The Adventures of Washington Whitten

Tender

1/7/2022

Dear Friends,

I purchased Sing a Song of Seasons at a second hand book store. Every day since the first of January I've read the daily poem. That's what inspired Little January.

Today's entry was a beautiful surprise.

Today is the previous owner of the books' mother's birthday. Happy Birthday my unknown friend. I love how she circled the day with a heart and called her sweet mama.

She continued the sentiment on the next page. Now, John Foster's, Diamond Poem is nice, but this daughter's poem tugged at my heart.

My friend, counselor, confidant and life guru (if you want her name let me know) and I were talking the other day about word of the year. I feel like it's a great thing, but there are too many wonderful words to just stick to one. So, I incorporate the word of the day, the sentiment, the season, the year, month, the week or the moment.

It's o.k. to do this and have a word of the year too if you want. For me the importance is really taking some time with the word and seeing how it fits. Today, the sweet mama's birthday, January 7th, my word will be tender.

This is a tender moment between mother and daughter. I don't know if sweet mama knows about this particular entry, but I'll bet she knows how loved she is by her daughter.

So, today dear friends I invite you to celebrate sweet mama and her daughter by declaring today an unofficial mothers day. You don't have to hurry up and make a dinner or brunch reservations, or send flowers, or give free back scratch coupons, unless you want to of course. Acknowledge them. Think about them. Give them a call. Stop by if you can and just give them a hug.

And listen, this isn't just for your biological mother. I'm very fortunate in growing up I have several mamas. They were all sweet until you did something wrong. My sons are also fortunate in they had some other sweet mamas too. Celebrate them.

Not only have I had the good luck to have other mothers take me under their wing, but I won the lottery in the mother-in-law department.

I should also acknowledge the tender feeling when I read what my friends share about their mothers. Sometimes the stories are funny, loving, or just plain crazy. You can feel the love.

Some daughters and sons become warriors in honor of whatever disease or circumstance took their moms from them. While their battle is fierce and determined, it's also tender. I'm always touched by hearing the stories.

One amazing friend, dang I'm really lucky in the friend department, shared her mother's letters with me. What a gift.

To all of you who share your memories about your moms, thank you. I love reading and hearing about it. Please don't stop.

It matters.

My word for today is Tender. I'm going to send my sweet mama a message. I lost her many years ago, but I talk with her often. There are certain seasons and days I know I'm going to think of her, but then there are other times when I"m gobsmacked from something out of the blue.

I'll eat an orange and talk to my sweet mama. The scent of an orange reminds me of her. I'll contemplate the wonderful things she did for me and I'll honor her.

So, in honor of the unknown mother daughter duo, I wish all you mothers, mother figures, other mothers, a very tender Mother's Day.

Love,

Kelly

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Little January

1/4/2022

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Photo by Filip Mroz on Unsplash

Dear Friends,

Little January
Tapped on my door today.
And said, "Put on your winter wraps,
And come outdoors to play."
Little January
Is always full of fun;
Today we coasted down the hill
Until the set of sun.
Little January
Will stay a month with me
And we have such jolly times---
Just come along and see.

Winifred C. Marshall

Well, Winifred looks at January in a much nicer way than most. It can be jolly at times. There's so much to do if you just dig deep and put on your winter wraps and go outside. You can snowshoe, ski, and sled. Really you can fly down the snowy hill on anything you can dream up.

I remember the first time going to the sledding hill after moving from Florida, where Little January has a whole other personality. It was just as wonderful as I thought it would be, maybe better because I loved the creativity people had when choosing a snowy vehicle. Of course there were different types of sleds you buy at the store, but there was also an amazing display of ingenuity.

Kids of all ages, yes including old farts, soared down the hill on shower curtains, floats that are made for the river, or gigantic pink flamingos which usually chill in a pool somewhere tropical. There was a foursome gliding down on an old waterbed mattress. Do they even make waterbeds anymore?

