" Don't Look At Me,"

 

"Don't Do Like They Used To!"

Good " Don't Look At Me," Sunday Morning, all bodies.

Last night, after that LSU debacle, we settled in on a baseball game. I sensed that Tee didn't want me to return to the studio after dinner. All through the baseball game, our dawg was stalking Therese's left over potatoes.

He was told, way too many times, to go sit, but his "MO" is to wait a few minutes and jump off the sofa pretending to be thirsty. He'll take a perfunctory sip at his water bowl and then, as if no one is watching, plop himself at Tee's feet just under the table that holds the potatoes. I casually point to the sofa and he acquiesces, but five minutes later, he's thirsty again.

It reminded me of the game I played pitting wits between my mother and Pierre.

"Mom, don't feed the dawg," I'd say.

"I'm not!"

Naturally, the discussion has to end there otherwise we'd have a yell fest, which wouldn't help anyone's digestion! Even though mom knows I know she does feed the mutt, she tells me she doesn't. Pierre circles the table like a shark waiting for his chance to attack.

"Pierre, go away," I'd yell.

He uses his patented "thirsty pup routine" and then, moves in for the umpteenth time. In the corner of my eye, I see my mother lean over to stealthily drop the dog another tidbit, saying...

"Don't look at me, Murgatroyd! Benny told me not to feed you!

Mom always referred to that moniker with disdain, or when she couldn't remember a person's name.

Ah... such memories!

Finally, after the ballgame is over, Therese gets up and returns her plate, with the uneaten potatoes, to the kitchen counter. Taking his chances that I'll yell at him again, he slips off the sofa and follows Therese's every step. Then, he puts on the cocker spaniel charm and looks up to her longingly.

From across the room, Tee looks at me with a smirk and says to the dawg...

"Don't look at me, Pierre, Benny told me not to feed you!"

First cup...

Copyright 2023/Ben Bensen III

"Thud... and a "Cold Cocked Cardinal Is On Its Back!"

An attempted heart shaped couple.

 Good Saturday Morning, y'all.

St. Louis is jogging my memory a bit. It reminds me of a failed attempt to capture a cardinal adventure that happened months ago. There was a thud against the breakfast nook window unlike the familiar thump I occasionally hear around the early spring when fledgling birds try to test their independence only to bounce off the screened windows.

But this was a distinct THUD!

So, I left the kitchen and walked out near the bird bath to find a "cold cocked" cardinal on its back with its feet straight up in the air. I took a look at the bird's eye to notice it was not sunken in, which is a sign that blood is running through the cardinal's head.

I had a large wooden spoon with me and gave the bird a slight poke... There was no movement, so I waited.

I went back into the kitchen to check on the soup I was making, and wait a bit. About five minutes passed before I went back out to see if the bird left, but it was still belly up. I gave it another poke and attempted to flip it over on its chest and it gave me a rather aggravated screech like I had awakened it from a good dream.

I gave it one convincing poke under the wings and he flapped his wings and complained again... but, I bit louder. I went back inside to check on the soup and to give the bird another five minutes to compose itself. Finally, the colorful male took one look at me, freaked out and dizzily fluttered a few feet unto a branch of our maple tree. The whole process of shaken out the cobwebs and making it to the tree took all of about a half an hour.

But, strangest thing is seeing the female cardinal meet him as he entered the azalea bush a few feet away. She obviously was concerned, but decided to wait and see what transpired for she was nowhere to be found as I attempted to awaken her "beau."

A minute or so later, they both took off for the safety of the tree line probably to continue feeding their brood. Blue skies...

Copyright 2023/Ben Bensen III

"A Family Of Cardinals Started The Proceedings Of Excommunication!"

 Good Monday Morning, y’all.

The bluejays are full of scorn. The female titmice flashed me in disgust. The woodpeckers pounded a tree and screamed their disapproval. The chickadees chattered, “yeh, you rite,” and shot me the bird while a family of cardinals started the proceedings of excommunication. The hummers just hummed.

