sculpting

Most of the class decided to draw or paint this still life. I chose to sculpt it out of a block of carrara marble. I spent an extra two years in school learning to do it, but it was worth it.

 

Photo by Frank McKenna via Unsplash
For Only 100 Words

polymer clay

Most of the class decided to draw or paint this still life. I chose polymer clay. It took forever for my dad to teach me the medium, but it was worth it.

 

Photo by Frank McKenna via Unsplash
For Only 100 Words

PgMe’s Friday Haiku Challenge: Orphan & Grieving

forest orphans stop
grieving or soon depart for
animal heaven

 

For PgMe’s Friday Haiku Challenge

Where the magic happens

My great grandfather Otis started our farm at the age of 40, in 1869.

“Ottie” was something of a genius. My grandpa told me that the future came to Ottie in dreams. When Ottie took a trip to New York in 1867, he visited Coney Island. There he ate a sausage on a bun, purchased from the first hot-dog cart in America. That night, Ottie had a dream. In the dream, his hot dog was spread with catsup and mustard. As soon as he got home from New York, Ottie bought the land he needed and established our farm.

Ottie originally grew and sold the ingredients for catsup, based on recipes from the 1850s. These agricultural products included onions, allspice, coriander, cloves, cumin, garlic, celery, cinnamon, and ginger. By the time the hot dog was unveiled at the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago, catsup was present on the condiments table next to the grill, to be spread upon the dog. That catsup was made from our farm’s products.

At the 1904 Louisiana Purchase Exposition in St. Louis, French’s bright yellow mustard was introduced, again made with the ingredients from our farm. These included distilled vinegar, mustard seed, salt, turmeric, paprika, spice, and garlic powder. Yes, we had a salt lick in the hills.

In my youth I would wander in the mustard fields and down the endless rows of tomatoes, often eating a hot dog.

 

For the Thursday Photo Prompt.

Rube

“Next.”

“Hello. I am Abulkhair Ospan, Sir.”

“Stand in the spotlight, Abulkhair, and read the lines please.”

“Ahem. When I get out of the tube, I am going to the pube and then to the clube.”

“What sort of accent is that?”

“I am Kazakh, Sir.”

“Well, this is not Kazakhstan. Please pronounce the words as if you were born in Peoria.”

“How would they sound please, Sir?”

“When I get out of the tub, I am going to the pub and then to the club. Ok, try the Shakespeare.”

“To die, to sleep. To sleep, perchance to Dream; aye, there’s the rube, For in that sleep of death…”

“Stop. Sorry, you aren’t right for the part.”

“Please, have you something else for me, Sir?”

“We’re doing a play about the circus. There is a small part we haven’t filled yet. A fight breaks out and you rush in and shout the old carney phrase Hey, Rube! Can you do that?”

“Oh yes, Sir. Here it is… Hey, Rub!”

 

For the Daily Prompt.