I saw a teenage boy surf the hill on an ironing board. My goodness that's the greatest way of all in which an ironing board should be used. Then I saw a furry man, who looked like he was sherpa. He came down from the mountain tops for a Little January fling. He removed tires from a bike and replaced them with skis. It was brilliant, and I imagine only a Himalayan Sherpa with an innate balance required from such a vehicle could ride. A brave sherpa indeed.

Photo by Maragda Farràs on Unsplash

All of those Little January playmates had one thing in common. They answered the knock. We can't always do that. Sometimes, we have to invite her in. Sometimes insist she get her blizzardy ass inside.

Last week we had a brutal arctic blast. Once a year, the arctic toddler having a wintry tantrum makes an appearance. This one seemed to stay a bit longer. My old boss used to say visitors are like fish, after three days they start to stink. Well, it stayed longer than three days. However because everything is frozen solid you can't smell it. But you know it stinks.

This was an arctic blast which brought multiple warnings to keep all skin covered to avoid, I don't know, skin hurt? Also, dress as much as possible to avoid hypothermia. The wind chill was horrific. And well, it was a time to light a candle and hunker in.

Photo by Victoria Primak on Unsplash

Candle light, like quiet snow has a calming effect. I don't know if it's scientifically true, but it calms my nervous system. It's a beautiful exhale. For me, it immediately makes me feel like life is simple. No, not because I'm old and was born before electricity was invented. Dang, that was harsh. It's because it is simple. I'm not sure how to describe simple in my terms, it's more of a feeling.

To me simple is a kind of wandering, not in the literal sense, but the imaginative. It's not shirking your duties or responsibilities, it's, well, it's just that it doesn't make them more that they truly are.

I'm soothed by the thought of being in a cabin in the wintry woods along with Little January, writing by candle light, like Jo from Little Women. I relate to her because she was known as the tomboy who had a passion for writing.

I suppose that's because it's the best of both worlds. You go out and do what needs to be done, play, wander, explore, then come inside take off your bundles of clothes, light a candle and write down your thoughts to later remember. Or to sort out your feelings, or document the time.

While it's for sure I'm a tomboy, I too, have a passion for writing, only it's been revealed to me in the autumn stage (I'm being generous with myself) of life that I love to write just for me.

I also love to write letters. What has been reveled and boy do I wish it were brought to my attention sooner, is I have no desire to write a novel, a screenplay or any other formal piece of writing. Well, sometimes I get a hankerin' to do that, but what stops me is the formality of it all. It's not simple.

It's not that I don't want to hunker down and work hard. I just want to write for the joy of it. If I feel a story needs to be told, I'll tell it. The need to write is to discover myself, to share with the world my ideas, my views and hope it connects. I want to be heard.

The one thing I know to be true is I desire, no crave connection. But not just any connection, simple like candlelight. That seems to be the word I was born to reflect. For better or worse, I embody simple.

Perhaps one day I will share the story of how the word simple was used as a weapon, but today is not that day.

Today, simple is healing. It's everything beautiful, everything joyous, everything that's wonderful, everything loving....it's everything.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Today, I will answer Little January's knock. I'll put on my jacket, scarf, a hand-made crocheted with love from my niece burgundy headband to cover my ears. I'll top it off with a knit hat, slip on my gloves, and put on my arctic mucks then go outside and shovel snow.

Perhaps, I will throw snowballs for the dogs, or build a snow dragon. Yes, a snow dragon. What isn't there to love about dragons? Man, I think I could write a thousand pages about dragons.

But I probably won't build any snow formations because it's not the type of snow for creating creatures. The Warren Miller gang calls it champagne snow. And if you're not carvin', you're starvin'.

Most certainly I will throw out birdseed for the birds so they can have a proper meal. Yesterday, there were billons perched on my crabapple tree. They were feasting on the over-riped, dare I say rotted fruit.

The tree became the only pub in town open, and there were no bouncer to card the minors. It was a rager. I don't mean to insult them. The birds were just trying to have a hot toddy and perhaps a spin on the dance floor with their favorite mate.

I just don't want them drinking and flying.

