Tag Archives: people

April 30, 2013 · 7:27 am

Treasure from 1893 Speaks Volumes about Publishing 120 Years Later

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Many years ago while visiting Wisconsin, I drove to a rural farm sale outside a small town. It was my last stop after several garage sales. Price tags hung from farming equipment along with assorted household items and antiques. It drew a crowd of curious neighbors as well as treasure hunters. I fell into the latter category.

Drawn to the tables laden with books, I found ancient leather-bound volumes and others in cloth. I sauntered along the stacks of old family Bibles and velvet photo albums. While leafing through Ladies’ World and The Ladies’ Home Journal magazines from the 1800’s, one raindrop plopped down on my head followed by another. I grabbed a box.

After filling it with as many old books and magazines as I could carry, I paid the lady $5.00, and staggered to the car just before the sky opened up and it poured.

I took the magazines home and glanced at the fine drawings and paintings. As an illustrator, I really appreciated the attention to detail. No photographs were included in these early issues. I was amused at the old advertisements, but nothing grabbed my interest, so I put them away and forgot about them.

Today, I read The Ladies’ Home Journal from 1893 with a different perspective. Now that I am a writer, several ideas jumped off the 120 year-old pages.

Long fictional stories and excerpts of books were included in each of the three issues I purchased. All were beautifully illustrated and captioned. Back in the 1800’s, reading was a very popular form of entertainment.

What really smacked me upside the head were the advertisements for one year subscriptions.

Inside the cover of The Ladies’ Home Journal was an advertisement for Mark Twain’s, The Century, FREE to anyone who subscribed to the magazine. This was a leather-bound edition! I believe Twain’s idea to advertise his book by giving it away, reached a wider audience. This compilation of short stories was perfect for the type of reader catered to by the Journal.

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At the time of this periodical’s publication, many authors feared short stories and magazines would take over the publishing industry. This point is often made to compare the same fear many have about ebooks replacing real books. It didn’t happen then and many believe it won’t happen now.

The first article by Frank R. Stockton, explains how he garnered a huge audience by frustrating them. In a beautifully illustrated essay, “How I wrote ‘The Lady or the Tiger?’” he defends the history of his controversial short story.  It caused quite a “hoopla” or “hullabaloo” back in the day.

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Stockton was invited to a dinner party along with several other literary guests. As part of the evening’s entertainment, he was asked to prepare a story. When he didn’t finish it in time, he demurred. Later, he completed this ultimate cliff-hanger about a young man who falls in love with a princess who becomes his lover. They end up in an arena which has two portals. A tiger paces behind one of them. The princess tells her lover to open one of the doors. He let the reader decide which one.

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He received many letters from irate readers left in the lurch. Many offered their own resolution to the ending and begged him to finish it. Most women couldn’t fathom the barbaric nature of a woman who would send her lover through a portal to be eaten by a tiger.

A second book was written with more detail about the lives of the two characters, but still didn’t include an ending. The readers went wild again. At one point, graduates of Vassar College put it to a vote. The tiger received 18 votes and the lady only six.

Ten years later, readers were still talking about it. Not only did The Ladies Home Journal showcase the author, but offered his short story along with eleven others for free along with a one year subscription to Scribner’s Magazine.

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The book is offered free with 10 cents postage and $3.00 subscription.

Like so many who have written their first book, I am watching the publishing industry and new authors to see how they approach selling ebooks. I had been concerned after seeing prices drop from $5.99 to $2.99, and then given away for free on Amazon.

In 1893, there were probably those who thought Twain foolish when giving away The Century. I would bet the giveaway put his work in the hands of many who may not have been acquainted with the great writer.

Today, that is the goal as well. The free price is usually a limited time offer and it gets the book out to more people and the writer’s name on the lips of many.

Writing controversial books is still an effective way to get people talking. Just look at Fifty Shades of Grey!

No matter how many people are in a writer’s platform, a book is still sold by word of mouth. The more tongues wagging, the better the sales.

Here I am in 2013, reading this old magazine from 1893 and can still learn something. Now that’s what I call a treasure!

What do you think about giving books away?

Do you think controversy sells?

Related Articles:

The Ladies’ Home Journal

Mark Twain – Wikipedia

Frank R. Stockton – Wikipedia

Scott Turow and His Sinking Ship

The Nutley Hall of Fame

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October 29, 2012 · 6:34 am

Cara Mia, It’s Halloween!

