28 Moons: Blog https://www.28moons.com/blog en-us Renee Ing Akana (28 Moons) Sat, 20 Aug 2022 16:13:00 GMT Sat, 20 Aug 2022 16:13:00 GMT https://www.28moons.com/img/s/v-12/u53372021-o621831227-50.jpg 28 Moons: Blog https://www.28moons.com/blog 80 120 Filling The Hole https://www.28moons.com/blog/2022/8/filling-the-hole-in-my-heart

 

Tiggy had a voice that played like a piccolo, the spots of a leopard and every agility that any young cat would possess. When she sprang up from the grass with a dragon fly in her mouth, Angie flew through the meadow  to save the critter. Tiggy dropped the injured insect in front of her. The bug was moving its legs, trying to right itself.

 

The stress was tightening the back of Angie's throat and she wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. She was speechless, unable to yell out. The dragon fly was struggling.  It’s wing was gone. She had no idea what Tiggy did with it or how she could repair it. She ran back to the house, holding the dragon fly by the tail. She placed it in her peachy cereal bowl which  she snatched from the kitchen. Nobody was around. Nobody was looking when she took it. Mother would fuss about that.

 

Angie pulled her bangs out of her eyes and gave Tiggy a stink eye and promised to put Tiggy in the pound to punish her. There was a sudden message at the back of her skull  which told her that Tiggy was doing cat things – that it was her job , so get over it here and now, Seniorita.

 

Angie woke up  this very day with a scratchy throat and an awful headache . Perhaps she was coming down with something and now she was hearing voices. Voices?

 

“Who said that? How come you spoke with an accent in the back of my brain?  It’s MY head. My heart is hurting and my mind is scrambled.  Everything happened so fast,” she complained

 

Locking hypnotically into the dragon fly’s dark eyes, she promised that she would do what she could for it, but there was no way she could fix the wing. She wouldn’t let it suffer.

 

Angie opened Father’s liquor cabinet. Clutching a bottle of sherry, she filled the cereal bowl, hoping to euthanize the dragon fly out of its misery.

 

Nobody could  feel her angst. It was a situation she couldn’t turn around, you know, like Ronnie

 

“It’s not like Ronnie,” she blurted out, " This is a thousand times worse than Ronnie."  There aren’t enough stars in the sky to count the tears Angie could cry, but not on this day would they be for Ronnie.

 

Ronnie was five years old when he passed out of this life last year. His surgery was not a success. He had a hole in his heart. That’s how her parents described it when they brought Tiggy home to fill the hole in Angie’s heart. All of their attention went to Angie, overly so. They took her and Tiggy everywhere with them, except the last time they saw Ronnie.

 

She complained out loud, “People just don’t know how to mourn any more. I am going to cry forever for Mister Dragon.  My brother died in the hospital with nobody but a bunch of masked strangers  in a sterile room. Zip him up, ship him out. I never saw Ronnie again.”

 

She missed her opportunity to send him off.  She wondered who was there to pass the time with him as he crossed over. Who would shut the curtains, stop the clock and do all of the stuff she saw in the movies.

 

“Damn darn it all,” she said, hoping her mother didn’t hear her curse. 

 

Angie couldn’t bear to watch the critter pass, She was so confused and distraught  that she left for less than a half hour. She realized that it was her duty to be there when this little soul crossed over. Tiggy had to be there, too.  She would want the critter to be there if  she croaked. It was something she felt strongly. She made sure that she stayed by its side. Nobody knows how to mourn any more so she would do the right thing..

 

Much to her surprise, the insect woke up. He had new wings.

 

"Are you 'woke'?"

"Soy yo!" 

 

He was speaking with that accent. Angie could understand some of what he said, but his volume increased and his language became crystal clear even though his mouth wasn’t moving.  Dragon flies have eternal smiles on their faces. It’s a silly look, she thought.

 

"Entiendes Seniorita? Do you understand? Get this straight cutie:  I smile because the world is crying so smile because they think you’re dying, smile and the world smiles along with you.

Part your lips cupcake and let me see your cavities."

 

"That's nasty!  Who are you??  I have a scratchy throat today and I don’t feel like joking around. What happened to you? Where did you get those wings?”

