Family Feud

FAMILY FEUD(s)!!!

by

B.D. Adams

©2018

   How can families just go along? Not faultless … not perfect … just family.

   My immediate family is my son and his family. He and I have been through the trials and tribulations many mothers and sons have gone through (and other combinations). Not perfect, but love was always there.

   Once he realized that I was not just a crazy-old-woman, the lightbulb went on for him! Then, once his children came along, he actually calls me for MY advice about childcare. Amazing how that works.

And the survey says?

   Because my husband and his son have the same first name, Dan will be for mine and Daniel for the younger. He is married (Dan and I attended the wedding in CA) and has children, but only one more than my son.

   The very nice thing for Dan is his son can talk “car.” Daniel will call his dad to pick his brain about cars, engines and other things. One thing Dan would really like more from his son is to spend more time together – on the phone or in person.  

And the survey says?

   One situation that really makes this a Family Feud, which has grown thorns in the family -- has to do with Dan’s daughter. Yep, I’m bringing this up. The feud with her began about a decade ago.

   In the Spring of 2007, after Dan and I moved to Alton Bay, his daughter came to see our house by herself. Her husband didn’t come with her and neither did either child (two at that time). She had visited at the cottage a couple of times from where we had moved.  

   Dan gave her the tour of the property and the house and garage. At this point, everything was regular.

   There was something personal Dan and I wanted to tell her. We had discussed this and decided we should let her know. I had tested positive for HPV. Neither of us knew anything about this virus, so we were concerned. I was scheduled for a biopsy to better determine a diagnosis.

   With what Dan and I decided, I told her this. Our intention was for her to support her father, if I did, indeed, have cancer. He loved his daughter and hoped for her moral support, if needed.

   Well, I no sooner got the words out of my mouth, she yelled in anger at me!

   Dan and I had had no idea that she’d react this way! She accused me of only wanting sympathy!! 

   "That’s all you want!!!" she yelled.  

   Dan was beside himself!! He couldn’t understand why his daughter was so rude and hateful to me, which could only include him. Those were his thoughts. There are a few other items, but what I have typed now are the main issues for Dan. What she doesn’t know is I had tried to get him to talk to her.

   She gave a milked down version of what I’ve just typed to her brother and her sister-in-law. She said I was the one who yelled. I had no reason to yell at her, except to get her to quit yelling at me AND her father.

   Am I faultless? No, I am not. His daughter really pissed me off when she accused me of only wanting sympathy. She also bad-mouthed HER mother. I wasn't close to her mother, but she needed to be more considering of her mother! 

And the survey says!!!

   Son Daniel and his family do not live in California any longer. They are in Tennessee – much closer to us. Dan’s daughter doesn’t live in Vermont any longer. They live in New Hampshire, but south from us. Wouldn’t it be nice to have all the families around? Perhaps even with my son?

The survey says?

A modern extended Family!!

   I could give a rat’s ass what she thinks about me, but her father would be more than pleased if she’d make nice to me. She had told me in an email that she never wanted to hear from me ever again. I have honored her wish. Haven't contacted her for 11 years.

    If anyone reads this and speaks to her, let her know that I DID TRY to get her dad to talk to her. With her attitude towards me, though, her father was in no way anxious to ever be around her again. 

Dan and Brandy's Home

Maple Leaf

Autumn Leaf

By B.D. Adams

©2017

A

s usual, I sit at my dining table to visit FB and do some writing. The table is by the double glass doors, so I can look out at all the trees in my world. A lot of green with the new sprinklings of color – autumn colors.

This morning, I merely perused at my view. Nothing special, but the season is changing.

Then, I saw across the yard as a red maple leaf let go where it had hung. I became intrigued with it while it fell from branch to branch.

It didn’t dive bomb to the ground! Was lazy … casual … as it made its fall. The light breeze allowed it to dance a bit … resist its final fall.