I get into the Halloween spirit by watching glimpsing at horror and thriller movies on television. While multitasking, I peek through my fingers once in a while to see what mayhem has arisen.

I’ve seen zombies, one of the Scary Movie series onslaught and one scene from Friday the 13th complete with Freddy Kruger. When flipping through the channels the other night, I stumbled upon one of my very favorite Halloween comedies – Addams Family Values.

The lines were poetic, the quips unrelenting, and the cast replete with Angelica Huston, the late Raul Julia, Joan Cusack, Christina Ricci and Christopher Lloyd had me laughing out loud. I have always loved these deathly, creepy, and wonderfully morbid characters. Continue reading →

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October 23, 2012 · 6:57 am

From Virtual to Reality

My illustration of the virtual people who read my blog for the first time.

When I began blogging, I remember getting the jitters. I had worried about using my real name. Since I was blogging for a writer’s platform, it made sense to send it into the blogosphere along with my words.

My friends and family wondered how smart it was to expose myself to strangers. Some thought I could be conversing with thugs from prison. “Hey!” I retorted, “Everyone makes mistakes and if they enjoy my blog, well, that’s a great sign of positive reform!”

They wondered how I could possibly make friends online. Continue reading →

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October 16, 2012 · 10:22 am

Oh Cali, How I’ve Missed You! A Photo Essay

Have you ever traveled somewhere and felt an instant connection? I feel that way every time I am in California.

Maybe it’s because of the beauty created by its people.

On the beach in Santa Barbara

Maybe it’s because this is a place where the mountains meet the ocean. Continue reading →

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August 16, 2011 · 12:46 pm

Do You Believe in VS Angels?

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The first time I was in a Victoria’s Secret, I purchased a “gift” for my husband. At that time the store appealed to adult women and the lingerie could be quite bawdy.  I chose a see-thru push-up bra “teddy” with a killer thong. Later that evening, during a lovely candlelit dinner, I found the undergarments so uncomfortable even I couldn’t wait to get home to take them off!

Over the years, VS has transformed their image to appeal to a younger crowd. Whenever I have crossed their threshold to buy a gift for my daughter, the salesgirls looked at me as if I was an ancient relic since I am the age of most of their mothers. I have to admit to having a drawer full of bikini and French cut undies, but only one thong “won” at a silent auction. Whenever I have considered buying their tiny panties, I would pick one up to examine it, shake my head, and set it back down into the bin of other colorful tiny panties. Since it is usually the first display in their store, I have always left before making my way to the bras.

One night my husband and I were invited to a party. I flipped through the dresses in my closet and found one I had been too shy to wear because of its plunging neckline. Realizing that décolletage is very much in style, I stuffed my push up bra, took a deep breath and slipped on the dress. I joined my now wide-eyed husband, held my head high and didn’t look down. Once I arrived, I received a few comments relating to the fact that I had exposed my curves.

“In order for me to have any cleavage at all, I need to stuff these pads into my bra.” I fished them out to show my girlfriends.

My more knowledgeable friend said, “They should look like this!” She grabbed either side of my boobs, pushed them together and continued, “All you need is a Victoria’s Secret bra. They have one that really smooshes them together.”

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Well enough said. The following week, I crept into a VS filled with teenagers and twenty-somethings as usual. With hip-hop music blaring, I scanned the predominantly pink space for the elusive bra. A youthful blonde salesclerk asked, “Are you looking for something in particular?”

I looked around not sure if she had been addressing me since the store was packed with shoppers. “A bra that smooshes my boobs together,” I responded quoting my friend.

“Do you want one that makes you 2 sizes larger?” she said rather loudly.

“No,” I replied and instantly my face heated up like a stove burner on a high setting. “I would just like some cleavage,” I mumbled.

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“I think you are looking for our ‘Very Sexy’ bra.” After showing me a few wild patterns and colors, I settled on an unadorned black bra. It looked harmless enough.

I stepped into the fitting room and took off my t-shirt and sweater. I looked at myself topless in the mirror and thought, “Don’t expect miracles. I’m over 50 years old and nursed both children. Even when I was in my twenties, my breasts were never perfect.” I couldn’t find an adjustment for the straps, so I assumed they had been let out already. I know that my breasts have slid down my chest a bit since I was a teenager, but I could barely get the straps over my shoulders. “Ouch!” I thought, “They must want them really short to force women’s breasts up to their neck! Jeez! No amount of cleavage is worth this amount of pain.”

