Diana Marcum

Elderly Woman

13 x 17″, Graphite

This is one of my favorite lessons, if for no other reason than the product is always fantastic. Old people are full of wrinkles and shadows and details–they are GREAT to draw. Love the composition–might make a few value changes, but overall, I don’t mind this old lady staring at me from across the room.

Facing it all

]]> http://sakethapotlapalli.wordpress.com/2013/03/11/one-morning/ Mon, 11 Mar 2013 13:45:29 +0000 saketha http://sakethapotlapalli.wordpress.com/2013/03/11/one-morning/ Today, chemical imbalances in her brain play havoc in her life. She drifts back and forth in time. She constantly asks about her dead husband and her two sons. She asks about those people with whom she interacted in her youth. She fails to recognise the people surrounding her at times. There is no clarity in her speech. Her tone, which was once authoritative, is now frail. There is no proper muscle co-ordination. Her skin is full of wrinkles and is sagging. She interacts with people now and then. But, most of the time she lies in her bed, staring at the ceiling.

 Her name is Mangamma.

It was at 7:30 am on the 15^th September, 2010, that the news of her eldest son, Chandu’s death reached her. This is not the first time someone close to her had died. Her husband died when she was 50 years old. Her second son died in 2001. But, Chandu’s death hit her really hard. Something died inside her that morning.

“Will I ever get over that trauma?” she questioned herself over the last two years.

It’s a trauma she never got over and, perhaps, never will.

That morning changed her life forever. The change in her was so drastic and it was to some degree unbelievable. She suddenly aged.

She was 92 years old, but she never looked and behaved 92. Before that one morning, she wanted to travel everywhere, despite her bones being brittle. She was dominating, authoritative, demanding, strong and witty. It would be safe to say that to some extent she was spoilt. She tried to dictate people’s life, telling them what to do, what not to do, when to eat when to take shower, when to sleep, when to get up? She never gave up on anything.

She was very intelligent and aware of what was happening around the world. She was an avid reader. She liked to eat pizzas, burgers, biryani and other home made snacks. Oh! She liked to gossip as well.

She was surrounded by people, she still is. After that one morning, though there are people around her, she feels only emptiness around her. “I am surrounded by a bunch of people, but my eldest son is not there,” she is constantly reminded of it. Nobody talks about Chandu in front of her. But his absence is so prominent that she feels it all the time.

Her chest tightens, there is emptiness in her womb and she gasps for breath whenever she thinks of him. “Why did he have go away? Why did he betray me like this? Why did god do this?” she often questioned people and still continues to. However, this is a question nobody can answer.

After that one morning, she aged beyond 92 years. She lost that zest to live. She forgot that she has nine other children to love her, that she is not orphaned. She completely submitted herself to the mercy of others. She is no longer that strong, dominating, courageous woman, mother, grandmother and great grandmother.

After that one morning, she is just a breathing skeleton.

On The Inside

Sometimes, during imaginative sprees,
want to paint neon rainbows
on all these walls and windows.
Use reserves of contrasting colors:
reds and violets, blues, greens and yellow,
to create intimately written statement
about fearsome passion that has fashioned
gray-haired existence,
in hopes that any outsider, who might enter,
will take away, at least in part,
sense of willingly rebellious heart
which beats within this old woman’s
body.

Elizabeth Crawford  3/10/13

comme moi dans quelques années…

“Here you are, Precious,” she crooned.  The cat lapped at the water and then lay down in a patch of sunlight.  The old woman turned her face to the sun as well, closed her eyes, and sighed deeply.

They stayed that way for a long time, until the sun went behind the clouds and a small wind kicked up.  The old woman gave herself a shake and pulled on a beret.  Then she gathered up the bowl and the calico cat and tucked them into her wraps.

“Time for home and hot soup for me and kibble for you, my love,” she said.

The cat gave a tiny mew as the woman walked slowly down the street.  She stopped to enjoy the smell of lilacs in a neighbor’s yard.  She stood by the extravagant bush for several minutes breathing in the scent.  She carried on at a snail’s pace, gently combing her fingers through the branches of a weeping willow.

