Last Evening of Summer, Labor Day Eve, 9/7/09

By the way, the date 11/26 is the day I uploaded photos. Today is 12/6. Time lies! Or maybe it deceives.

The End? Been awhile since my last post, couple weeks. So what? Time? What a concept! If there be time left, and the time is right, can that be wrong? Seems like I'm sitting here in December not wanting the summer to end. How silly is that? Summer ended a season ago. Interestingly enough, three months ago today. This time but not space traveler has been fooling himself. Oh yes. Actually, I'm kind of good at it much to my chagrin. Perhaps I have the end of summertime blues. I should raise a fuss, I should raise a holler. Ever wonder why E=MC2?

I remember as a child, summers lasted, oh so long. Seemed like forever. My little brother would tell if you asked, that time only seems as though it is going faster do to percentages. When one is ten, a year is a ten percent of life, at 50 two percent. Unlike what seems to be the case for kids these days, we were always outside. We were all deeply tanned. 'Course we lived in a neighborhood, and only child or two child families were the exception, not the rule. So we'd have 50 kids within a block or two to play any number of games. We'd go swimming every day, I mean every day. Sometimes Camden Pool, sometimes Twin Lake. When we got older, there were summer romances. What fun. One could have a summer romance as a child too. The pretty little girl who visited next door every year, up early hoping she would come out to play with the boys. I wonder what her plans were.

So I am here. The last evening of summer, and it's warm like a summer night should be. The family has gone back to their respective lairs. Why did they do it? The "corner lot" lot who tell the story of Lot alot, called for a part in a picnic, a part southern outdoor supper. Yes they did. They invited us plus Connie and neighbor...short-time friend/long-time neighbor of they, long-time friend/no-time neighbor of ours, Lorraine. I often walked by the corner house never knowing what wonders lay inside. Funny how that works. How friends enter and exit. It always happens, only a few stick with us forever. Many come and go. How will this summer play out in the end? Who will the credits roll? Will the same actors still be there, in a score of years? 20? A decade? 10? An octave? (Ate) Will there be sharps and flats? Who will be the best boy? And key grip? And who will play Jack Lemmon and Lee Remick? Will the green house finally yield it's elixir? Will I resist the temptation to imbibe? So many questions. Are there any answers? If there were, would I understand? Does anyone really know what time it is? Do you live an hour away, or fifty miles? If space and time are bent, so must be my mind. Well then, get it over. The story should have been edited. Roll credits.Lorraine. A lovely woman. She and her husband mentored us. Loves us and our local daughter. Always there. Would think of things no one else would to make us feel better. A brilliant woman, well read, articulate, eloquent, love to hear her talk. A compliment indeed to be graced with a compliment from Lorraine.
Connie. A single mother. Fun loving. Independent. Unassuming.
Derrick, whistling a happy tune or is he blowing a kiss to the love seat? An actor turning director? His mate thinks he needs more time acting.
Chin up, Rachelle. Screen test coming for Mrs. Cratchit.
Barb from down under. She plays behind the scenes, and excellent editor.
Barb really likes the looks of this house from the outside, and it's for sale. It's kitty corner (or is it catty corner) from the double corner lot. Barb thinks we should have a place on water and a place in town. I'm amazed more folks don't have screen porches. Helloooo, their are mosquitoes here. Do you not want to be out on a warm mid-summers night?
A camera angle from the side, always helpful for depth perception. But so much sidewalk to shovel. Grass on the other hand would be a snap. Give and and it's a take.
Scouting for locations. The one on the left makes a point.

Failing the screen test. How I feel at times, hiding alone in a tree house. Pouting and nobody misses me. That's always a drag and makes me want to climb higher, but that doesn't work either, and I wouldn't want any limbs to break. You'd think I'd learn, but nooooo, I have a cast iron stomach to go with my hard head. Not a good combo. Makes for difficult acting lessons.
I'm finally discovered by a wife, and not at Grouman's Chinese, thank goodness for wives. They put up with husbands, seem to know they will always be little boys. I was discovered earlier by a friend, but they had little patience and left me as if I had not been recognized. And I thought I was so familiar. Guess my little boy charm has run it's course.
He puts on a happy face that masks something else. He beckons to no avail. What to do but descend. The fruit of the vine leaves him by his lonesome and triumphs again. No wine. No roses.
All smile for the photographer. Ready for closing credits. He's the one not in the photo. He will sit in an empty chair, crystal glasses not noticing it filled.Darkness falls, and with it smiles? Perhaps seriousness now, a blessing perchance. Domine, non sum dignus... But could a woman be allowed to speak such things. We may not stretch the truth. Or can we? Do we? Whose truth? The director's? The writer's?
Another non-smiler. Is it the dark? The end of summer? Tired? Too many photographs? Too long on the set? Back to the trailer soon.
So serious, the women so far. Clueless is the photographer. He misses much, and misses much. After all, he's just a man. But she plays the producer, and a fine piece of work prevailed.
A smiler without a smile. Perhaps unhappy with the editing? She has expressed such before. A rising star no doubt.
My guess? The smile means he knows the meaning of the Latin and other ancient patois. The confidence of an actor turned director.
The Actor. So many roles and rolls, he has forgotten the little girl next door hoping to play. Was she real? Was he? Now an amalgamation of his numberless parts, he smiles of sorts, but he is clueless. For all one knows, he could be deluded into thinking that summer will last for ever and ever. This lost boy. Will he ever grow up? Maybe, maybe never. Time. He's older than he looks. He's much older than he acts. He is suspicious but naive. He'd like to think of himself innocent. But he has a certain gullibility for some peoples and things. He is sensitive and coarse. And he gets them mixed up. He is liberal, and traditional. He is 50's and 60's, he is duck and pony tailed. A walking contradiction. Few get him or want to for long. Those who find him curious, come back for more. I'm sure it's probably his fault. He thinks it cute to appear mysterious, it keeps the villans at bay. It is a protection from the sun, a lotion, a notion, perhaps bestowed with some mystical power. Still no, there is a crack, but an adhesive applied, to forestall the shatter.

The days of wine and roses laugh and run away like a child at play

Through a meadow land toward a closing door

A door marked "nevermore" that wasn't there before

The lonely night discloses just a passing breeze filled with memories

Of the golden smile that introduced me to

The days of wine and roses and you

(The lonely night discloses) just a passing breeze filled with memories

Of the golden smile that introduced me to

The days of wine and roses and you.