I felt somewhat sad for the leaf. It was completing its destiny, as it goes for leaves. No sadness – no sadness. An important cycle to create fertilizer for the ground under the tree.

A breeze carried the maple leaf a few feet from the tree. Many leaves had begun to change color in the tree.

Alas, the leaf floated to the ground. By standards, a short journey. Nothing special, but a meaningful journey.

Autumn is with us.

Hurricane Carla

Hurricane Carla 1961

by

B.D. Adams

©2017

M

y Texas memories can be one after the other of happiness and childhood delight. Some of them, though, could be scary and alarming. Like my memory of Hurricane Carla.

   We moved to Victoria, TX, in 1960. I was on the upside of being ten-years-old. We moved to a suburb where many other kids lived. A modern way to live.

   We moved to Victoria because he became the head Physical Therapist in a bigger hospital.in Victoria. Victoria was between Houston and Corpse Christi.

    When we got to Victoria, we were closer to the Gulf Coast. Since my father was a boatman and a fisherman, we would go to the coast very often. We would tow our boat to there every time.

   Our main place to go was Port O’Connor – about 50 miles south of Victoria. With the storms I could remember back then, were some Gales or rain storms. The idea of anything worse was not considered.

   Then, in September 1961, I was 11 -- it became considered that the brewing storm in the Gulf of Mexico could hit Texas. Schools were closed until further notice. This was the first time I can remember that I actually watched the news and weather. I had no idea why it fascinated me, but it did.

   Then the news became definite that Hurricane Carla, as the storm was named, headed to Port O’Connor. The sustained winds were now expected to increase to 100mph. My mother and father had done the preparation to try to hunker down the house – a single story structure (no basement or crawlspace). The windows, front and back, had been taped with masking tape to keep the glass from splintering. My father had bought a large roll of plastic, in case a window did break.

   To a kid, this was exciting! Little did she know that the begeebies would be scared out of her!!

    September 12, 1961, the winds began very strong along with the rain – the sideway rain! It was daylight like around early afternoon. The sound was so horrible!

   As the storm intensified, if I was educated with The Tempest, this was what I would envision for Shakespeare’s sea storm!

   I watched out the front windows. There was so much debris that flew around. We would hear as the solid pieces would hit the house! There was little detail to see, but all the house could be seen. Many neighbors stayed, but just as many evacuated.

   Then, we heard and saw, an even more horrible sound, as a neighbor across the street lost their carport!! Thank goodness, they weren’t at home. (After the storm, we learned that the wall on that side caved.)

   My mother, being an average mother, made like a sleep-over in the living room; blankets, pillows, even a few sleeping bags. She made sandwiches for our supper. There was no electric, but we had candles and a couple of camp kerosene lanterns.

   It was night now – the storm still wailed. My mother kept trying to get me to sleep, but there was no way I could sleep. My younger brother had no problem. After supper he fell asleep.

   Then, quite surprising … the winds stopped. My father made note that we got a corner of “The Eye.” We went out the back door and stood on the concrete slab that was a porch, sort of. The water was deep here.

   I looked to the sky and saw the stars and a bit of the moon. I could see all the junk that lay all over the backyard and against the fences. It was a little spooky. Also, frogs were heard. Weird!

   “Is it over?” I asked my father.

   “No – now we need to fortify the backdoor. This is round two,” he calmly informed.

   And, he taped around the backdoor to try to keep the rain/water out. No sooner than we talked, the storm came back even fiercer!!

   It was like something from Disney’s “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice.” All these junky pieces on the backyard flew up and banged loudly against the house!

   Then, there was a nasty loud crashing bang at my brother’s bedroom. His window at the back was broken by a shingle that sliced through the screen and broke the glass. The wind was so violent, my father couldn’t get the tape to tape the plastic!

   He took a bed blanket and stuffed it into the window, and then opened the closet door to better reinforce that window.

   Now, the only sound heard from that window was a wheezing – a constant wheezing. My father closed the room’s door which helped.

