Some time before 2010 Angela Talbot created a piece of art – a sculpture. I can’t find Ms. Talbot and I don’t know the piece’s proper name, but in the few web instances where I can find the image she is called “Old Lady.’
I love this old woman.
I came across the photo on March 1, 2010 and nicked it to use to illustrate a blog post about how I hate to paint.
I was young, I was foolish. I know better now. I don’t steal images from the internet any longer. (I use Creative Commons and the like and use them legally.)
Along about 2019, someone nicked the photo from me and posted it to Pinterest making that post of mine my all-time most popular knocking off the pedestal the one about negligees.
You would not believe how many hits I get off of that photo. Daily. Every day. I get excited at the stats and go look, but nope, it’s just Angela’s artwork gathering viewers. It really is quite the piece.
I do wish folks would stay around and read a bit.
I lied. I’m going to steal one more photo. This from AngelaTalbotCreations on My Space. The Old Lady in all her glory. If you know how to contact Angela, please let me know.
Safe in the little boat painted bright blue, I dip the paddle into the water now and again but am letting the water just carry me. I wave to folks on the shore. I don’t know them, and they don’t know me. I don’t have much strength, yet.
The river’s current is gentle. I don’t know where the current is taking me. I have been content to just drift down the river waving to folks as I head out alone.
I am not well-provisioned. This is an adventure – the river will provide or perhaps it won’t. I am not so much curious about what lies ahead as I am resigned. There is no map, and I couldn’t read it if there were. For a map to be useful one must know where they are and where they are going. I don’t know either. I did not plan this trip. I did not choose the little bright blue boat.
The water called to me and there it was on the beach.
The little bright blue boat drifts toward the center of the river where the current is stronger. Picking up speed, I now use the oars to steer the boat. The surface of the water ripples with a wind gust and low clouds begin to move in.
I used to write for an alternative newspaper in Charleston, WV. This article began as an email to Michael Lipton asking for a job writing for Graffiti. I got the gig, I just wasn’t paid for it, but boy did I have fun. And then he sold the paper out from under me and the new folks weren’t interested in my free labor. It’s pretty rough when you can’t even give it away! Circa 2003.
by Cee Kay
Unemployment is very strange. It’s especially strange if one has been, more or less, continually. employed since one was 15. West Virginia is a microcosm of everything that is wrong or going wrong in the nation, economically. (We’re also a microcosm for lots of good things, but that’s different.) If things are bad elsewhere, they’re rotten here. If it’s rotten elsewhere, we’re throwing ourselves from skyscrapers. (Well … if we had any).
In order to both find gainful employment and keep the Bureau of Unemployment happy, I am now sending resumes in response to any job posting even remotely suited to my abilities and experience. I am baffled by the organizations that choose to interview me and astounded by those who don’t.
I’ve noticed certain trends in the interview process that did not exist the last time I was actively seeking work back in 1985. Some of these are disturbing.