 

“I had an extra pair, so I went to fetch them,” he said. "Thanks for helping me out little girl, but do you think that the next time you buy me a drink, you can ask the bartender for a shot of tequila, slice of lime and salt? I’m really particular about that. Presentation counts towards an a-plus on your delinquent report card.”

 

WHO are you? “

 

“I am Enrique Domingo Florez, dragon fly temporarily out of service, but ready to rock and roll. ”

 

As soon as he said all of that, his smile lit up like magic and the dragon fly turned into a  praying mantis, just like that. 

 

“Where’s Mister Florez? What happened just like that?”

 

Don't freak. Don't call the Pope. You asked me  who I was and I awoke. I get to be what I want you to see and my wings the things your cat broke, stupid folk!  Don't be scared. Don't try to scream. Oh, I forgot, you can't.”

 

That was way over Angie’s head, but she’d learn about it later because later is always full of surprises.

 

“OK, tit for tax Mr. Lopez. How come you’re brown?”

 

“Brown, like poo poo brown? I’m not brown. I favor neutrals with an earth tone palette, and with just a hint of sage. Oh, that’s if I am wearing cologne, but I never do when I’m alone. Do you see my green accessories? Look closely. I would never be caught in monochrome, not even when I’m alone

 

"Little girl, could you order me up another Patron?   Here's to that stink in your eye. I'm feeling like a social butterfly."

 

“ Don't change on me again. I'm not up for that. I saved you once, that’s all. I expect that Tiggy will behave the next time.”

 

“Not so fast little one. You bought me a drink and if you get me another, I’ll go home with you every night, tonight and forever. We will have fun , but if I vanish for a bit, you'll curse me out, call me a twit.  We'll date for a while. That would make me smile. We will be a thing. Doesn't that have a nice ring?  It will be the three of us - you, me and Tiggy.  Head on over to the karioke bar and let me hear you sing your praises of Enrique Domingo Florez, the master crafter of all. Oh, I forgot, you have a sore throat.”

 

“What are you talking about? Are you a drunken bug?”

 

“ Never try to change a man, especially one who likes good tequila.”

 

I don’t drink! I need to know where my mother is. I am looking back at the house and I don’t see the car there. I don’t see my father, either. How did we get here? Where are we?

 

“You don’t recall, “ Enrique Domingo Florez asked, “ Do you remember when you tore your poodle shirt and that little drama with the fugsicle stick?”

 

My shirt isn’t ripped, Angie said as she looked over her sleeveless white shirt with the poodle printed on her left shoulder. Oh the fugsicle stick. She remembered swallowing it with chocolate all down the front of her. When was that?  What happened?

 

”Do you remember when the car flipped?”

 

“NO.  Are you telling me something?”

 

“Angie?”

 

Angie was confused.

 

“ Angie? That’s not my name. Why are you calling me ANGIE?”

 

“It suits you little girl.  Angelica. , Angel. You’re looking more and more like an angel.”

 

Angie could feel herself lose about 40 pounds and she weighed less than 85. The poodle on her shirt was starting to bleach out. As Angie clutched Tiggy tightly, she could feel Tiggy melt into her heart, right into that big hole she was told that she had.

 

“STOP THIS GAME.  I want to go home right here, right now. I want to see my parents.”

 

“You can’t go home to your parents. They didn’t survive.  We have to go now. Let’s go see Ronnie.”

 

# dragon fly

All rights reserved. Copyrighted material: Renee Ing Akana, Pinkie Ing. No part of this page, either word or image, may be copied, downloaded, re-imaged or used in any way without the express written permission of the author and artist. 

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(28 Moons) cat death fantasy fast fiction fiction insect macro transformation https://www.28moons.com/blog/2022/8/filling-the-hole-in-my-heart Thu, 18 Aug 2022 19:47:35 GMT
Old Friends https://www.28moons.com/blog/2021/2/old-friends

Remembering Robert G Crum

Fillmore, California

 

My dear friend passed away on January 14, 2021. I was 3,000 miles away from paying my respects in person.  When you get old like us, time takes us sooner than we'd like. I last texted him on the 12th and he had texted me a few days earlier. He loved photography. He wrote about it in his column for the newspaper.