   I did finally fall asleep. Had no idea of the time. It was just dark – dark, windy and upsetting.

   When I woke, there was still some wind and rain, but much calmer now. The sky was becoming brighter.

   My father had the Coleman Stove going so he and mother could have coffee. The bathtub had been filled with water because it was known that city water wouldn’t be good for many days. He used the antique coffee pot. The aroma of the coffee was like assurance that the storm had passed.

   Hurricane Carla was a Category 5 storm.

Abstract Art

Hans Degner

An Abstract Artist

Hans Degler 2016

by B.D. Adams ©2017

A

 person becomes an adult. With all the intended work ethics, he works hard and makes a success of his life. Became a builder, a construction business. Satisfying, however, something lacked. Spent twenty years at his vocation – a provider for his family – made his parents proud!

   Then a decision was made! A change was made … a choice that was good, but not of the norm!

   This is how it has gone for Hans Christian Degner of Copenhagen, Denmark. He was born in Denmark. He is now an artist – an Abstract Artist. He has studied fine art on his own and at Aarthus Art Akademi in Aarhus, Denmark. On the Mainland – on the peninsula. This is an accredited school known throughout the world. 

   He closed his construction business in 2006 when he chose to put paint to canvas, or any other format. His paintings began to sell in 2009. A tedious time for this serious artist, but he prevailed!

   As an accomplished artist, Hans’ work has been deemed awe-inspiring, as well as profound. His eye for color and design has taken him to the realms of Pollock, Picasso, and Renoir.

   Hans has displayed his paintings all over Scandinavia, as well as all over Europe. The style he has embraced is of his artistic personal way. He has had paintings shown in Orleans and Paris, France -- Geneva, Switzerland – Stockholm, Sweden – London, England – to name a few. With the popular attention his work has generated in these areas, his paintings have been described as “moving … beautiful … powerful.”

   Hans Degner is the new generation for abstract art. With his success in Europe and the U.K., he wants to become better known all over the world, especially in the United States. He wants to add the art lovers of the United States to his list of fans.

   His work is on Facebook and he can be contacted via:

hc.degner@live.dk 

Hans Degler

Rich Or Poor

What is a Rich Man?

By B.D. Adams

©2017

H

ow can you meet a rich man? I don’t know.

   One woman, I met a long time ago said, “You have to think rich.”

   “Think rich? Like, think about gold and diamonds?” I wanted to verify.

   “No, silly. It’s just a metaphor,” she said.

   I was impressed at her word usage.

   “Like going to polo matches or to art museums?” I asked.

   She gave me a quizzical expression. I understood.

   In my mind, how you live your life would determine if you were rich or not. Money and wealth can be some of it, but the way a life is carried out might be the biggest definition!

   Don’t get me wrong. Financial wealth is not to be sneezed at. That is freedom. That is the difference between hamburgers and lobsters (or any other analogy).

   I understand the idea of “Think Rich.” A woman should dress to impress with that idea. To look rich is as important as the thinking part. Wear silk or cashmere, Chanel or Ralph Lauren! Personally, I love the feel of silk.

   And wear only real jewels – real diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds. The choice of perfume is important, as well.

   Stay away from K-Mart or Walmart. Hey, I shop at those stores, but then I’m not trying to snag a rich man.

   Of course, honesty and communication would be a plus, no matter if the man is rich or not. Those qualities should be paramount!

   What kind of man do I have? I have a man who is honest, communicates very well, and truly loves me. In other words, I have a rich man!!

Another Book Excerpt

This is an excerpt of my next, not finished, novel. Frank Roselli was on his way to the beach cottage he and Katherine, his ex-wife, owned and shared. Myra, his live-in girlfriend had just dumped him for Jack, his long time best friend. They were on their way to Los Angeles where his friend had just landed a better position with an advertising agency out there. 

Frank went to the beach cottage to clear his mind. Ease his wounded ego.