I apologized profusely and tried to explain that it wasn’t my fault. It was Perky Pet!

That’s right. After rebuilding and rebuilding while searching for years to replace the original Cathedral Feeder with a new one, my wife actually found one.

That first feeder lasted, with some help, about ten or twelve years. I cajoled, chastised and even caressed that feeder. At one point, I believe that I totally rebuilt every aspect of that feeder using bleach, glue, gesso, varnish, finishing nails, and one ply plywood. I attached it to a stand that was originally belonged to a bluebird feeder until I accidentally backed into it with my lawn tractor.

Sadly, this new Perky Pet Feeder is slowly falling apart like a French cathedral. It is barely two years old. Damn those Chinese! Let’s make America Great Again by first designing and building a better bird feeder!

Of course, I was smart because I bought two more of the famous feeder, but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna give those birds the satisfaction of a new place to worship even if it is easier to just replace it. They are just gonna have to go out and, and eat worms… or something.

I wonder if there are any “building code” violations to poorly built bird feeders that I can pursue?

Copyright 2023/Ben Bensen III

"Speak Softly And Carry A Big Paint Brush, Bridget!"

Curating was fun while it lasted...

 Well, good Saturday Morning on another sleepy, dusty, delta day, all bodies!

Some rain would be nice!

One of the really great things I loved about curating at City Hall in Covington was all the wonderful art I got to see and discovering the artists that created them. One of those was Bridget Jarvis, who indefatigable spirit shined through everything she did and everyone she met. I only got to spend a few moments with her over the last few years, but had the chance to speak with her, at length, when she rolled on in with her paintings and the "HueDats" about her disability, her art and her perspective on life.

I was told about a week ago that she passed away leaving a hole in the hearts of everyone who was lucky enough to have made her acquaintance. Speak softly and carry a big paint brush up there in the heavens, Bridget.

No cups, yet!

Copyright 2023/ Ben Bensen III

"Once Again... This Time With Soul!"

Before... on site!

And, Once again...

 Good "for a good cause!" Wednesday, all bodies.

About five years ago, I painted this waterway near the Prieto Marina near Mandeville and hung it in one of the few one man shows I've ever done. The show was a lotta fun, but I only sold one panting and I sold it to a high school girl friend I hadn't seen in a very long time. The painting was entitled, "The Best Seat In The House!"

Twenty minutes after I sold it to Cathy, a family friend wanted to buy it. Many business opps came to mind, but a sale is a sale... is a sale. When I offered to paint another one for him but at a higher price, Ken jump on it. I have done such things in my commercial business.

Too often ad agencies don't know what they like until they see it!

Every Christmas get together, Ken inquires about the state of that art. "Yeh, man," it is still available, and the deal is still the same." (It has been in and out of many galleries, at different prices.) I'm still pretty proud of how the second one turned out... Damn near nailed it, but I have no record of the original that I sold to Cathy except the one on an easel, unfinished.

This morning I dropped off a few paintings at The Far Horizons Gallery to be auctioned off for a good cause... And, I donated one called "The Best Seat In The House!"

First cup!

Copyright 2023/ Ben Bensen III

The "Watermelon Man" sez...

A Curly Pig Tail...

 Good "freaked out" Friday Morning, all bodies.

Well, yesterday, in my Facebook memories, I found a post I made six years ago about hunting for the perfect watermelon. I found the post after returning from the local grocery to purchase, you guessed it, a watermelon.

Coincidences that most folks consider "just a part of doing life," freak me out. But, I pulled myself together by allowing the gods of happenstance to assist me in the use of the post for today's "Throwback for Thursday's.

There's only one thing wrong with that... the god's timing!

So, for the amount of time it takes one to read a post from 2017, let's pretend that today IS a Thursday. Thanks for y'all's cooperation and understanding... Here ya geaux...