When I marched out of the fitting room, the clerk working with another customer asked, “How did you like it?”

“The straps are way too short for me,” I said as I handed her the tortuous contraption.

I felt her restrained eye-roll when she responded, “All of our bras are adjustable.” She simply slipped both straps out and handed it back to me with a tilt of her head and a smile as she spun around to continue with the other shopper.

Now my cheeks really burned, but I turned around and paced back in to the dressing room for round 2. I could almost hear the bell ring.

With the straps at the proper length (Duh!), I put on the bra and looked into the mirror. That is when I had a moment when the pounding music ceased, an intense spotlight enveloped me from above and angels (Victoria’s Secret Angels?) began to sing “Aaaaaahhhhh!”

‘Oh, my God!” I remarked out loud as I smiled at my reflection in the full length mirror. I looked good. No I looked great! Amazing!

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An actual Victoria’s Secret Angel 

I floated out of the dressing room to the register and made my very first personal Victoria’s Secret purchase since the early 1990’s.

Driving home it occurred to me that these bras are wasted on the young. As some women over 40 know, our baggy, saggy, skin can be molded into whatever shape Victoria wants. Our aging breasts just need direction and encouragement. All we have to do is bend over and tuck them in.

The VS image has changed drastically from its inception in 1977. Roy Raymond started the company to make it comfortable for men to buy lingerie for their lady friends. Every bra company tried to knock off the Wonderbra after it was designed in the 1990’s. The VS Miracle Bra quickly took the lead leaving its competitors in the dust and now I know why.

Untouched photo of Helen Mirren by Jason Fraser

I think that Victoria’s Secret should change its image once again, this time to include a wider range of consumers. In the future, commercials could air with stylish middle-aged ladies modeling the bras. Christy Brinkley could come out of retirement along with Cheryl Tiegs, Iman, and Cindy Crawford. What about Helen Mirren? Some report she is 63 years old and others say 66, but either way she won the “Body of the Year” award in LA! And why stop there? What about a runway show?  Replace Justin Timberlake and Black Eyed Peas with Sting or Mick Jagger! They can help us “bring sexy back” too!

This could be revolutionary. All women could benefit. It could also triple the amount of money Victoria’s Secret makes annually.

The next time you are strolling by VS hold your head high and enter the pink store.  Elbow your way through the crowd of teenagers and pick out something fun to try on. Maybe the Victoria’s Secret Angels will sing to you!

What do you think of the VS image?

Do you think it should change to be more inclusive?

First photo by S. Lindau, the rest by Google Images

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August 8, 2011 · 4:31 pm

In Defense of Rankings, Yoga Pants, and Just Going Naked

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Boulder’s Pearl Street Mall on a Friday night 
GQ Magazine recently ranked Boulder as the 40th worst dressed city in America. On face value that sounded pretty bad until I read 40th meant that 39 other cities were worse. As I clicked to the right, the numbers got lower and I realized we were in good company, but I gasped when I clicked on #5) Manhattan. Wait a second. Manhattan? That fine city embodies the heart of American fashion whose pulse we rely on with a beat that strikes a rhythm for the rest of the 49 states and …okay… I will calm myself. Number #4) was Chicago, #3) Pittsburgh, #2) L.A., and the all-time worst-dressed city, drum roll please, #1) Boston. Boston is like America’s Bad-Taste Storm Sewer: all the worst fashion ideas from across the country flow there, stagnate, and putrefy.
What?

Okay, I admit the Republic of Boulder should own its worst-dressed ranking. For years we have been known for our tie-dyed hippies who have recently traded in their Birkenstocks for Keens. Some Boulderites spend a lot of money to look like they just got done hiking a fourteener.  When I first moved out here from Wisconsin almost 25 years ago, (no city was picked from this state –surprised?), I included a dress code on my party invitations since many guests would show up in the same jeans and t-shirt they had picked up dog poo in earlier in the day. During the weekday, I was shocked to see women running around in workout clothes. Back in Madison we changed into nice outfits after working out. Yes, people from Wisconsin work out too. Slowly I got used to this Western casual dress code and now I can be found in a tennis skirt after a match while picking out a cantaloupe at Whole Foods or in yoga pants after working out while running errands on Pearl Street. My theory is that “Casual Friday” was so popular it spread throughout the week and then across the country like wildfire.