To Cross That Bridge 

by

B.D. Adams

Chapter IV

   Not speeding this Thursday afternoon, but Frank maneuvered his red, Fiat Spider. His 1978 Spidereuropa, with the black top down, zoomed around vehicles on Ocean Parkway. He even wore goggles when he drove the car – to protect his eyes, of course. The wind in his hair tantalized!

     Frank mused: ‘Frank Roselli has pulled in front of Mario Andretti. They had been see-sawing for the lead in the last five laps. Can Roselli beat Andretti? Not yet – Andretti has the lead again. Wait a minute – Roselli has moved to the outside – he has a nose lead! They’re now side-by-side. They’re coming to the checkered flag. And … and … Roselli wins! Roselli wins! Frank Roselli wins The Monaco Grand Prix!!’

     Frank put his head back and made the crowd noise, the cheering crowd! He had to do this more often, he smiled with a happy sigh.

     He loved driving his Fiat like a race car in Monaco, France. Unfortunately, he had never been to Monaco. He and Myra had been making plans to go to Europe. He wanted to visit Italy again, now he was a grown man.

     Not in his madras shorts, he wore his khaki cargo shorts, a light blue T-shirt, and his leather Dockside shoes.

     He had gone the distance down Ocean Parkway on Jones Island to the obscured dirt access road to Oak Beach Road to go to the cottage. Just another 300 yards east of the Community Center.

     He kept mulling over the recent crap with her, Myra. He was more than glad that he decided to keep his private bank account to him only. She cleaned out the shared account, though. He could file a domestic complaint, but it was a shared account. What she did irritated him, but was it worth to file a lawsuit? Why did she leave him?

     Stop that, he scolded. No more Myra. No more Jack. Only Francis Roselli from now on.

     Francis pulled into the long driveway to the back door of the cottage. The front neighbor’s cottage was between the beach and their cottage. They allowed him, Kathy and their friends, to go down their path to the beach when desired. It didn’t look like the neighbors were there. That was good. They always liked to banter with him – be nosy.

     This cottage, his and Kathy’s, had been built several yards to the left behind the front property. However, the ocean was very seeable. He would do a lot of writing while there.

     Anxiously, impatiently he opened the screened door and unlocked the wooden door. Inside, the window over the sink was opened – there was a puff of a breeze, a little less stuffy. With a minor survey of the inside, everything seemed to be as it should. He carried his duffle to the inside of the cozy, comfortable cottage. The ceiling was faux-vaulted in the main area. A nice touch.

     Beginning with the window between the apartment sized stove and refrigerator and the small bedroom, he opened it wide. Then he moved to the living room area windows – one on the west wall near the bathroom and the two windows beside the front door.

     Just an average cottage of the 1920s. One airy bedroom, which was fairly large, with a queen-size bed and a good sized closet. The other bedroom was just a bit smaller than the front room, like a den or library. No bed – two armchairs and a small table with a lamp. The sofa in the main area made into a full bed, if needed. The matching overstuffed armchair added to the coziness of the area. In the cedar chest, in the front bedroom, there was a queen-size blow-up mattress. Came in handy many years ago for a beach weekend with friends. That was a fun weekend!

     This cottage was built in 1922 – the time of Gatsby. It was furnished, decorated in that era. However, definitely not meant for year round living.

     It was sturdy enough, though. As it was, there were oak hardwood floors, well-constructed walls of modern sheet-rock, not plasterboard, tall windows of 1920s vintage. There was very creative, outside bric-a-brac. Inside, the original cast-iron claw-foot tub with copper fixtures was spectacular!

     An article was written about the cottage by the local tabloid. He and Kathy bought it, had painted, repaired and put in a small shed that housed the beach chairs and other items. Not many of the older cottages were still in existence.  That was sad.

     In the bedroom, it was clear that Kathy had left the room spic and span after the tryst with her new boyfriend. Clean sheets on the bed, comforter neatly folded, as usual.

