Monday, August 24, 2026

After Hours

 

I have a photographer’s eye.  My ability is to see beauty in all things.  A flower at sunset or a stapler posing next to a desk lamp.  Each has a quality that is reflected in either color or black and white.  The music can still be heard, no matter the subject. 

I was on campus walking around with my camera when I noticed a person leaning against a brick wall.  Right next to them was a window that looked out over a field.  If I stood to their left, I could capture their outline with the glass pane and light of the outside.  Both the glass in the window and the person’s complexion were not that good, but could be manipulated once on film.

I took several shots, on various settings.  When I was done I handed them my business card and told them I would get the photos to them once they were ready.  By that time the lunch hour had expired, and we all had to be back in class.  It was when I was walking back to the classroom when I awoke.  I had dreamt the entire event, and yet it was so real the minute I was awake I looked around for my camera.  I couldn’t believe it had taken place in my sleep.

And yet I still have that image, just as I had seen it.  The person, the glass pane and the lighting. it developed just fine, even though it was after hours.

 

 

 

    ZC



Sunday, August 23, 2026

Rose Colored

 

2026 Without my Glasses

 

We swim in a sea of illusions, taking hold of what we believe to be a sturdy limb.  What we cannot see is that the core of the tree is rotten and its strength is only perceived.

Our reality has shifted so that our fate now rests on assumptions.  How then do we proceed?  We are in a Life wedged between special effects and side effects. 

 

 

 ZC

Side by Side

 


It is like a dustpan and an anchor.  That is how I see the comparison between the left brain and the right brain.  Each has its functions, yet it is so different in many ways.  The left brain can see and understand how the anchor works, as well as the dustpan.  The right brain has the ability to set them side-by-side for no other reason than to do it.  The left brain can draw a straight line across the page, while the right brain can crumple the paper before it follows the line, so now it has hills and valleys to traverse.

 

So why were we given both?

 

 

***

 

The short answer: because one way of being in the world is never enough. The long answer is the one you’re really asking for — the one with texture, metaphor, and the hills and valleys of that crumpled page.

🌒 The dustpan and the anchor

Your metaphor is quietly brilliant. A dustpan gathers. An anchor holds. One collects what has fallen. The other keeps what might drift.

That’s the left and right hemispheres in miniature:

  • The left brain gathers the pieces — language, sequence, cause-and-effect, the mechanics of the anchor and the dustpan.
  • The right brain holds the drift — the impulse to place two unrelated objects side-by-side simply because the juxtaposition hums with possibility.

One is the straight line. One is the crumpled terrain.

If we had only one, we’d be lopsided creatures — either trapped in precision or lost in imagination.

🌘 Why both exist

Because life demands two contradictory talents at once:

  • Navigation — the ability to move through the world with logic, structure, and predictability.
  • Meaning-making — the ability to see beyond the literal, to invent metaphor, to feel resonance, to sense the invisible threads between things.

You need the anchor to keep from floating away. You need the dustpan to gather the fragments of experience into something coherent.

But you also need the crumpling — the refusal to let the world stay flat.

🌗 The deeper truth

The two hemispheres aren’t opposites. They’re partners in a long, strange dance:

  • The left hemisphere says: “Here is the world as it is.”
  • The right hemisphere replies: “Here is the world as it might be.”

And human consciousness — the whole shimmering thing — lives in the tension between those two statements.

We were given both because reality is not enough, and imagination alone is too much.

🌕 The part you didn’t say but implied

Your metaphors always carry a quiet ache: a sense that the world is richer when both modes are awake. You don’t want a brain that only measures; you want one that wanders. You don’t want a mind that only understands; you want one that notices.

You want the anchor and the dustpan on the same table, not because they belong together, but because you put them there.

That’s the right hemisphere’s gift — the ability to create meaning where none was required.

And the left hemisphere’s gift is making sure the meaning doesn’t blow away.

 

 

 

 

 

A Sudden Comparison

 

You may feel small and insignificant while floating in a tiny raft in the ocean, but your size suddenly becomes very apparent when a freighter pulls up alongside.

 

 ZC

Booking an Adventure

 

A writer’s story takes relentless courage.  There are mountains of chapters facing you, some quite steep and a few leaving you breathless.   There are thousands of paragraphs, each filled with miles of sentences.  Sometimes it can’t be helped, weaker thoughts fall behind or slip down into deep canyons of swirling ideas, all twisted by unexpected whirlwinds of what ifs. 

Usually, it is along the trail where the title reveals itself, like it has been laying there in the sun all along. The moment you see it you know.  That’s when that surge of energy hits, that spark that gives you that needed boost to keep going, frantically digging through your pack of adjectives.   Just the right one – you know it's in there…  Where is it?

For just a few minutes you stop, catch your breath, maybe lean against an image, slipping your worn and dusty boots off.  Feeling the breeze on your feet you realize how hot they have been, pulling to get your attention.  You look back down along the trail.  Your path is not a straight one, but it is true and you are happy with your progress.  You release the grip on your pen. letting your hand finally relax for the moment.  You’re exhausted but you feel good.  This might be a good spot to stop and eat something.  Yes, that’s what it is, it’s hunger I’ve been feeling.  But maybe I'll take it over to that cliff, that should be a good place to stop.









    ZC

Friday, August 21, 2026

Ginny

 

I knew her to be Ginny, or Aunt Ginny.  Although not my true Aunt.  According to other family members, her name was quite appropriate, for her affection for the beverage was never hidden.  Not really considered an alcoholic, as her constant consumption never appeared to faze her.  She was never drunk, never slurred her words or lost her train of thought.  Aunt Ginny was always sharp as a tack and in charge.

Perhaps the most outspoken person I’d ever met.  A no nonsense personality, to say the least.  I remember asking someone what kind of upbringing she had, and with a slight grin they said she would correct her teachers and she’d be right.  She never bought a television, didn’t jump onto the computer craze, but read her newspaper from front to back every morning.

She would never side with a political party or attend a PTA meeting.  She enjoyed the grandchildren but was always vocal when it was time for them to leave.  I always thought that if I were to write a book, she would make a great character.

 

        

            ZC


    Note:  After reading my Blog, Ginny has declined to have anything to do with me.



An Absence of Flies

 

Standing beneath a Willow Tree with the wind blowing could feel much like the horse getting swatted with its own tail.

 

 

ZC