"Well, It Was Only A Matter Of Time..."

Her name is Layla...

Sometimes, I sit and sketch at the Mandeville Senior Center while my mother socializes. When I do, I usually sketch people that aren't very mobile. I don't always ask to sketch them, but I always show my subject matter what I'm done. If I ask, my models get squirrelly, as some folks tend to stand behind me and watch me draw. They don't mince words in their critiques.

I've gotten a reputation now, for better or worse.

"I keep asking you to draw me, but you don't!' What's the matter... not pretty enough for ya?"

And, "If I like it, can I keep it?"

"Yes ma'am!" If you're nice enough to let me sketch you, of course, I'll give it to you... I'm flattered!"

And, "How much would you charge me for a sketch?"

And then... "How come you're charging me for a sketch, you did her, for free!"

Well, you can use your imagination from here to conjecture what could and has transpired. Strangely enough, it is mostly the women who want a sketch of themselves. I try to imagine them a bit younger, if possible, when I draw them. I am actually behind on two "commissions." One of which is supposed to be sketched in paint.

The men could care less what you draw or say about them. They probably think I get what I deserve.

All of this, is kinda fun. It helps me understand my mom's condition, and it helps me keep up my "chops!"

But now, I've done it.

I do like animals and grew up inviting lots of stray dogs to live with the Bensen family, much to my father's disgust. I like watching nature programs. I often wonder if that dead raccoon, armadillo, or possum that I just passed over on the highway, had any real thoughts about their future and a possible career change. What did they have as their "Last Supper"? I've spent many a profitable and enjoyable night doing storyboards for clients like Fancy Feast, Cesar, Purina, PetSmart, etc.

I just don't wanna spend the rest of my artist life painting and drawing cute and fluffy, scruffy domestic animals, especially ones small enough to be beaten and bullied by the neighborhood cockroach.

I don't know why!

One friend of mine actually took their six pound canine thingamajig on a camping trip and was concerned about its welfare when she noticed an owl, at dusk, eyeing her little dust mop!

Anyway, this is my first puppy-pooch painting which was done in oils at about 9"x12." I did have fun pushing paint around to create the terrier's wiry fur, and I hope the little elderly woman who's actually paying me to paint 'da pup, likes my approach.

There's got to be some good reason to do this, besides the money... ha!

Copyright 2013/ Ben Bensen III

"It's That Time Of The Year To Wish Everyone A... Merry Halloween?"

And so this is Christmas, and what have you done?

It's coming so early, better get yourself some,

And so this is Christmas, we hope you have fun?

The shelves are all shiny, before Halloween's come!

We went to a Cracker Barrel on Saturday to enjoy the rain and share breakfast together without the hassle of the weekday early morning rush. As you enter the store, there are country music sounds complete with twangy gee-tars, whining women singing with accents and, worst yet, whiny men singing like they forgot to take the chaw out of their mouths before rolling the tape. A stunning, purple and gold display beams at you, swearing in this restaurant's allegiance to the local hero, the LSU football team... 

Geaux Tigers!

Off to the right of this football altar, is a Halloween display complete with country-cackling witches with "Minnie Pearl" price tags affixed to their black felt chapeaus and a host of nikki-knack and patti-wack ghouls, goblins and ghosts to frighten the life out of your wallet.

Not wanting you to move one step further to your left, without recognizing it, is a rather sedate display of table cloths, napkins and orange and brown crepe paper florals, chocked full of pumpkins, corny copias, and ceramic sugar and cream gobbler sets. Sitting high atop the display, not unlike "Wolverton Mountain," is the ubiquitous, and cute, Pilgrim dolls, which, holding hands, stare blankly across the general store and "bayou wheat fields" like a nouveaux, 3-D American Gothic.

But the best, sadly enough, was the shiny, tinsel laden display of Christmas. It was just kinda off to the back, lying in wait to pounce on the unsuspecting customers as they waited their turn for a table. At this point, it is a rather humble, insignificant display with a tree just glimmering with sparkly ornaments and stuff. A candy cane here, a silver bell there, and, I guess, a few sugar plums hiding in the mix, somewhere. 

You just know that it is only a matter of time before "Christmas" announces it complete arrival and usurps all the other displays including the, "Ode to LSU Football!"

And, it will happen long before Halloween comes!

Copyright2013/ Ben Bensen III

"United Airlines Collector Series/ Number Twelve... The "Swallow" C6 Mail Plane.

Wonder why it was labeled the Swallow!

Well, I don't have much information on Nixon Galloway's version of the Swallow, so I'll just type, verbatim, what was written about the plane from the card.