I will acknowledge some of Boulder’s fashion short-comings, but must defend some of the statements made in this article written by Nurit Zunger. “Strolling through this charming university town, you are most likely to find three major categories of clothing: 1) anything made by North Face 2) anything made by Patagonia 3) fanny packs.”

Seriously, fanny packs? They went out of style when all the elderly started wearing them to fast-walk unencumbered around the mall.

The next statement is just ridiculous. The observant eye will also spot unmistakable seasonal trends, such as Adidas for Fall, Crocs for Spring, and Uggs for Summer (we have no explanation for this).

Well that’s because it is also a falsehood. Adidas are worn year round. Crocs are not a trend around here unless you are under the age of 10. Even though adult Boulderites own at least one pair of Crocs since they are headquartered here and they practically give them away at warehouse sales, they would never be caught outside their yard wearing them since they are so 5 years ago. Uggs worn in summer, are you kidding me? First of all I thought this was a men’s fashion magazine. Women do not wear them on the summer sandy beaches like the Australian company intended, but in the winter snow. Did Nurit actually come to Boulder to observe us before writing this article?

He continues: These are often accompanied by Boulder’s year-round go-to accessory, the wheatgrass shot (sometimes paired with an unidentifiable vegan “cookie”). Yet of Boulder’s 100,000 people, about 30,000 are students, some 99.9% are blonde, and all of them in better shape than you.

I will agree that we eat well, but I would say the bike helmet is a more common accessory. 99.9% blonde? I think the number must be down in the 80thpercentile somewhere.

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He concludes with: This town is always obnoxiously flaunting its “fittest-place-in-the-country” awards, and you will be hard-pressed to find one person here, including your 85-year-old grandmother, without a six-pack. It is, in fact, a worst-dressed city that looks best naked. So Boulderites, do your fellow citizens a favor: next time you reach for the biking-shorts-and-sneakers as eveningwear combo, just take it all off.

We are too busy working out to flaunt our “fittest” ranking, but I agree with the second statement and have been obliterated by some of those 85-year-old grandmothers in tennis. It is amazing how they can move on the court. One of them flashed her stomach at me when she overheated, but I wish six-pack abs had graced my view. You won’t catch me taking it all off, but Nurit, please feel welcome to come to Boulder for its Naked Pumpkin Run in October!

 Should your city be on the list? 

 Only in Boulder! 
 First photo and video by S. Lindau

Second, from  http://www.keepboulderweird.org/

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August 2, 2011 · 8:02 pm

Just Put Your Lips Together and Blow! Please…

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Red Skelton and fellow whistlers 

There is a memory that resonates from my childhood. It is a sound so delightful in its simplicity and one that I personally strived for hours to produce. It is a magical sound that could turn heads with its type of call. This sound could trigger a reaction instantaneously. It is precariously on the edge of extinction and yet no one seems to notice or care. Please! I beg you to do something about the fate of the whistle before it’s forever silenced.

Oh sure you can still hear it at sporting events, concerts, and an occasional graduation; meaning – “Thank the Lord! Whew, that was close!”

We used to rely on the whistle’s intonations for communication long before the invention of the cell phone or telephone for that matter. It could mean, “Hey! I’m over here!” or “Honey, you are one hot smokin’ babe!” or “EVERYBODY, SHUT UP!”

Its imminent demise is obvious when looking up the “meaning of whistleblowing.” The Free Dictionary states, and I quote: Whistleblower n. One who reveals wrongdoing within an organization to the public or to those in positions of authority.

What? I was looking up the nuances in whistles. Soon no one will know the difference between a “Hey! How are yah!” and a “cat call.”

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A tutorial, although the guy on the right may be snorting

Long before the I-pod, whistling was the fastest way to reproduce the latest hit tune. I noticed the first signs of discontent when my children were living at home. I would happily whistle in my kitchen and could feel their glaring eyes since the shrill sound interfered with the tonal quality of their headsets. They would storm off to their rooms to switch out their earbuds for noise cancelling headphones.