Finally, she was trudging up her own front steps.  There were six steps to the front door and she huffed and puffed and rested on each one.  It would have been piteous to watch; but no one was watching.  She made it to the top step and into the front door.

She took off her wraps in the dim hallway setting the water bottle and bowl on a small shelf and undoing the leash from the cat and hanging it up on a nail.  The cat ran to the kitchen.  The old woman was tiny without her wraps.  She walked to the kitchen and filled the cat’s bowl with kibble and put some tomato soup on to heat and some rye toast in the toaster oven.

They enjoyed their lunch in companionable silence.  Then the old woman cleaned up.  She used the bathroom.  She took off her shoes and put her teeth in a glass of water by her bed.  She lay down for a nap and the calico cat lay down with her and snuggled up to her bosom.

The old woman never woke up – she died in her sleep and so did the calico cat. They took their final breath together.

A woman sweeps Bhaktapur’s big square on a misty cold morning

A woman can be seen leaving one of the ancient water stone spouts in Bhaktapur,

A morning walk on the bustling old streets of Patan,

Nepalese aluminum pot seller carrying his goods to one of Bhaktapur’s markets.

]]> http://kathleendunbarblog.com/2013/03/05/lakshmi-appears-in-the-form-of-an-old-lady/ Tue, 05 Mar 2013 17:57:10 +0000 Kathleen Dunbar http://kathleendunbarblog.com/2013/03/05/lakshmi-appears-in-the-form-of-an-old-lady/ http://greenwalledtower.wordpress.com/2013/03/04/the-great-terrible-stone-circle-fantastic-travelogue-8/ Mon, 04 Mar 2013 06:59:20 +0000 David Stewart http://greenwalledtower.wordpress.com/2013/03/04/the-great-terrible-stone-circle-fantastic-travelogue-8/ http://softypapa.wordpress.com/2013/03/04/haunted-photo-ghost-with-old-woman-on-pillows/ Mon, 04 Mar 2013 02:30:10 +0000 softypapa http://softypapa.wordpress.com/2013/03/04/haunted-photo-ghost-with-old-woman-on-pillows/

Can you find the ghost in the image below?

*** WARNING SPOILER PHOTO BELOW ***

*

*

*

And here is the “ghost” in the photo.

Welcome to the Haunted Japan blog. Can you find the ghosts in the first image above? My name is Kurt Bell and I am delighted that you have chosen to search for ghosts with me. I’m available on Facebook and Google+ if you have questions or just want to chat and say hi. I can also be found at the JVLOG forum with other Japan-related content creators. All links are listed below. I look forward to meeting you on-line. Have a great day!

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At the JVLOG forum:
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You can also reach me via email at the following address: softypapa@gmail.com

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We stood at the front gate of a small cottage.  A wild assortment of flowers and herbs took up all of the space that wasn’t used for walking paths in the little yard.

“It’s my home,” answered a scratchy voice behind us.

“It’s a lovely home,” complimented Dev.

The old woman who leaned on her cane behind us eyed Dev with a look meant to discourage further insincerity.

“I’ll put on a kettle,” she announced, pushing past and waddling up her walk.  The herbs and flowers released their perfume in the wake of her wide hips, combining into a dreamy scent that bore no name and conjured no image beyond perhaps a smile.

Simeon paused when the rest of us made to follow.

“Is she a good person or a bad one, little Molly?” he asked.

“Good,” answered Molly, and her warm gaze warmed that much more toward Simeon.

Taking his hand, she led Simeon down the path, which touched neither of their slender hips, though they went side by side.  Dev and I followed, brushing our palms across the tall blooms to invite an echo of that delightful aroma.

Inside, the cottage was simple.  Raw wood made for walls and dirt for floor.  An assortment of ornately patterned clay sculptures were scattered throughout the small space.  The woman bustled at an open fire, arranging one of many hanging pots and humming tunelessly.