On April 26, 1926 the C.A.M. flight took place on a desolate northwest air mail route won the sole bidder,  a California air taxi and flying school operator, Walter T. Varney. From this austere beginning grew the major U.S. airlines of today with the Barney flight . In essence, being the origin of United Airlines.

The "Swallow Mailplane" was the first successful airplane that was a design advancement over the current crop of aircraft that were all patterned with the look of the World War One "Jenny" and the "Standard."

 It was powered by a Curtiss C-6 inline engine creating 160 horsepower and had a cruise speed of 118 mph with a flight endurance of five hours a full throttle. About 50 examples were produced with the  design was enhanced in 1926. The initial price was $3,500 reducing to $2,485 in late 1926.

Copyright 2013/ Ben Bensen III

"Just What Is It About Dogs?"

Pierre, the Magnificient is how he was named  before he conned us at the dog pound!

What is it about dogs? My cocker spaniel, which is basically bred to sniff out targets like birds, rabbits, squirrels and such, just does really aggravating things. His nose will be the death of him, either by Mother Nature or me!

I'm spraying to kill weeds and yeh, I know it is not good for the environment. All that has happened to me in the last year, has highly influenced my neglect, and now, I am paying for it. When I'm finished with the last of the herbicides, I'll employ a more green approach.

Anyway, Pierre, as wonderful a pup as he is, loves to run all around our five acres, chasing squirrels, rabbits, birds, toads, turtles, chameleons, bullfrogs and herons. There's a large white egret that circles the pond and squawks at him as he chases it until it is totally out of his sight. He loves to stick his nose in everything. Rabbit pellets are a delicacy to him. His hunting instinct, or should I spell it "InStink", demands that he hide his doggy aroma by rolling around in dead things... and sometimes, even dried animal poop.

This dawg's intense.

Four or five days ago, I checked up on my numerous bluebird houses, assuming wrongfully, that lovebird season was coming to a close. When I checked one house, I noticed three or four small bluebirds all snuggled together in a nest of pine needles. I figured it was only gonna be a few more days before they would fledge.

Anyway, this is a story about my goofy dog. So, yesterday I opened the birdhouse to check on the status of the fledglings, and they were gone. Only one pale blue egg was left, and before I could grab and discard it, the egg rolled out of the nest and fell to the ground, right in front of Pierre's nose.

This dog is never too far away from my feet.

It's only natural that a dog that prizes rabbit pellets as a healthy part of his daily requirement would love a rotten egg or two.

It all happened so fast that I never got to see much of the entree, but what was left was a shredded pale blue egg. Pierre, took one sniff and commenced to rolling his recently coiffed body all up in the smelly, rotten mess.

"PIERRE STOP!" I yelled. 

He looked up at me with this "please forgive me innocent doggy look", and as soon as I turned away to finish cleaning out the box, he decided symmetry was a good thing and rolled the other side of his face and ear into the now shredded mess.

He followed me around the property into a poison ivy patch that I found under some small saplings, and stuck his nose into the Round Up filled area.

"PIERRE, get out of here," I yelled in disgust. "Go away!"

You know, I'm convinced that dawgs understand English, but they only understand it, when it is to their advantage. Though it has never been substantiated by animal experts, in all of my years owning dogs, I have observed that the entire canine world, wild and domesticated, never do anything that isn't pleasurable!

Well, guess where he went off to upon my return to put away the herbicide!

You got it...

Copyright 2013/Ben Bensen III

Our Forty-Fifth High School Reunion...

Our high school shoulder/ chest patch...

Well, I don't know how many couples will attend tonight at the Green Acres Country Club in Metairie. We've lost quite a few alumni over the last five years or so, and our graduating class was pretty small. Regardless, Therese and I are gonna get a chance to get away from everything for a few hours and enjoy each other's company. Unlike a lot of married couples who graduated from different schools and go to reunions only to feel like a third wheel, Therese and I first met at our high school, Redemptorist H.S.

Redemptorist no longer exists as a school, but for many years, it was the only Catholic co-ed school in the state of Louisiana. All through our four years, we wore uniforms. The girls all wore dark blue skirts of, supposedly, the same length which was, supposedly, just above the knee. They wore white short sleeved blouses with the above triangular patch just below a breast pocket on the left side.

The guys all wore khaki pants, dress shoes, and a long sleeve khaki shirt with the blue patch on the left shoulder. As part of our uniform, the boys all had to have a black tie which was unusually and haphazardly tied and stuffed inside the shirt just above the third button. Here's a pic from my yearbook that best shows how we had to dress for "success."