I grew up in simpler times, when the only television programs worth watching started at 7:00 in the evening.  When we were bored during a long hot summer afternoon, my friends and I would whistle to call to a confused bird who hoped for a mid-day quickie. This nasty trick worked best on cardinals. They seemed to fall prey to our adolescent hijinks more often than the other birds. I often wondered if they just didn’t hear as well or if they were the horniest species around. They would call back in response flying closer and closer, only to realize it was a stupid human producing the intoxicating siren call and not a voluptuous feathered friend.

There are many ways to produce the sound. The most common way to whistle is to purse your lips making a little “o”, suck in your cheeks, and blow. Pressing your thumb and forefinger together and putting them in your mouth has been known to produce a piercing whistle that could leave an unsuspecting listener with hearing damage. See warnings below. There is also the two fisted approach where the whistler takes their index fingers and hooks them into the corners of their mouth creating a wind tunnel effect, but operator misuse has also been known to misfire a saliva ball.

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Years ago, my friend Lori taught me a new technique

I found these warnings in Wikipedia:

If you find you can whistle really loud, refrain from doing so in someone’s ear. It generally is not appreciated, because it tends to hurt.

Sometimes you may find yourself short of breath after whistling loudly or for a long time.

You may feel wheezy after whistling/practicing for too long. 

When your lips are chapped/dry, whistling might cause them to split further. That hurts like a… witch, so you’re advised to not try it when this is the case (chapstick will help). 

Learning to whistle when I was growing up was a rite of passage along with tying my shoes and riding a bike. Now it has been replaced by learning to text and tweet on a multicolored and sometimes bedazzled cell phone. When children are trying to get each other’s attention, now all they have to do is dig their cell phone out from under the juice box in their Harry Potter backpack and text the kid in front of them, “Dude, slow down! : P”

When trying to get a teenager to come out of their slovenly bedroom for dinner the whistle has been replaced by a text from mom or dad.

The family dog may be the only stronghold to the whistle’s complete demise. Only they seem unphased by recent technological advancements. By using any of the above techniques, not only will one find the results quite favorable, but you may also obtain a positive response from the neighbor’s dog.

Soon no one will remember what a whistle was used for. It will become an ancient artifact along with the VCR, cassette tapes, and the rotary telephone.

I beg of you please consider this request. Set your phone down, put your lips together, and blow!

Do you still whistle?

The most famous whistle  - a must see!
3rd photo by S. Lindau the rest by Google 

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July 28, 2011 · 3:01 pm

Aruba, Natalee Holloway, Bad Hair, and Photos

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After landing in Aruba, we were engulfed by humidity, but cooled by a steady breeze from the prevailing trade winds. Most people would recoil to the sultry heat, but I welcomed the rich moisture which vaporizes on our skin back in Colorado. After arriving at our hotel, I sauntered through the open-air lobby to check out the grounds and was struck by the intensity of vibrant color from the coconut palms, flowering bushes, and azure blue ocean water. It was set off by the bleached white coral sandy beach. And yes the pool had a swim up bar. I knew it would be a great vacation.

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Since our room had not been cleaned, the hotel offered a complimentary lunch on their lush outdoor patio. My family and I sat down and noticed we were not alone. Several iguanas sunned themselves on the tiled floor. One large one captured our attention with its prehistoric scales, talons and spikey doo. He wasn’t the only one in the room with an interesting headdress. My husband said he watched my hair grow by the minute as I sipped my Balashi beer. He used his hands and said, “It has gotten bigger and bigger and bigger!” It had been relatively flat when I last checked back in Boulder. Now every hair seemed to dance. Each fine strand found a new way to curl, not in a movie star wavy way, but in a frizzy, “for God’s sakes put a hat on” way.

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As my hair grew larger, my lines on my face grew smaller. Always a trade-off. “If only I could encapsulate the island air to refresh my skin later,” I sighed.

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The colors of the island hit me like a blind person seeing for the first time. Our first sunset was Maxfield Parrish-esque. I snapped away, desperate to capture the contrast. I gasped when I saw the time was only 7:10! Back in Boulder, the sun sets at 8:30 this time of year. Bummer! We went to dinner after dark every night.

