To change to a more pleasant topic, here is an oil painting I painted recently and titled it "look at me, Mommy" . I hope you like it. It is not quite what I wanted to achieve [too 2 dimensional] but I will probably do more sketches, try again later. I have a two yr old grandson, [and several more grandchildren, sort of young still] but this pose of trying to get his mama's attention was one my real grandbaby did when he was about a yr old. Oh, the white streak is there as documentation that the phone I photgraphed this with was broken into by criminals. who put a black bar across the top to try to ruin the photo. I deleted the hateful black mark of the cybercriminals and it left a white blank streak. I suspect it was those who hate tiny humans who broke into it to ruin it. I tweeted about that to the FBI, also.
Also, here's a photo I hope you like, of an orchid in bloom. I photograph flowers every time I see them. I started photographing flowers to learn how to paint them. They are the hardest subject for me to paint, because they are so thin and delicate. Then, I learned I like photography a lot and continue to photograph. I have photographed probably ten thousand or more photos since about 2008; using an assortment of cameras I own including cell phone cameras also. . And have I put some some of them in Picasa albums I created long ago. Before I moved from Colorado in Oct 2009, I had uploaded 2 GB of photos to what was then mozy and all of them were stolen from me. But I have the originals backed up in about 3 places. I am the same white christian woman who owned the domain of gloriapoole.com, until my computer was broken into in yr 2011 by cyber-thugs and after someone tried to run over me with a vehicle.
I paint and I photograph and I blog and I write prose. I am adding in a prose I wrote on another place for you to read here:
This is what I wrote this morning, few minutes ago to mark the occasion of Memorial Day in the U S for the U S Military:
The Fighting Men
by Gloria Poole
The fighting men
who fought;
some died.
Others left body parts
on foreign soil.
With weapon in hand;
and courage in heart,
they face the enemy,
sometimes eye to eye;
sometimes not.
At times, a rustling noise,
or the whizzzzz of a grenade
flying through the air with pin pulled
are the first clues
of enemy approach.
They put their lives on the line.
At their duty stations,
they are sitting ducks.
and on their walkabout patrols.
The enemy watches too.
Watches for a lapse
in faithfulness, or
a split second in time
when the path is clear
to lob a grenade;
or put the X sight on the heart or head
of the watchman.
What does fear taste like?
A metallic dry mouth, so I am told.
What does fear smell like?
The smells of the battle:
of blood,smoke,fire,dirt,dust;
sometimes rain.
The fighting men;
who volunteer
for the life changing event
of U S Military,
are men.
Not wimps.
Not sissies.
Not cry babies.
Not mama's boys.
but men.
Men,
who know that somebody's life
might depend on them.
That maybe a whole lot of nobodys' lives
depend on them.
Men.
Men who learn
a super diligence
to watch every movement;
assess the land quickly,
with an eye for an escape,
and a back up plan,
if the first plan fails.
Men, who know they
must have backbones
like a steel beam.
Men who learn that when confronted
with enemy combatant, they must not blink.
They know they may have only one
chance to save their own lives.
Men, who know they cannot risk
the idle mind, or the wayward thoughts;
or the distractions of
sound making devices;
or chatter.
Men, who know that every day
could be their last on earth;
that their next breath
could produce blood;
that they could slip into eternity
via assassin's bullet.
The fighting men,
who with their lives
secure the freedoms;
and underwrite the cause
of the land of the free
and the home of the brave.
We, the people,
of the United States,
owe them a debt
that cannot be paid,
with mere money or perqs;
but requires the heart
of the nation,
covering them with prayer.
Making intercession to THE ALMIGHTY,
pleading for the innocent
before GOD,
the maker of all,
on bended knees.
The Memorial day
when wreaths are laid;
and speeches are given;
and fly-pasts occur;
to set aside a time
to remember, to thank,
to adulate;
the fighting men.
This is my tribute of praise
to the fighting men
around the world;
who daily recommit
to the nation;
to the First Amendment;
to civil liberties to live,
speak,protest;
that which is immoral;
and injustice.
I salute you,
fighting men of the U S A.
Gloria Poole; @ my apt in Missouri; 18-Feb-2013; 9:18 pm