     He tossed the duffle bag onto the queen-sized bed. Raised those windows. Ah … refreshing!

     His curiosity got the better of him, though, as he went to the bathroom.  Even here, there wasn’t any telltale evidence that a man had been there. Frank shook his head. Did he really want to see remnants of another man?

     He and Kathy still had a kind of – affection -- for each other, which irked Myra at times. But could Frank and Kathy evolve back to something more? Especially now, with Myra gone.

     He must forget those thoughts!

     The little writing desk was still by the front window way to the left where he could look out at the beach and the breaking waves. He could gaze out when he needed a break. The laptop was placed there.

     In the kitchen, as in the bathroom, neat and clean. Frank opened a cupboard to see what might be there for food. Canned tuna, canned pork and beans and -- what’s this? A can of B&M Brown Bread.

     Bread in a can? Who was this guy she was dating? Was he someone from upstate … The Adirondacks? Frank shook his head with a tsk-tsk. Should he worry about his ex-wife? No … not now. He would open that can later to see if it was, indeed, bread.

     The fridge was empty, plugged in, but empty. He’d go to the little convenience store to see what he could buy there. Only going to be there for a few days.

     Looked into the cupboard by the sink where a few bottles of alcohol would be kept. Ah, yes. Half-gallon bottles mostly full of whiskey, vodka, rum and scotch, his favorite. That new guy must not drink much. That was good for Frank.

     The cottage felt more welcoming now with the windows opened, so he unlocked the front door and opened it wide. Then went through the screen door to step out onto the narrow porch where two white painted, wooden rocking chairs were. He just stood on the porch, leaned against one of the porch posts, to enjoy the ocean breeze. This was what he needed after last night.

     The sun was more to the west, over the city. A few seagulls flew near to the porch and screamed to him, so he imagined. They hoped he would throw food to them.

     “Go away you moochers,” Frank said, “I might have food for you later.” He laughed, but not heartily. Since he read that damned “Dear John” note, what did he have to laugh about? He smiled anyway. A smile came more easily made than a laugh.

     He would survive even this.

Days Gone By - Memory

Memories of Days Gone By

B&W TV Commercial

By

B.D. Adams ©2017

   For those who remember photo albums filled with B&W (black and white) square photos with beveled edges, then you’re around my generation. It is amazing what we remember.

   When I was fairly young, we had a B&W Zenith television that sat on a rolling cabinet. Actually, it stayed in the living room – never rolled anywhere except to have the floor vacuumed underneath.

   Color TVs were way too expensive -- so said my parents. I didn’t mind, just having a TV to watch all the cartoons and kid programs was a treat. Like Mighty Mouse, Popeye and Bugs Bunny along with Hopalong Cassidy, Lassie, and Sky King, to name a few.

   With these memories of B&W televisions, this wonder came to my mind’s eye. How do I remember my past? Is it in color or in B&W?

   The first time I ever saw “The Wizard of Oz” in color, I was mesmerized!! So wondrous!!

   One thing I remember the most, along this line, was a TV commercial that advertised color TVs. By Zenith, by chance, and the commercial was in B&W:

            The announcer begins – “Zenith Televisions are ahead of the time … blah … blah … blah.”

            As the announcer continues his spiel, the camera pans back to show a football field, empty with no players, just the field with the uprights at the far end zone.

            Then the announcer hits the viewers with a definite guilt trip that no parent wants, as he asks,

            “Do you want your children to grow up thinking football is played on gray grass?”

   As a child, and then as an adult, that commercial rather stuck with me. When my son was born and when I got older, I began using color film in my dinky Kodak camera. Of course, as I became a pro photographer, color film was primarily used.

   I asked my son once how he remembered his world as a little boy – I had taken photos of him in B&W, as well as color. With evolution, he remembers his life in color.

   Nice how those memories grow.

Son, Jacob, and Mom, Brandy 1985