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We quickly learned that the people who were native to the island, as well as the Dutch that govern it, are some of the friendliest I have ever met. A pretty blonde waitress from Holland cleared up a mystery for me. Dutch, Holland, and the Netherlands are all in the same. Duh! I must have been sick that day. With a lilting voice and a smile on her face she asked, “Is this your first trip to Aruba?” She pulled out a map and circled all the points of interest. The island is only 10 miles long, but we rented a car to go out and explore.

 I am not sure where the people were from that always got on the elevator without making eye contact, but when they exited said, “Goodbye!” It never ceased to bring a smile to our faces.

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As we drove the winding roads out to the east side of the island, we noticed the saguaro cactus thriving in big forests. They have a Haystack Mountain like we do in Boulder, but theirs is all covered with enormous cacti giving it a thorny appearance.

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The entrance into the National Park with warning 

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Sorry Kelly! 

Once we reached the eastern coast, it became obvious why we had been told, “Surfing here is suicidal!” The island is surrounded by rock and coral reefs. The leeward side is too calm and the windy side had tremendous waves, but tremendous rocks as well. I could see my son gaze longingly at the enormous swells, but we only found a few reckless boogey boarders.

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Mystery castle 

An ancient looking castle ruin looked out over the eastern sea. When we asked about its history, no one knew anything about it. “Seriously?” This cracked us up since it was one of the most extraordinary landmarks in Aruba. We found out later when the Spanish discovered it, they felt it was the most worthless island in the area, so none of its history was preserved. They actually named it, “Useless Island.” Now Aruba is touted as having the highest occupancy rate in the Caribbean. It has one of the most advanced desalination plants, an oil refinery, its own brewery, (Balashi Beer), and a pretty substantial aloe export business. The population of the island has grown because of the constant increase in job opportunities. It is home to 80 different nationalities and four languages. Lucky for us everyone spoke English. After arriving home, my research found that historians speculate the ruins are from a pirate castle. How cool is that!

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Wishing rocks 

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A natural bridge 

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The dog cemetary 

We did not see one homeless or begging person during our stay. Security patrolled constantly and we pondered if it was a result of the Natalee Holloway case or if they had always been vigilant. Either way, we felt extremely safe the entire visit.

We did ask a waiter native to the country what it was like when Natalee went missing in 2005.  He said, “It was crazy here!” He told us a conspiracy theory we had never heard before. He believed her mother, Beth, arrived on the island too quickly and must have known something beforehand. The prime minister gave everyone three days off with pay to search for Natalee. They found evidence, but it disappeared when the FBI arrived and took over the case. The bar where she partied was across the harbor from our hotel and one half block from Parliament. Beth went to the spa several times after she arrived and the islanders were appalled at her laissez-faire attitude for someone whose daughter was missing. He believed Beth committed insurance fraud and helped Natalee cover up an incestuous pregnancy. “What?” He felt her body would have washed up on shore on the leeward side or nearby Venezuela on the windy side. He is convinced that she will be found alive someday. I didn’t want to argue, but that really didn’t add up in the light of Joran van der Sloot’s recent confession to another murder and imprisonment. It was an entertaining story and it was probably not the only theory on the island.

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The last couple days we spent snorkeling. We went on a catamaran where the bar opened at 9:00 AM and they served sandwiches as we pulled away from shore! To think that I worried as a child about the 30 minute rule. We started with a dive to see a German ship wreck from WWII. While protecting their island, the Dutch threatened to blow up the ship. Fearful that the Dutch would learn of their weaponry and latest surveillance techniques, the Germans sunk their own ship and came to shore without injury. The body of it was rusted and had made a home for barnacles and other living creatures. Its mast was still intact and poked upwards towards the surface. From there we sailed to two other locations along the shore line where multitudes of colorful fish swam without any fear of us. They served a gourmet lunch that makes my mouth water as I think about it again.

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The emcee liked our family and asked Danny to help take down the main sail and Courtney to take down the jib. I took note of his shaved head and wondered if he once had hair like mine. He made us special drinks afterward. Mine was so full of alcohol I took a few sips before “accidentally” tossing it overboard.

“Will you be coming back next year?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I lied knowing we always go someplace new.

“Make sure you bring your daughter with you again. She’s beautiful.”

That kind of freaked me out since he looked like he was at least thirty-years-old!

I caught a glimpse of my hair in the mirror as we left. It found a new way to stand on end with all the evaporated salt that left it sticky and straw-like. I had transformed into Pippy Longstocking without the braids. I spent $130 on it before I left. What a waste!