“That isn’t yours to touch,” she called without looking.  Simeon replaced the pottery piece back to the table.  The woman nodded.  She still hadn’t looked.  “I need your help,” she said.  “My niece, Elia, is in peril.  I know where she is, sort of, and what needs to be done, more or less, but I’m grown old and cannot rescue her myself.”  She turned an expectant eye toward us.

“Of course,” Dev agreed without hesitation.

“Here,” she said, straightening with effort and shuffling to a rounded clay X hanging on the wall.  “This will suit you better.”  She lifted it against Simeon’s chest, and the moment it touched him it disappeared.

Simeon blinked at her a few times, and then smiled.  “I feel…”

“Strong?” she prompted.

“Yes,” he breathed, and a wide grin spread across his face.  Without warning, he hoisted her thick wooden table up onto his shoulder, rattling pottery and all.

“Let’s see,” she said, eyeing me up.  “This, I think.”  She lifted a clay cone from a shelf and raised it up.  She placed the cone on my head and took a step back.  I couldn’t feel it there anymore, but my scalp tingled.  Nodding in satisfaction, she moved on to Dev.

“Well now,” she said, her gray eyebrows lifting in surprise, “I think you’ll need this.”  She pulled a smooth dark stone from a pocket in her skirt.  Dev’s eyes glittered when he saw it, and he took the stone from her palm with a respectful bow.  “These have a way of finding each other,” she said to him.

“Now then,” she added, clapping her hands together.  “Time is short.”  She jabbed a finger at Simeon’s thin chest.  “You have new strength,” she said.  “You,” she added, swinging toward me, “have the gift of memory.  And you,” she said, turning to Dev, “may travel on a wish.  You have all you need.”

“What about Molly?” asked Simeon.

Molly stood at his side, looking like she was trying her best not to look hurt.

“This child has a better gift of sight than I could bestow,” said the woman.  “Now, tea.”

Molly chewed on her lip but said nothing, and I resolved that at the first opportunity I’d find her a pretty gift.  She had gifts, as the woman had said, but she was also a little girl who felt the hurt of being left out.  The woman ladled tea into bowls while we found places to rest around her small cottage.  She eased down onto the single stool.

“Elia’s all I have left,” she said, “and it’s some sort of fairy that has her.  I’m too old to fight what faerie beasts wander in from the forest anymore.”

“I thought fairies were nice, with wings,” frowned Molly.

The woman smiled at her with a gleam in her gaze that I couldn’t understand.  Molly gazed back steadily.

“Some, not all,” said the woman.  “Many are tricksters, and after something.  Some just get hungry.”

“Like Mim,” murmured Molly.

The woman nodded grimly.

“You can get close to finding Elia with the stone,” she said to Dev.  “With your sight, you can see what I have not,” she said to Molly.  “You can remember, even if you come close to Razobog and her waterfall of forgetfulness,” she nodded toward me.  “And you can fight,” she added, piercing Simeon with a fierce gaze.  “Go on now,” she said, shooing us out the door.

At the threshold, Dev instructed us to hold onto him.  Suddenly, the four of us stood in a neighborhood.  The houses looked like they had been nice once, if not grand.  Now they were run down.  Paint peeled and rot showed where wood was exposed.  Items lay in lawns as if abandoned mid-use.

“Someone’s coming,” whispered Molly.

We scurried behind what remained of a shed and watched a gaunt man with sallow skin shuffle past.  A larger man with a round belly and a pale, jaundiced complexion strode after him.

“Not even a bite?” asked the large man.

“It’s my turn!” snapped the thin one.  “You just ate.”

The large man waved his hands at the other in a dismissive gesture and went into one of the houses.  The thin man continued his path toward the trees.  He waved, though I couldn’t see at whom.

“What are we doing?” Simeon asked.

“Shh!” I hissed, and when I looked back the man was gone.  “Where did he go?”

“Who?” asked Molly.

“There was a… never mind.”  I sighed.  I could remember, but they couldn’t, just as the old woman had said.  “Molly, what do you see, right there?” I asked, pointing to where the man had stood.

Molly squinted.  “There’s something wrong with the air,” she frowned.