Still groovin’ after the Tuba Skinny concert on Saturday night, I skipped on over to Giddy Up to converse with the regulars and have a cup or two. Even though I thought it unwise to squeeze in some local grocery shopping, I managed to meet MaryJane, a good friend who has had her own special version of tribulations, and one who still finds a way to smile. We had a fun talk!

While grabbing a few things “we just can’t do without”, I was reminded that it was once again, Washington Parish Watermelon Time and they seemed to be going fast. As MaryJane went her own way in the store, I bumped into a total stranger who, like me, was kinda baffled as to which melon to take home.

I remember that song, “Watermelon Man” did pretty well on the radio in the late sixties.” I suspect it was a successful tune, especially in New Orleans, because most of us as well as our parents grew up with salesman selling fruit and veggies from a horse or mule drawn cart.

Herbie Hancock wrote the song, but Mongo Santamaria turned it into a hit!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zJuX-JJ8WF0

“I never know which melon to pick,” a man said to me as if he needed help.

“What’s the matter?” I said. “The wife’s giving you grief about last year’s pick?”

The man was wearing a jeans, a camouflage tee shirt and a baseball cap that advertised a “weed and feed” store. To me, wearing blue jeans in this heat was a definite sign… he was a farm boy.

“So you don’t know how to pick a good watermelon either,” I said.

“Well, you’d think I’d be good at it because I used to grow them commercially, but lately, I haven’t been too successful picking a winner!”

“I know that’d be of little help. Washington Parish melons are usually the sweetest and juiciest I’ve ever had, though I must admit, I’ve had a few over the years that weren’t as good,” I replied.

“You know, he said, there’s a farm in South Carolina, I forget the brand name, that had a sure fire way of being consistently successful!”

“Oh, yeh, what was their secret,” I asked.

“It was a sure fire solution,” he said. Eighty five days after the melons are planted, they are harvested. Works every time… in South Carolina!”

“I’ll tell you a good way to be sure the melon here is ready. It seems to work pretty well when I was growing them, though not all the time!”

“Cool, man! What’s the secret? I asked.

“Try to find one where the stem is curled kinda like a pig’s tale!” He continued, “the way they farm now, it’s hard to find one with a stem still intact, but if you do, it’s a big help!”

So, after the man decided which one to pick, and left with his prize, I went digging around the two large cardboard boxes that were left and actually found one… kinda. Hopefully, it’s “Piggy Approved!”

First cup!

Copyright 2023/Ben BensenIII

"Mary, Can You Change The Music, Please."

 Good "I hate the f%@*king Eagles, man!" Saturday Morning, y'all.

Well, ya know, it's one of those pre-programmed stations whose playlist just overplays certain songs and certain groups.

Big Al and I arrived at the counter to the mellow sounds of "Take It To The Limit" to order some coffee. Al always gets a small expresso cappucino. He normally stays only long enough to finish his morning jolt, but today was a bit different.

"Mary, can you change the music. I hate the damn Eagles," I said rather irritably since I hadn't had my first cup yet.

"Dude, exclaimed Big Al, The Big Lebowsky!"

"Hey you mean like the Dude, his Dudeness, Duder, um, the effin El Duderino?"

"Yeh, man, Al said, that line is from the movie,"The Big Lebowsky!"

"Oh man, Mary jumps in and says, I love that movie!"

Next thing you know, we three are recreating our favorite scenes like bowling alley confrontations, the sweater, the rug, the Dude's penchant for a white Russians... stuff like that.

Al and I got our coffees, sat down and for another twenty minutes or so, we're mixing the movie with other subjects like the finer points of welding (Big Al's a metal sculptor) and my Air Force paintings in the Pentagon.(I had just received my new copy of ASAA's "Aero Brush" magazine and brought it along to read.)

His cappucino finished, Al gingerly extracts himself from the leather sofa and as he heads for the door, Al turns and stops, smiles and points to the heavens and says, "I hate the f%@**king Eagles"... Ha!

"Take It Easy" was playing on the radio.

No cups, yet...

 Copyright 2023/Ben Bensen III