The quail on the other hand cruise through the yard like they are the stars of the royal parade in front of Windsor castle. They are fancy enough to wear crowns, and they do wear it well, but simple enough to eat whatever they find. They know who they are. Guess what? After a long, long, long time, I"m finally figuring out who I am. It's magnificent.

I know for sure today I'll be mucking stalls, that's year round. I'll also scratch Echo's ears, or whatever area the divine queen will allow me. Frankie, I'll rub his neck. He likes that. Echo will get a carrot, Frankie's not quite sure what that is yet. In due time my precious boy.

Photo by Jonatan Pie on Unsplash

So Little January, I won't wish you away. I will hope you stay for the month. And like the poem says we will have such jolly times. We will also take a breath Little January, or the heart of winter as some call you. You are also the purveyor of deep thoughts, of solidifying seeds planted in the fall. Yes, in the fall, spring isn't the only season to get the glory of sowing seeds.

Little January, you offer us a much needed break from the whirlwind of the holidays, from chaotic life, from have to's and musts. And I thank you for that.

Love,
Kelly

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The Horizon

6/18/2021

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Photo by Alexander Andrews on Unsplash

I was born under a new moon. According to almanac.com
"A new Moon is essentially the opposite of a full Moon. During a full Moon, we see the side of the Moon that is being illuminated by the Sun, giving the Moon its bright, glowing appearance. During a new Moon, however, we see the side of the Moon that is not being illuminated by the Sun, which makes the Moon blend in with the dark night sky."

Ta da...I am the dark side of the moon. The new moon is also the giver of new beginnings. I know this because today, I went one of my favorite shops, Wonders of the World. I was looking at these beautiful necklaces. You look up your birthdate and it tells you what phase the moon is in and which necklace is meant for you.

New beginnings is something I can go along with. I've started over many times. I've never reinvented myself. I like to think I've evolved, but I still screw up and am granted new beginnings. All-the-time. Everything old becomes new again as they say. I learned much about myself in the matter of minutes. Too bad I didn't buy the necklace.

You know, it's kind of like when I take the quiz on Facebook, what kind of sandwich are you? Don't you dare judge me, the only reason I played is because you did first. I had to re-take the test because it gave me the same answer as you. THEN, I had to redo it again because I didn't like the answer.

I feel we've all learned something about ourselves here today. No need to thank me, just gift me with the new moon necklace.

Photo by MyTripFlops (Travel & Photo Blog by Katyushka ) on Unsplash

What was I talking about? Horizons, yes. When I was a little girl I would sit on the beach for hours looking at the horizon. I was mesmerized where the sea met the sky. I believed it was a land full of people shaped like the pyramids of Egypt lying on their side. Didn't you?

The next time I saw an Egyptian pyramid laying on it's side was in the 80's on the Las Vegas strip. How can I explain how the Luxor was lying on it's side? I'll let Fergie tell you, "The Grey Goose got your girl feeling loose Now I'm wishing that I didn't wear these shoes."

I'm pretty sure I wasn't drinking Grey Goose, but the house drinks in the clear plastic cups you get free wh gambling. How many can you drink in a night? Well, enough to make a pyramid lay down. See everything old, is new again.

Of course I'm older now and know better. The real story behind the Horizon is this. There's an entrance where sea and sky meet hidden from the naked eye. A whole world exists behind the hidden door.

Allow me to introduce you to some of it's inhabitants.

Meet Allegra Van Der Zee.

Photo by Arsham Haghani from Pexels

Allegra hangs out at the Seascape Supper club with her friends. She drinks dirty martinis, shaken not stirred, while eating the finest chocolates and smoking thin fancy cigarettes. Never inhaling.

I know what you're thinking, she's a spoiled rich girl with nothing better to do, or she's a gold digger. A hustler? Ut uh, no way Jose, your wrong Donkey Kong. She is a hustler, but not how you think.

Allegra was a resourceful young girl, and knew how she wanted to make her way in this world, and it wasn't by manual labor. As my friend, Billie used to say, "Isn't Manuel Labor the president of Cuba?" Why work hard for your money, when you can make your money work hard for you? She heard this on an infomercial for some product she never purchased.