“That’s what I thought.  Can you see past it?”

Molly stepped out into the road and the rest of us followed.

“There’s a girl in there,” she said.  “And a very big…” her eyes grew wide.  “Snake!”

“Seriously, where are we?” scowled Simeon.

“Not important,” I muttered.  “Simeon, you need to keep the snake from attacking.”

“I need to what and what now?” gulped Simeon.

“You’re strong enough,” I insisted.  “Dev, you have a stone that will get us out of here if you wish it.”

“How did you know?” blinked Dev.

“Not important,” I said again.

I grabbed Simeon and Dev’s hands.  “This way?” I asked Molly, taking several steps forward.

“To your right,” she corrected.

There was a funny sensation, like surfacing from being underwater, and then a girl lay bound before us.  I rushed to her and worked at her bindings.  The moment her hands were free she yanked the cloth away from her mouth and yelled, “snake!”

It was enormous, and yellow, with gray-gold eyes and fangs the size of swords.  It shot toward us like a lightning strike.

“Simeon!” I shouted, just rolling out of reach from its snap.

Simeon leapt onto the snake as it coiled for another spring, his thin arms barely reaching around it.  The next thing I knew, the snake was hurtling into a wall of trees.  Dev helped me untie the rest of Elia’s bindings.

“Um,” said Molly.

She stood in the warbling air, and behind her, we saw the large man emerging from his house.  Mid-stride he slithered from his clothes, even larger than the first snake.

“Take my hand!” ordered Dev.

The snakes blurred, and once again we stood before the old woman’s cottage.

“Nama!” cried Elia, running up the walk, though the rest of us had yet to find air for our lungs or command of our trembling legs.

The old woman burst through the door and joy warmed her features.  She opened her arms, but instead of wrapping them around the approaching girl, she flapped them like wings.  Elia was doing the same.  In a blink, two moths lifted away from the small cottage and danced the air into the meadow behind.

“I told you fairies are nice, with wings,” said Molly.

Macau, previously a Portuguese colony, has changed a lot since it reunited with China. Modern condominium buildings, grand hotels and casinos are popping up everywhere. Once a favourite retreat for Hong Kong residents, Macau is no longer …. except for the casino-goers.

Fortunately, as I wandered a few blocks away from the busy main streets, I was able to re-discover memorable images from the past. This old woman resting on the sidewalk of a narrow street, helped to paint a timeless picture just for me ….

My dad’s mom, bless her heart, had a total of 9 children!

NINE!!!

Yikes!!

She was in her early forties when my dad, the best of the bunch, was born.  So by the time I came along, she was an old lady to me.  But still pretty great!!!

She always had a candy jar full of those nasty circus peanut candies.  Of course, we were forbidden (by our parents) to ever ASK for a piece of candy or anything else for that matter so I didn’t have to partake but Maw-maw usually told us we could have one.  When Marc came along he mastered the “not-asking-ask”.  He would get the candy jar and just bring it to her.  He didn’t actually ASK for any!  Kid was using his nugget on that one!!

My mom’s mother was much younger by comparison.  When I was born, she was a little younger than I am now.

And we all know that is YOUNG!!!

Me-maw lived very near us and we spent a lot of time at her house. Us kids got to spend the night quite a bit.  It was always so much fun!!

She would make us Coke Floats.  And we’d eat exotic foods like macaroni and cheese and lasagna.  And when we were older, she introduced us to Chinese food.

She was the Bombdiggity!!!

Now before you question the exotic-ness of mac & cheese and lasagna, let me point out that my parents do NOT like either of those things so unless Me-maw fixed it for us, we weren’t getting it!

And don’t even get Dad started on Chinese food or pizza!!

Anyway, one of the best things about spending the night with Me-maw was her bedtime stories.  She could tell a great story.

The best story she read us was “The Old Woman and Her Pig”.

Have you ever heard this one?

It’s about, well, an old woman and her pig!

DUH!!!

This old woman (who was in reality probably my age!  UGH!!) bought a pig and she couldn’t get it to go over the stile and she shan’t get home tonight.

