T.G.I.F.: It’s been a long week


Photo: Pentti Sammallahti. Varanasi, India. 1999 (via Newthom)

5:00 P.M. Bell!


Photo: Young watchdog Enzo pulls on the rope of 17-year old cow Belinda, which has already yielded 150,000 liters of milk, in Heckenbach, Germany. (wsj.com, March, 27, 2018, Thomas Frey)

Photography (astonish the senses)

“Over seven days, dawn to dusk, flying over 2,000 miles, Zack Seckler brought his camera, and his unique vision, to South Africa, capturing an astounding world of land, sea, and natural life. Direct and complex, magically precise yet abstract, the images draw the viewer back repeatedly to the interplay of form, light, color, and composition. They, like the region, astonish the senses and engage the mind’s eye.”


Source:

Seared into Flesh

cow-hug

This insomniac is scanning the early morning papers. It’s becoming a 3 a.m. ritual.

My right index finger swipes through the Photos of the Day. Another ritual.

I freeze here. Right here on the dairy farmer from Budapest.

And like Marilynne Robinson in Housekeeping, where every memory is turned over and over again, and eventually becomes flesh.  Or Jim Harrison in Golden Window where memory is more vivid than life. Memories begin to roll backwards.

The dairy cows laying under shade trees in pastures lining I-77 S.
The docile cows chewing their cud on the side streets in New Delhi.
The black dairy cows on the towering mountain hillsides in Geneva.
The dairy cows (“Maggie & Betsy”) on our hobby farm growing up, waiting for their 5 a.m. milking.

But no, it wasn’t these memories that seared the flesh.

It was this one.
[Read more…]

I can’t do anything / Contradictions / Blown by the wind

cow-calf-mother

8:06 p.m. on Friday evening.
I’m getting off the train returning home from a long work day in Manhattan.
T.G.I.F.
Susan and Zeke greet me at the train station for our walk home.
Zeke’s tail is wagging wildly, his head on a swivel searching for a present to bring to Dad.

“Eric had a bad day.”

I’m still winded from walking up the stairs from the platform.
The weight of the work week lifts, and anxiety flushes in.
My pulse starts to race. I’m gulping for air.
Bile rolls up my empty stomach and sits gnawing in my throat.

No. Please, no. Not my Son.

“He went to a bull fight with his friends.”

Panic begins to ease. Ms. Drama’s overstatements, or my fatigue misinterpreting degree of “bad day”?

“They left before half. He said there was one bullfighter. The matador has six ‘assistants’, 2 mounted on horseback, three flagmen and a sword servant. Six men looking to kill a single bull. He said it was barbaric. Sickening. He had to get out of the stadium.” [Read more…]

5:00 Bell: Heading Home For Long Weekend

cow-gif-funny-walking-boots

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