Number 5 | Day 8 of 365 days of stories

September 19, 2010

Cats of Bobobli, No. 5
Cats of Boboli, No. 5

Cat Number 5, as I lovingly refer to him, is one of my favorite cats from Boboli Garden. Some might ask why, since he’s only showing me his behind, but it’s more about the feeling of the photograph than the actual subject (sorry Number 5).

This photo reminds me very much of Dutch paintings in the 1600s. Partly it’s Number 5’s position. He looks as if he has cornered something, and it brings to mind the metaphors of the paintings. The lighting also is a bit reminiscent of the Dutch paintings. While we don’t get into the full-blown black of the Dutch pieces, there’s definitely shadow and light playing together in the image, with the warm overtones from the fading sunshine and the dark wood.

So, of all the cats in the Cats of Boboli series, that’s why Number 5 is my favorite. Behind and all!

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It all turns to dust | Day 7 of 365 days of stories

September 15, 2010

Desert Dunes, Dubai

I stare at this ceaseless, rushing crowd and imagine a time a hundred years from now. In a hundred years everybody here—me included—will have disappeared from the face of the earth and turned into ashes or dust. A weird thought, but everything in front of me starts to seem unreal, like a gust of wind could blow it all away.

– Kafka Tamura, Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami

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House Number 1548 | Day 6 of 365 days of stories

August 31, 2010

1548, Venice
1548, Venice

“I’ve found the perfect place,” he said under his breath, as he sipped his coffee and pretended read the newspaper.

“Oh?” She tucked her foot back, stretching, to tap his sole. It was a slight movement, no real physical contact, but it meant the world to her.

“In the courtyard, near the osteria where we first met. Number 1548.”

By all accounts, the place looked nondescript. There was tape holding the buzzer in place, and a grocery mailer stuck in the scroll work. But, ohh, the scroll work! Somehow, it all seemed so special, so full of meaning – the hearts in the scroll work, the location, the house number alluding to the day they met. Seemingly commonplace to most, but heaven to her.

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Oh! Marie Laveau | Day 5 of 365 days of stories

August 26, 2010

Marie Laveau's Final Resting Place, New Orleans
Marie Laveau’s Final Resting Place, New Orleans

MARIE LAVEAU
As sung by Papa Celestin

There lived a conjure lady not long ago
In New Orleans Lou’siana named Marie Laveau.
Believe it or not, strange as it seems,
She made a fortune sellin’ voodoo and interpretin’ dreams.
She was known throughout the nation as the voodoo queen.
Folks come to her from miles and miles around.
She’d show them how to put that voodoo down.
To the voodoo lady they all would go,
Rich, educated, ign’ant, and po’.
She’d snap her fingers and shake her head.
Then tell ’em ’bout they lovers livin’ or dead.
An old, old lady named Widow Brown
She asked why her lover stopped comin’ around.
The voodoo gazed at her and squawk:
“I seen him kissin’ a young girl way up in Shakespeare’s Park
Hangin’ round an oak tree in the dark.” (more…)

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from the Ponte Vecchio | Day 4 of 365 days of stories

August 26, 2010

from the Ponte Vecchio
from the Ponte Vecchio, Florence

It had been a jam-packed day in Florence. We had walked the city, been to the Museo Galileo, stood by the River Arno watching the rain fall, debating on whether or not to continue on. The clouds parted, and we started across the Ponte Vecchio, over to Boboli Gardens, where I was enchanted by cats, enamored with landscapes, and in love with every last architectural detail I could find there. We had arrived a little out of sorts, due to the rain, but left happy, smily, go lucky.

We ducked into a small courtyard, and had a bite to eat, and more than a sip to drink. It started to sprinkle, but our bellies were full, so we walked arm in arm back toward the hotel. As we neared the center of the Ponte Vecchio, we stopped, breathtaken by the lights shimmering on the river and the wet night. That’s when I knew I had to get this picture.

No tripod in hand (but really, when do I ever have one of those around), I sat my camera down on the edge of the bridge, straps wrapped tightly around my wrist, for fear of knocking it over the side. Snap once. Snap twice. Third time’s a charm!

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