We all had to wear these name tags just above the left pocket of the shirt. Many guys, and I assume, girls too, were glad when it got colder so we could hide all of this pseudo-military paraphernalia under our sweaters. I recall that you could be reprimanded or given Saturday school duty for non-compliance.

That never happened to me because I kind of liked the disciplined, military approach to school. I always came to school with a crease on my pants and shirt because I learned how to ironed my own clothes, and it made me feel good. As a kid, I was in a drill team that wore these kind of uniforms when we marched in the Mardi Gras parades during that two week period of "undisciplined partying!"

Of course, that was back then, during the Pleistocene period before "perma-press!"

Anyway, although my letter sweaters no longer fit and my football jacket is rather moth-eaten, I think I'll bring this little patch to the gathering and see how many people still have one hidden in the windmills of the mind!

I bid you adieu by writing our Senior class of 1968 battle cry which is an indication of how we all felt.

"Imma Ram, So What?" 

Copyright 2013/Ben Bensen III

"What's That Whine This Early In The Morning?"

Serenading Starbucks clients...

After running some early morning errands, I stopped at a local Starbucks that is situated in an open air shopping mall. I prefer this Starbucks because it isn't as crowded as most and there is no smoking anywhere inside or outside of the coffee shop. I 've met some pretty interesting people here. I always bring my sketchbook because you never know what interesting things will turn up to draw.

I find myself a shady spot to park and turn off the ignition, but I hear this slight whine coming from somewhere in the car. Thinking it wasn't the engine, I turned my ear to the radio and turn it up to hear the high pitched whine, but there was no whine to be heard on the sports talk radio show, so I turned the radio completely off and still heard that sound. I attempt to perform a "walk around" to see where the sound was emanating from and when I opened the door, I see this man standing on the lawn, directly in front of me, with his cup of coffee placed neatly at his feet, playing a bagpipe.

Now, I'm not a big proponent of the windy Celtic instrument, but I have to admit that it was really cool to have someone serenade so early in the morning. I waved my cellphone at him indicating that I wanted permission to take his picture. He nodded in the affirmative, as he continued to play some unrecognizable tune. I took this picture, smiled, gave him a thumbs up and started to walk away. I did not want him to stop and interrupt his groove.

He nodded again though I don't know if he heard me say as I sauntered away,"Great way to start the day, man... Laissez les bon temp roulet!"

I said it knowing, full well, that the bagpipe isn't a French instrument. His first cup early morning spirit overtook my better judgement!

Copyright 2013/Ben Bensen III

"How To Enjoy A Flounder Without Getting Hurt!"

Before...

and, obviously... After

My studio AC wasn't working for me, so I had done my research on a bigger unit. Therese and I searched all over the southern portion of Louisiana to find the one I approved. It was all the way south of New Orleans in a petro-chemical town called Norco. Tee said, "Do you really wanna drive that far to go get it?"

I said, "Of course, it is too hot to work in the studio without one and we can take I-55 there, purchase the air conditioner and then... stop in Manchac for a bite at Middendorf's on the return trip.

"Well, she said, what are we waiting for? That appliance store closes by 3 pm!"

So, we drove through a massive afternoon thunderstorm and picked up the air conditioner. Although, the thought of shoving that one hundred pound, 14,000 btu machine into my studio window occurred in head, the only thing that really stuck in my mind was the shellfish and seafood at Middendorf's in the little swamp town of Manchac.

Once out of the steamy swamp weather and into the cool of the restaurant, we sat down and placed our order. Therese had the stuff filet of flounder and I had this monster with crab topping! It was an early start to our 41st wedding anniversary, which is today! But any excuse was fine with me!

Of course, there's really no wrong way to dine on flounder, but if you don't want a mouthful of tiny bones, I suggest this! Once you've finished the main filet part of the fish, use the fork to separate the rest of the flesh from the ribs of the spine by following the length of the ribs with your fork and not across the ribs. Once you've eaten all from the top side, gently with the one hand lift the front part of the spine as you use the fork with the other hand to extract the spine from the back side of the fish. Pull all the way to the tail and put the spine with ribs and tail attached off to the side. 

Now, you are ready to eat the back side of the fish being careful to not disturb the small bones from the fins that surround both sides of the fish. If you are really savvy, when you have finished with the flesh from the back side of the flounder and haven't disturbed the fin bones, which are numerous and tiny, you can extract whatever meat there is from those fin bones by using the side edge of your fork and gently pull away the meat in the direction of the bones and, once again, not across.

Having completed that task, you can have another beer to celebrate. You now qualify as an expert flounder "yat" or, even a... Cajun!

Bon Appetit!

Copyright 2013/Ben Bensen III