She never started a lemonade stand, but she did invest in other children's refreshment business. She hired them to work the booth then procured the suppliesin many different ways, then she took a cut from the daily earnings.

The same with car washes, bake sales, etc. No money came out of her pocket, but she took a cut from all the trades she kicked off. The workers liked it. The clients were happy. Voila!

An entrepreneur is born.

When she became a teenager, she was quite the savvy business woman. One day a month she would hear from 10 other teenagers. She listened to their crazy business ideas. The riskier the better. She listened to her gut to choose which venture to take on and it always paid off. By 21 she was independently wealthy and in the top ten of the Horizon's richest people.

Back to the Seascape Supper Club. The richest bachelors and married men flirt with her and offer to buy drinks for just a moment in her company. Sometimes it was business, most time it was pleasure. Sometimes, she indulges them, but only for possible venture opportunities.

She wasn't interested in them romantically. You see her heart belonged to the barback, Brodie McGuillicuddy. He didn't have a clue.

However, in secret she longed for Dante Mahem, lead singer of Horizon's hottest rock band, The Pyramids. Rumor has it he hung out at the supper club after a show years ago. Allegra was waiting till he returned. She just knew if they met and their eyes locked they would never look at another again. She really believed this.

Really.

You're probably thinking how does a smart, resourceful, shrewd woman believe this? Nicht. Nah. Nope. Heck NO! This notion comes from the experience of her mother, Esmerelda Van Der Zee. You see back in the day she was infatuated, obsessed, and consumed with thoughts of Dan Marino from the Miami Dolphins.

Wouldn't you know it, she ran into him at a restaurant on an island 55 miles east of the Horizon. They had a torrid love affair. No, Allegra isn't his daughter. Turns out there rendezvous was only meant to be a weekend in paradise.

So, you see Allegra held out hope, because it could happen. She wasn't plagued with this thought by any means, but it was always there in the back of her mind, just in case. In the meantime, she would dance at night and wheel and deal by day.

Life is good at the Seascape Supper Club because they have a hero in Clementine Beaumont.

(Is it becoming clear why my husband and I never could agree on girls names when I was pregnant? That's why we were given a boy.)

Photo by peter bucks on Unsplash

Clementine Beaumont is the hostess at the Seascape Supper Club. The single folks who frequent the establishment refer to her as a Super Hero.

Clementine is polite and insists you be the same. She dresses modestly with Peter Pan collars, wears Estee Lauder perfume ( a nod to her gran who gifted her a bottle when she was ten.), sensible shoes and always carries a clipboard.

Not only does she carry out her duties as hostess, she's the guardian angel of first dates. If she notices a man, or woman talking rudely to the waitstaff, she morphs from mild mannered restaurant employee, to Super-Red-Flag-Noticer-Of-A-First-Date-That-The-Other-Half-Doesn't-Notice-Because-They-Really-Really-Want-It-To-Work-Out-Hero.

Yes, she has a cape.

There's a special room for first dates, it's kind of a secret, but not really. There's a special menu for this room. It's where people who don't trust their judgements dine. They know they just have to show up and let Clementine be the judge.

I know what you are thinking. You think what a fantastic idea, right? Yes! I can finally say what you are thinking is correct-a -mundo. You did it!

And guess what? This part of the club was financed by Allegra Van Der Zee.

Clementine has been invited to many weddings as a result of her expertise, and once she was called for a ride home from jail. You see, Dante Mayhem showed up there with a starlet one night and Allegra lost her shit.

Till next time.
Love,
Kelly

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Muses

6/16/2021

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Photo by Tiko Giorgadze on Unsplash

Dear friends,

Warning, it's a long one.

Muses have been on my mind. Probably because I"ve decided to write again. I wish I knew which muse pushed me off the cliff. That's the thing about muses, there's more than one.

There are many muses you know. They have different specialities, poetry, dancing, painting, or just getting out of bed and taking a shower. There is also more than one muse for each category.