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We really enjoyed the trip and now that I am home, I put away the magnifying mirror. I don’t think I can manage the shock of seeing my wrinkles re-appear. I am happy to say although I am no longer relaxed, my hair is. It is always a trade-off…

Leepin Lizard! With a little help from his friend…
6th photo by K. Lindau, the rest by S. Lindau

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July 13, 2011 · 8:10 pm

Mirrored Vengeance

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“Be careful of the woodwork!” Kathryn directed the moving men who lugged the heavily carved dresser up the stairs of her honeymooning daughter Allison and son-in-law Derrick’s house in San Francisco.  Once in place, across from the entry of the newlywed’s bedroom, they fastened the ornate mirror to the top of the dresser. Kathryn looked at her reflection in the diamond dust and brought her hand up to her mouth. “I wonder who sent this. What an usual wedding gift.” She looked at the stains on either side of the top drawer and made a mental note to try to have it repaired. She reached down to graze a manicured finger over the teeth of one of the carved heads which flanked the drawer and yelled, “Ouch! Why, I think it bit me!” Kathryn looked back at the mirrored dresser with a shiver.

The moving men laughed. “Yah, right!”

Two weeks later, Allison and Derrick arrived home in San Francisco. “I am going to check around the house and make sure everything is okay. Why don’t you lie down and I will order Chinese.” The three week honeymoon cruise left Allison empty inside.  What had she done? She wished she could wake up from this nightmare. She kept going over it in her head and felt too terrified to share the memory with anyone.

Her engagement to Derrick had been logical. He was handsome in a very Nordic way and a successful lawyer. He fit all the criteria she had made for the perfect mate except for one thing. He had hardly touched her. Allison thought of his old-fashioned sensibilities as cute, but as time went on, it had become frustrating.

A month before the wedding, Allison’s girlfriends called wanting her to get together with them to catch up. What started out as a simple girl’s night out soon escalated in a full out binge. After several rounds of cosmopolitans, she began to dance. She caught the eye of a dark dangerous looking man. She boldly grabbed him by the hand and the two of them danced. She had never felt this deep sexual attraction before and the dancing soon spiraled into an erotic grind and she could hardly control herself.

It was as if a different person emerged that night and took hold of Allison’s body. At that moment, she wanted and needed him more than anyone and the alcohol removed all inhibitions. Derrick was lost in the dark shadows of her mind, as she ditched her girlfriends and pulled him out of the bar. They barely made it into her nearby apartment before they stripped off their clothes, never making it to the bed.

She awoke on the floor, squinting against the blaring sun that streaked across her clothes scattered about the room. “What did I do?” The impact of regret hit her at the same time as the pounding headache that threatened to split her head in two. She reached over to her blouse and slipped it back on.

“Here. Drink this lovely lady.”

She gasped as she looked at the bare feet of the gorgeous man she had met last night working her way up slowly. In this light he looked older.

“Oh my God! What did I do?”

Tony reached out to help her off the floor and on to the couch.

The horror of what she had done slowly made its way to the cognitive part of her banging head and she began to shake.

He set down the coffee cup and began stoking her hair. “We had a great time. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I am engaged to be married next month!”

“What?”

“Last night was a mistake. You need to go. Now!” She stormed over to the door.

“Hey! You couldn’t keep your hands off me,” Tony said knitting his brow and stepped towards her.

Allison stepped back not sure of what to do if he got violent. Her cell phone was in her purse across the room.

Then his eyes softened and he tried to embrace her.

She pushed him away. “Just go. Please.”

“You’ll change your mind.”

Tony reached over to kiss her and she turned her head. “I’ll call you.” He walked out the door and she locked it behind him.

Allison fell on the couch and sobbed until her girlfriends began calling wanting all the details about the night. She told them she got sick and Tony had walked her home.

This began a nightmare that went on until the wedding. Tony called her non-stop. She felt stalked, but because of the infidelity, she couldn’t tell a soul. She began staying at Derrick’s house in his spare bedroom. She would be moving in with him after the wedding anyway.

Finally, they were married and Allison took the first deep breath in weeks.

It was the first night on the cruise and Allison and Derrick had just finished their lobster dinner in the main dining room. Derrick didn’t feel well so they walked up to the ship’s deck.