 

It was in the year  2009 when Roger, Carole and I packed into my car and drove to Ojai.  Roger and I had to do an assignment for a photography class at Santa Monica College. The course required that we submit a selfie with each shoot.

 

At the end of the day, things were peaceful on the lookout point. Carole relaxed in the back seat with her magazines, maybe waiting out the time to go home after a full day. Steve tagged along, drinking beers in his pickup truck.

 

Everyone stirred to life when Roger put on a long white night gown, an auburn wig and bright red wax lips.  Roger was crawling all over the look out point's placard in various poses.  Roger could have been, should have been, he is an art director.  One only needs to go out on any shoot with him when he insists that you put your gear to one side and stand here, there and everywhere.  Roger gets an idea ... no, rather a vision. It's always a major production.

 

A local reporter for the Fillmore Gazette saw the antics and pulled his truck in to observe the craziness.  That was Bob. This is the first photograph I took of Bob on that day.

 

Bob and I would do many photo adventures together. He was an outdoorsman and wanted to go everywhere by kayak, by car, by whatever means and always with his camera. In his later days, Bob was thinking about getting rid of the heavier camera gear and getting something lighter, but always thinking about his next shoot.

 

I had sort of put my camera off to one side. After years of taking photos, after hundreds of thousands of photos, I was a little frustrated that it seemed so difficult to conjure up business or to sell fine art prints.  Hell, it was hard to get a model other than myself, but Bob encouraged me to keep at it.  Perhaps we bickered about some things in photography. He liked to post process and I'd complain that he'd post process to a fault. He hated black and white and believed in color, overly saturated color.  If we bickered enough to squabble, we wouldn't speak to each other for maybe no more than a day and then we'd change the subject.  I have always been the negative one.  Bob was light, fresh, friendly and cheerful.  I must have made him crazy, but he "loved" me anyway and he was encouraged when I would momentarily let go of my resistance.

 

Good friends are hard to come by and good friends are hard to say goodbye to.  I printed out this picture, framed it and hung it in my kitchen.  I wish him a good day every morning and remember that it is time again to make more photography.  And, as I beat myself up about what sort of photography I should set out to do -- which is always that sticking point that makes one turn around and do something else instead, waiting for a form of inspiration or for the excuses to wear out --  I now realize that there's always time while we have it. Life doesn't give us time beyond the expiration date. You go when your ticket says it's boarding time.

Where ever you are Bobby, I know you're taking it all in. I will see you later.

Happy Trails.

 

 

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(28 Moons) https://www.28moons.com/blog/2021/2/old-friends Sun, 07 Feb 2021 20:19:51 GMT
It Tastes Like Flowers https://www.28moons.com/blog/2020/8/it-tastes-like-flowers

I need to write about this process which, in truth, is not finished.  I wanted to do some sort of collage to get back into the mindset of composite photography.  For a while, I was tuning out, figuring that everyone was doing it.  I was thinking about my favorite composite, the young hairless girl in the window in the rocks, thinking to myself that it's a tough act to follow. The girl in that photograph is actually a little girl in a swimming cap, but she looks bald, she looks lost and she was perfect for her photo.  She's a vintage photograph.  I LOVE to collect vintage photos.

 

How was I going to follow that act?  I think I've been avoiding it forever because making a series of it might be most difficult.  How many windows can I park on the rocks in Joshua Tree?  Then, I thought that perhaps the series could be more about vintage photographs, perhaps just vintage children.  I thought about that a while longer, like even longer.  I took myself on a tour of the LIbrary of Congress website to see what I could take for the taking with no copyright issues.

 

I found a black and white photograph of a little girl eating ice cream, 1906.  I took a fast youtube tutorial in colorizing -- I surely could get better at this.  I was a little bit in a hurry and I see where I'm going to improve on this photograph -- like painting in her hair.  I colorized her on a fast track, assuring myself that it was a first try and I'm in a hurry to see what I have.... I promised myself that I would get better at this.  The truth is, I do not consider this a finished product just yet.  Its always a process. If you are a photographer who in the beginning of your career over sharpened the hell out of everything, you know how important it is to go back to the original file and do it again when you have more experience.