Some actively seek out people in need and eager to help, others who've been around the block a time or two, or three or four, sit up in trees smoking a cigarettes waiting to be asked, or daring the asker to present a worthy story that excites them enough to go to work.

You may call them angels, God, or something celestial, but not all muses are ethereal.

Photo by Matthew Smith on Unsplash

Some of the best ones are human. They don't even know it, or perhaps they do. Who knows? That's why if you are feeling unenthusiastic, down, or just plain uninspired pay attention to everything. I promise it works.

There's a website called Unsplash and Pexels that I really love visiting. It's where I get most photos. I have an album titled interesting people. I have over 200 pictures in it. I can spend hours thinking of these people and what their stories are.

I'm fussy though. I don't like the model-y type photos but something that has that special oomph. Collectively they are all my muses.

I'm at a place where I want to tell tories, but I don't have it in me to be formal about it. I don't want to edit, and work and work and research. I want to tell and not show. So, I will. Perhaps, I will get back to that one day. But, I don't care if I do.

No, that's not accurate, I care, but I am content with whatever direction the muses take me. So, now I'm going to tell you a little story.

Photo by Lucas Lenzi on Unsplash

This is the story of Clytie and Apollo. Not the mythological story, (click here for that legend but come back please), but the human one. Not Chlymadia either. Bwahahahaha

That's Clytie, an avid cosplayer. She's infamous at the conventions for her wonderful rendition of whatever character she portrays. In fact, if you want to know the truth, she's absorbed by it. Fantasy and reality are blurred.

I'm not sure what happened to her. Perhaps one day she will confide in me. In the meantime, I can tell you how she became a muse.

A carnival beauty from the Netherlands was on call and took a shine to Clytie.

Photo by Dele Oluwayomi on Unsplash

One spring morning after comic-con, Clytie took a walk around the town. She loved to explore the towns she visited when going to conventions.

The downtown was both beautiful and alarming. There were blocks of swanky hotels, then areas around the bus station where the homeless hung out. So many lost souls. It terrified her to walk by them and saddened her to see how humanity could end up.

It was too much for her to absorb this particular morning. She turned and went the other way.

Brigid alley appeared. It wasn't a seedy back alley where clandestine events happen, it wasn't a road either, it was the in-between. Of course she went down this path, because there's nothing more tantalizing than the in-between.

The Alley was surrounded by art galleries, coffee shops, and second hand stores. The alley presented the back doors of these establishments. The realness of the store shone through here, not the image or illusion they wanted to portray with their store front.

She was trying to persuade a feral cat with two tails to come out and let her pet it when she heard someone crying out. They were pleading and urging, to someone or some thing. She couldn't understand the words, so she creeped closer to the sound to see if she could hear or see who was in despair.

Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

Apollo stood in his outside studio looking to the sky. The artist's words were aching, yearning and begging, but she still couldn't understand what he was saying. His sadness touched her. The sight of him holding a paintbrush dripping blue paint branded her heart. She knew she had to help. But how?

She could only guess what was bothering him. Was he experiencing some kind of blocked creativity and couldn't paint? Art was not something she knew a whole lot about. What could she do? Then she remembered her ninth grade book report on Van Gogh and his sunflower series.

Van Gogh suffered severe depression. He wanted to be known as the painter of sunfl0wers. That's all she could remember. This gave her a fabulous idea.

Wink, wink to the Netherlands Goddess who blew inspirational kiss of creativity.

Photo by Ava Sol on Unsplash

This was her first cosplay to help a fellow human being. It was thrilling and allowed her to marry fantasy and reality.

She returned to his studio an hour later. Only this time she went through the front door. He looked up as the bell above the door announced her arrival.

He saw her through his blood shot eyes. They were tired from his crying episode. Something about her made him not care about his appearance. She was bright and sunny and held a bouquet of sunflowers.

Everything she planned on saying to get him to confide in her disappeared when she looked into his eyes. There was no way she was going to trick him, even if it was to help. All pretenses went out the window.

