabinet behind one medication or another as if it really didn't want anyone to notice that the bottle was empty and had been for many years.

Looking for something to sketch between cups of coffee, I grabbed the ultra-hip, pseudo woodsy bottle of manliness from the top shelf and took it with me.

Just about 10:30, after finishing my sketch, I packed up my laptop, sketchbook, coffee cup and square bottle of "The Sixties" to walk out the front door, but just as I did, a voice called out my name.

"Ben, it's Tanya... Where ya going?"

"Oh wow, Tanya. What you doing so far away from Mandeville here at Giddy Up?"

Apparently, she was entertaining an artist friend, Karen George, from Ohio and on the friend's last day, decided to check out the hill country of Folsom.

With a giggle and a smirk that only Tanya Dishler can do, she invited me to come back and I join them and as she did, she inquired about my bottle of cologne.

"What IS that?" she asked.

"It looks like a bottle of English Leather." "What ARE you doing with that old bottle," she inquired in such a sordidly curious way.

I started to show her the pen sketch I created from the bottle and to recite that promo line about getting naked, but she turned back toward the front door and headed for the barista.

I closed the sketchbook and followed her back in.

Once I was introduced to her friend Karen, Tanya offered me a coffee or something to knosh on, but I declined. I was kinda coffee-ed out!

Eventually, we got around to talking about men and colognes and those halcyon days of peace, love and bellbottoms.

"How long have you had it and does it still smell like English Leather?" they both asked.

"I don't know. I guess so. I've never tried smelling it since it all dried up, but I guess it still does," I replied.

I then unscrewed the wooden top and took a sniff, and then, with a satisfied smile, handed it over to Tanya.

A smile appeared on her face as if, for one fleeting moment, she was reliving a romantic encounter so far away in the Sixties. As she gave me a bit of a sly look, she handed it over to Karen and said, "Yes... that's English Leather!"

Karen giggled in agreement and handed it over to Frank Richerand for a whiff.

"Yeh, that's the smell," he said. "I used to wear English Leather before I switched to another kind."

"Me too, Frank, for the longest time," I replied and managed to get in a little dig... for fun.

"Oh man, Frank, I always thought you were a "High Karate" kind of guy!"

Frank had dropped by to chat and after Tanya and Karen finished their lunch, planned to give the ladies the grand tour of the place including the Paddock grounds and the gallery.

I've been on that tour many times, so I dismissed myself from the get together and headed for the car with my laptop, sketchbook, coffee cup and a square, wooden topped bottle memories.

I passed by a trash can en route to the car and stopped momentarily to contemplate the fate of my fragrant youth. I don't know, maybe, I'll just keep it a little while longer.

I had been at the coffeehouse for over four hours and had a great time avoiding the realities of life with an impromptu special "Throwback Thursday", though, I was never in the position to incorporate into any conversation the familiar line...

"My men wear English Leather or they wear nothing at all!

First cup!

Copyright 2021/ Ben Bensen III

"Michelle, Another Medical Hero Sketch!"

Good "soggy" Wednesday Morning, all bodies.

Looks like we will skirt by with Hurricane Laura this afternoon... Time will tell.

I thought I'd add another nurse sketch for the collection. I jotted down some notes on this hero, but naturally, it is nowhere to be found in any of my sketchbooks. There's so much confusion going on... Can't blame the virus...

This is a Prismacolor black sketch done from a photo I took of Michelle. She's one of the head nurses that came by, from time to time, to check on Therese, clean up any loose ends and stay atop any med changes.

Michelle told me that she's been in the nursing business for over thirty years. We had some great conversations. Always fun to hear people talk about their lives and their professions. She is in her late thirties with two grown boys. I asked her if I could snap a shot of her in action and the iPad rattled off more than one. This shot was the better of the bunch and I believe this is the look she gave me when she asked about our son.

Like most of the nurses, she's very thorough and intense, but at the time, her eyes showed fatigue... at least, to me. The last time I saw her was two days before my wife was discharged. She complimented Therese on her ability to walk the hall, back and forth, dragging that IV tree behind her.