 

Overall, I had mixed feelings about the entire picture.  I put it to facebook.  The response is very good,better than I imagined.  I think I will go with that. Usually, I'm so wrapped up in my own message that I failed to see what this message might send to other people.

 

Art can be narcissistic - we have our vision, our sight and our message. Remember, a message received is a stronger communication. Art is personal, but what might seem less personal to us might be something more impactful for the viewer and so as much as I might beat myself up on this piece, I am going to let it find its own path through me. I am an artist er oh I am a technician and a fascilitator.

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(28 Moons) antique colorized composite flower https://www.28moons.com/blog/2020/8/it-tastes-like-flowers Sat, 29 Aug 2020 19:43:01 GMT
SAFE PLACES https://www.28moons.com/blog/2020/1/safe-places  

There was no winter weather to deal with today. The temperature was nearly forty degrees above normal if normal would be in the teens. Someone on the television complained about global warming and climate change, but didn't explain how that actually comes about.

It was a cloudy day.

I looked out my window and wondered if I could get a good look at the sky from a higher vantage point. I finished my coffee and quickly packed up three black nylon bags -- two backpacks and a camera holster. As I rushed out the front door, a passing man -- a neighbor, I assume -- made the comment that he could take in more days like this. I agreed, but I knew it wouldn't last. We both agreed that harsher weather looked as though it was coming.

I was hurried.

My mission was to get to the top of a high hill in the country, one I frequently visit.

The trees in the distance were isolated, naked and grouped sparsely. The fields were golden with dead vegetation. Weather can change dramatically on this hill. Snow can blow so white that you can't see your way down with any confidence. It was something to be conscious of.

As I struggled to keep a filter holder on my camera lens, I entertained the thought of shooting from inside of the car, but there was an even better capture from behind. I needed to get out and walk around.  I tend to be overly cautious to be too far from the car, even if I can see it parked on the road.

As much as I love isolation and my independence, I remain aware of one shoot when someone drove by, but circled around in his truck.

"Are you all right?"

I immediately had a strange feeling. The longer he engaged with me, the stranger I felt. I found a way to end the conversation and started to walk back to my car, parked on the shoulder of the road too far away. He pulled his truck off of the road and followed me, driving on the shoulder  directly, behind me.

I can't tell you exactly what my next moves were because I was keenly aware, but I drew a blank about my alternatives.  I had no plan, no defense.  I stayed focused on getting back to my car.

I knew that his intention of intimidation was festering something ulterior. I wasn't imaging it. He was driving on the shoulder of the road at my back and one slip of his foot put me under his truck. I had to get inside the safety of my car and it was taking too long to get there. 

I felt that if I bolted, he would respond like a wild animal, racing after prey.

I later learned from a law enforcement officer that a woman's body had been found in an abandoned barn in that area and I was cautioned to be careful whenever I ventured out alone. At that time, I was photographing an abandoned barn. I wondered if that woman was in that barn. I joked, I told the officer that I believed that I met the killer. 

When I see stories on the television about bad things happening, I am convinced with conviction and without hesitation that things don't happen to me. I am nobody's victim. Just ask the skunk who comes into my yard at night that I chase off with a yardstick. I cannot be messed with.  

Who am I fooling?

My experience teaches a new mindset about preparation and caution, but it has a learning curve. We have to build these things into muscle memory.

I still rush out the door and I forget  to prepare myself with any foresight. When you stand on the edge of a horizon to grab your selfie or you think that the train bridge 400 feet above the falls is a great place to take your kid, think about how you plan those things.

I don't believe that danger is gender favored or lurking around every corner, but it can show up. We also can't live our lives sheltered, but it serves to remind any of us to have a plan. 

I mentioned that the weather could change in a heartbeat on top of the hill.  Did I bring any food and water with me?  Were there warm items of clothing packed in the car. Afterall, it is January in the Northeast.

I would have stayed longer on top of the hill today, but I packed one-half battery and I used it all up testing my new camera. I had also forgotten my cell phone. I was remiss in taking my own advice. Muscle memory begins with some sort of organization or drill every time we go out the door.  

 

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(28 Moons) awareness danger isolation preparedness safety https://www.28moons.com/blog/2020/1/safe-places Sun, 12 Jan 2020 17:48:18 GMT