“I think I’ll go back to the room. Do you mind?” Derrick asked. They had planned to go dancing afterward.

“No. Go right ahead. I think I might stay out here and enjoy the fresh air.”

As she stared at the moon’s reflection on the water, she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Did you miss me?”

Allison gasped and whipped her head around and saw Tony dressed in a black tuxedo. “What are you doing here?”

 “You don’t love him. You love me.” Tony pulled her close and she could smell alcohol on his breath.

“You’re hurting me!” Allison tried to rush past him but he staggered towards her and grabbed her arm.

“Stop!” They struggled and Allison used her leg for leverage. With all her strength she pushed him away. He tripped over her, wheeling around just as the ship hit a swell, lost his balance, and fell over the railing into the black ocean below.

She saw his head bob twice and then disappear with a rolling wave.

“Help! Help me!” Allison screamed, but no one responded. She seemed to turn to stone as she stared out into the ocean. It seemed like hours before Allison staggered back to the room.

For the rest of the honeymoon, Allison’s secrets weighed her down as if Tony still held her tightly in his grip.

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After a quiet trip back to San Francisco, Allison felt relieved to be home.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she was struck by her own reflection in the mirrored dresser. Her mother had told her of its mysterious arrival. Unblinking, it drew her into the room. Something about it attracted and repelled her. She stepped into the bedroom and the diamond dust luster began to glow from an unknown source. A cold sweat broke out all over her body and she shuddered with dread.

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Allison stared into the mirror and it began replaying the events of the last month in its refection. As the images progressed, they became projected in front of her. She stepped back appalled at what she saw. She gazed at the image of Tony and her dancing at the bar and later having sex at the apartment. “No!” she murmured, shaking her head. Then she saw herself struggle with him, sending him over the edge into the sea. She did nothing to save him. Allison screamed, “No! No! No!” She continued backing up towards the stairway and her heel caught the top step. She tumbled down, breaking her neck in the fall.

“That should do it!”

The moving men tied off the last rope in the van and slammed the door. Under the packing blankets the mirror began to glow. It sifted through all the reflections it had collected over the last 150 years held within the diamonds. The carvings began to writhe. Blood trickled down the front of the bureau out of the mouths of the carved gargoyles.

 All photos by S. Lindau

The photo of the reflection is in an original diamond dust mirror!

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July 8, 2011 · 3:50 pm

In Case You Missed It! Photo and Video Essay

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I remember piling into the family car and driving to the Henry Vilas Zoo to watch the fireworks. People from all over Madison would search the park grounds for a patch of grass with an unobstructed view free of tree branches. As it became dark, we would anticipate the boom of a blank which would be fired off to silence the crowd and start the display. Finally one would soar overhead and explode into a myriad of blazing color. “Ooh. Ah!” the crowd would exclaim.

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The echoing of blasts from pyrotechnics were not the only sounds heard. Howler monkeys would chime in with their cries.  Camels, bison, and emus would join in the choir of discontented howls. Winky the elephant would trumpet out his confusion. Disgruntled peacock’s hoots would pierce the night. Then the lions would begin to roar and join in the choir of restless and distressed animals.

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The finale would come when several rockets were lit by hand and sent up all at once. The crowd would cheer in amazement. Tired, but happy, we would stumble back to the car and drive home. The zoo animals would quiet down, relieved the deafening sounds had ceased

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Years later, the zookeepers spoke out about the displays and how it stressed out the caged animals. Eventually, the fireworks were moved to the neighborhood parks located throughout Madison.

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This year we drove down to Folsom Field on CU’s campus for the fireworks display. They are now computerized and timed to music. Crowds soon filled the stadium. There would be no obstructed views in here. After a wonderful and heartfelt sing-a-long including “This Land is Your Land,” and concluding with, “The Star Spangled Banner,” the show was ready to begin. My family and I speculated on where they were going to be shot from. I was amazed to see they all were blasted from small boxes set on the north end zone bleachers.

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What a fantastic display! I wanted to share my photos and video of the finale. No animals were stressed out in this presentation. Well, maybe a few neighborhood dogs and cats.

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I love the special effects feature of my camera.

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 It was fun to play with color that seemed to be drawn on the sky. I will have to wait until next year to experiment again!

Watch the finale!

All photos and video by S. Lindau 

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