She held out the flowers for him to take saying nothing. He took them and buried his nose in them. Sunflowers don't have a scent. He breathed in her compassion and something in him lifted. How could she know that earlier he wanted to end his life?

Photo by mohammad alizade on Unsplash

Apollo and Clytie struck up a long distance friendship. She visited him often in his studio because he was painting at turbo speed. His paintings were remarkable, they didn't look rushed. He was focused and unwavering in his subject of Sunflowers.

One of the distinguished galleries in the state offered to host a show for him. There will be an elegant gala introducing his work to art collectors with deep pockets. He invited Clytie to join him.

Photo by Fidel Fernando on Unsplash

The gala was intoxicating. Clytie was proud of Apollo. He glowed and exuded sunshine just like his flowers. He'll tell you, like the saying goes, you have to have a crack to let the light in. When he cracked everything shifted.

All of his paintings sold. At midnight he went up on stage and thanked everyone for coming. However, he told the guests there was one last painting to unveil. It was not for sale. It was his piece de resistance.

When the velvet blanket came off. The crowd gasped. I'm not sure if it was for the painting or for the artist. Apollo dropped down on one knee and opened a box revealing a canary tourmaline stone in the middle of diamond encrusted petals. The most dazzling sunflower you've ever laid eyes on. He looked at Clytie.

Photo by Jessica Christian on Unsplash

Clytie ran to him and jumped in his arms.

This was better than any fantasy she ever created.

As they say in only the best fairy tales, "They lived happily ever after......"

Till next time.

Love,
Kelly

Photo by Jonathan Borba on Unsplash

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New Beginnings or....

6/15/2021

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Photo by David Clode on Unsplash

Dear Friends,

This is a letter of new beginnings, or wrapping up a life well lived. Perhaps, I'm romanticizing my life by saying well lived. For sure it was lived, survived, sometimes thrived, a lot of times contented, chaotic in chunks most definitely. I suppose that's how everyone's lives are.

I'm an optimist.

I hope to highlight the good in life, but I'm not going to make any major declarations on this project. Ha, that's something I love to do. I'm going to do this and that. I promise to write everyday. Even though, I really mean it when I say that, and I really want to with all my heart.

I won't.

If you believe that it's certain I will disappoint you. So, I put forth no expectations, and I probably shouldn't even call this a project.

If you have happened along, welcome. I love that pink door picture at the top of the page. I really would like to know what's behind it. Who lives there? What do they do? How do they live? Houses fascinate me and spark my curiosity.

It's funny how much I adore that pink door. I've never been a fan of pink before and lately, I can't get enough. I mean I liked it on people, I didn't hate it, but it wasn't a choice of color I would choose for anything.

"Pink has always been a color in transition, and so have social attitudes towards it," said Valerie Steele, editor of the recently published book "Pink: The History of a Punk, Pretty, Powerful Color," in a phone interview.

The above paragraph is a quote from an article. The color pink: a cultural history.

I'm in transition like the color pink. No, I don't mean this in a doom and gloom way. It's just well, I"m entering the crone phase. If I'm honest, I've been there awhile, just been in denial. I'm embracing it now and all the wild, feral and guttural magic that comes along with it.

Photo by Matt Flores on Unsplash

The yellow door above is another entryway I'd love to cross. This one has stairs. Does it lead to a gothic garden filled will magical plants and animals before you get in the house?

Do the inhabitants have margaritas and conga lines on full moons? Or is it dilapidated and the yellow door a ruse to keep nosy relatives, or county officials away?

If'n you choose to come along with me, there will be many talks on houses, food, and people. People, people and more people.

There is much to say, and like I said I'm feeling emboldened to talk. Besides my husband and sons, and wonderful critters, I suppose this will be my legacy.

I feel a strong urge to make sure before I leave this world it's known I WAS HERE. Just like all those daring folks who write on underpasses, bridges and cliffs, "Kelly was here."

I'm also hoping in some small way I leave this world better than when I arrived. I'm not sure how to do that other than tell stories.

Till next time.

Love,
Kelly

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Tender

Little January

The Horizon

Muses

New Beginnings or....

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