Any story with the word “shan’t” in it is gonna be a good one.

Guaranteed!

The old woman goes on to try to find some way to get the pig to jump over the stile so she can get home and with each added verse, Me-maw would read it as fast as she could.  We would collapse in giggles every time!  .

We LOVED it!!

I tried to find a copy of this book to give to Belle when she was little and even had it ordered from a bookstore in NY.  But when the book came, it had been totally changed to be “politically correct”!!!

Are you kidding me????

What’s wrong with this world????

So today I found the story online.

Here’s an excerpt from the book.  Just remember to read it as fast as you can!!! 

Cat! Cat! kill rat;

rat won’t gnaw rope;

rope won’t hang butcher;

butcher won’t kill ox;

ox won’t drink water;

water won’t quench fire;

fire won’t burn stick;

stick won’t beat dog;

dog won’t bite pig;

piggy won’t get over the stile;

and I shan’t get home tonight!

Ok, maybe it IS a little on the rough side what with the dog beating, the ox killing and the butcher hanging but as kids, we loved this story!!!

But our absolute favorite was the story of the Big Toe.

I don’t know if this was a real story or one she just made up but it scared me every time!

Apparently there was a man who cut off his big toe (again, kinda gross but we didn’t think a thing of it!!).  Anyway, he wakes up in the night and hears a voice saying “Where’s my big toe?”

Now I have to explain that Me-maw was very country.  She said things like “knowed” instead of “knew” so when she said “where” it sounded more like “were”.  You’ve GOTTA do that accent for this story or it loses it’s effect!!

Me-maw would say in a spooky voice:  Were’s my big toe?   Were’s my big toe?

And we were on the edge of our seats waiting for what we knew would come!!!

Me-maw said the old man looked all around his house but kept hearing “Were’s my big toe?” Until finally he sneaked (another of Me-maw’s words) and looked in the fireplace and …………

THERE IT WAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me-maw would say that part really loud and we would all jump and squeal!!!!

My heart is pounding just thinking about it!!!

So scary!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sometimes now I’ll  hear a noise downstairs and the Mr. will say, “It’s the big toe”!!

I “knowed” it was a mistake telling him this story!!

Sweet Dreams!!!!

~Mish~

]]> http://redtwiz.wordpress.com/2013/03/01/when-i-am-old-i-shall-do-what-i-like/ Fri, 01 Mar 2013 19:06:00 +0000 redtwiz http://redtwiz.wordpress.com/2013/03/01/when-i-am-old-i-shall-do-what-i-like/ When I am older I will wear mini skirts, even if my boobs hang below the hem line.

I shall have vodka in my coffee for breakfast and whiskey in my coffee at night, and pass it off as being ‘continental’.

I shall tell everyone about my haemorroids and laugh when they look grossed out. After all if I have to listen about birth stories, why shouldn’t they listen about mine?

I will learn another language, but only the rude words and phrases. Of course I will have to shout them loudly when out.

I will take up smoking, even if I had given it up 40 years ago, but only smoke pink cigarettes.

I shall grow old naturally, because there is no way I want to look like this:

I’d rather look like this.

Because lets face it, she rocks that tiara.

I want to go skinny dipping somewhere warm and not care about my body because I am old and my body has history.

I want to be a cougar, all those boy band members will be in their sixties……..

I want to not care if something is late or someone and I want to let go of worry.

I’m going to eat cream buns all day, one day a week.

I want to tell teenagers ‘in my day’, then just laugh stupidly because I have actually used that phrase.

I will wear my trousers so low, everyone can see my industrial granny support knickers and see how they like it.

I will use my bra as a catapult and drop water balloons on anyone who isn’t wearing a coat in winter, then they’ll freeze.

To have fun and fan fare,

to live life on a dare,

when I am old, I will not care.

linktoarticle;

*From the archives

They don’t speak.
They don’t need to speak.
Side by side
They do what they need to do,
Knowing what they have
And who they are.

Old woman, old man.
Now he is also asleep.

© 2005 by Larry Alan Smith