Though you couldn't see her smile, I could tell she felt satisfaction in looking after Therese and over seeing the many others handling her care.

First cup!

Copyright 2020/Ben Bensen III

"Megan... More Than Just Another Nurse!"

Good Thursday Morning, y'all.

Not much to do in a hospital room for four or five hours. When the nurses arrive "en Masse" I find it best to stay out of the way.

I started this out as a simple pencil drawing, but I got ambitious getting bolder and bolder until it started to not look like the head nurse, who's name was Megan.

Megan is the best nurse I've ever seen. She is so involved in her patients... one of which Therese is but just one. I was inspired enough to try and capture her intensity.

Sometimes, you paint the picture and sometimes, the picture paints you!

First home brewed cup!

Copyright 2020/ Ben Bensen III

"She Did Have That Marie LaVeau Look About Herself!"

Voodoo priestess?

"Ooooo- wee, child, is 'dat your Evangeline?"

"Yes ma'am," I replied as I turned my head around to see who was complimenting me in such a thick Cajun accent.

All week long, tour buses would bring people to view the downtown St. Martinville scene. Folks from Ohio, Minnesota, Texas, Illinois, mostly folks trying to thaw out from up north. And, naturally, quite a few from France to check the Creole and Cajun historical sight.

But this woman, with a long full colorful skirt, complete with jangling jewelry and a leopard print headband, looked straight out of central casting for a voodoo queen, or priestess.

"You did 'dat?" You doing my lady, fine, fine... Ooooo-wee! Lordy, lordy!"

"Well thanks, ma'am... it's starting to come around," I said.

"Where you fum?" she asked. 

"Originally, I am from New Orleans, but I live now in a small town called Folsom."

"Ooooo, Lord." New Orleans is bad!" 

"Not the good bad. I'm talkin' bout the bad bad," she said nodding her head down as if to be praying for all New Orleanians.

"Too much killing down 'dere, child... too much!"

“’Dats why you moved?”

“Aw, New Orleans is not that bad. You just have to have some common sense, ya know?”

“I live in Folsom for many different reasons,” I replied.

“Well, she said, clutching a little tighter her huge satchel like purse and slowly moving toward the front of the church,”I gotsta go visit ‘da Lord!”

After a few steps, she then turns back around to tell me her name and to ask me for mine. Her name is Aida, and says, proudly that she’s from St. Martinsville and has lived there all her life. We banter back and forth for a few minutes about saving the world with prayer, living in St. Martinsville all her life, and my living in California. As she kinda threw her head back separating her dark dreadlocks, which were rather dark for being well into her sixties, she talked a bit about her being black, but Creole.

“Hey, I understand where ya comin’ from, lady. I spent a couple years here in Cajun land. It’s a beautiful thing!”

Even if I thought differently, I wasn’t gonna take no chances. She did have a Marie LaVeau look about herself. Best to not mess with no voodoo, ya know?

“I come everyday to pray and visit my Evangeline… she’s a saint, Mister Ben. Did you know?”

“Well, no ma’am, I didn’t know that, but the story is a very special one, I know!”

“You fum where?” Where you be staying?

“Folsom, LA”, Aida, I repeated quite impatiently. 

“Dat’s a long ways to be painting my Evangeline!” she once again, replies.

“You doing her good.” she, grammatically, but hilariously, announced.

Pointing to the sign that officially advertises my involvement as one of the thirty or so artists at the Shadows, I say, “I’m participating in a contest at the Shadows-On-The-Teche museum in New Iberia.”

“NEW IBERIA?” 

“Lord, lord”, I better git,” she moans, jingling all the shiny silver, plastic and assorted bracelets around her wrists…” I best be praying for you too,” she said.

Thinking to myself how awfully nice it was of her to pray for my good luck, she mumbles as she turns away flailing her arms, 

“Ooooo- weeee, New Iberia!”

“Dat’s no place to be, child. Another dangerous place, fo’ sho!”