Sandhill Cranes

Sandhill Sundown Posters And Prints

If you’re looking for something new to do, visit Nebraska through mid-April and you’ll be in the only place in the world where you can see an annual migration of such cranes in one place. This one of the “Top Three Places to Visit in Nebraska”, and we’re in good company. “I’ve had National Geographic photographer Joel Sartore say this is in the top five places he’s ever been,” says Bill Taddicken, of the Rowe Sanctuary. “Jane Goodall comes here annually. She has a trip this year where people can join her.”

Sandhill Sundown Postcard

“The Japanese believe cranes are a symbol of long life and since they mate for life they are a symbol for the wedding ceremony. The Russians believe the cranes took the souls of dead soldiers to heaven,” he says. More than the scene, it’s the collective loud sound they make that is so noticeable. “The crane’s voice can be heard for over a mile. It’s such an ancient sound I can’t say it sounds scary, these cranes have been here for 10 million years,”

Sandhill Cranes Cards by dbuckman

Me? It is an opportunity to shoot thousands and thousands of photos to come home later, and paint….  And as always, if you click on the photos, you’ll be taken to the web site where you may invest in prints, postcards and even United States Postage!

Thanks for listening!

Double Vision

I have no idea how our brains make sense of sight.  Obviously, most of us don’t expect to see double images. But in truth, the ability to see a single image with two eyes involves a complex system of muscles, nerves and other eye parts.  I read of the various causes of “double vision” and forms of treatment but when I tried researching, lost interest almost immediately.  THIS piece was “doubled” intentionally!

Seeing Double Prints

What was the name of that science fiction television show, where the introduction was, “…There is nothing wrong with your television set. Do not attempt to adjust the picture. We are controlling transmission…”?  Anybody?  As this particular piece evolved, that saying kept popping in and out of my mind! “Don’t adjust the picture…”
Seeing Double Postage

I read of another technique I’d like to try.  THIS piece came as a result of something similar:   The artist projects the original image onto the canvas, then paints the canvas.  I often “import” the original into the computer, do a little (or a lot) of editing, print the results, THEN repaint, once again until I get it right.  Then, to get it delivered here, re-scan one more time….

Seeing Double Cards by dbuckman

 

Meanhwile, “Seeing Double” is available in ALL of the expected formats.  Canvas, Poster Paper, Post Cards, Greeting Cards and recently approved United States First Class Postage!  Simply click on the image for a visit….

Thanks for listening….

Another Attempt At Bleeding Hearts

The picture below, was my first attempt at painting the flower, Bleeding Heart.  The original photo was provided by a friend of mine who has a plant or two of her own.

When I first bought this house, it had sat empty for over a year.  The yard and landscaping had been overcome with weeds and an abundance of “overgrowth”.  One of the first plants I invested in, for a small flower bed in the front yard, was a Bleeding Heart.  I was in awe of its delicate appearance when I saw them at the nursery.  Unfortunately the plant only made it a couple of years.  Around here, I can kill most any plant I invest in!  Around here there is a philosophy that if I WANT it to grow, it will die.  If I’m trying to get rid of it, it will propagate like rabbits!

No other plant bears perfect heart-shaped flowers like those of the Bleeding Heart. The outstanding characteristic of the flower is no doubt their shape.   As the plants’ name suggests they bear heart-shaped flowers, from which a little “drop of blood” dangles at the bottom.  They are quite delicate in appearance.  I handled mine much as if they were fine pieces of china!  Alas, I still killed ‘em!

Bleeding Hearts Prints

This next print (above) is my second attempt at duplicating the intricate qualities of the Bleeding Heart.  In later years I learned that if you press the flowers between the pages of a heavy book and a couple of napkins, you’ll have papery-thin little hearts to adorn letters or valentines.   That is if YOUR plant is living!  That process REALLY DOES work and what a neat idea for drying and pressing flowers!

If you turn one of these flowers upside down and pull the two halves apart, you’ll see a lady in a pink bathtub, or perhaps you’ll see a white lyre with strings of silk.  There is even a story of a prince, presenting the halves of this flower to his beloved, “seeing” pink rabbits in their shape!

What is more enchanting than long slender sprays of delicate pink hearts arching gracefully in a springtime garden, adorning your living room walls?  BOTH of these pieces are available from canvas to poster material AND a variety of sizes.  My painting may be included in a greeting to a friend via greeting cards, and even decorating outgoing mail with the newly approved United States Post Office First Class Postage!  You can order the postage by simply clicking on the stamp of your choice!

 

 

 

 

 

Meanwhile, I’d like YOUR opinion of this work.  Being my own worst critic, I know I’ll try again to communicate the delicate and fragile appearence of this flower.  Heck, I may even try planting another one before it’s all over!  But I’d sure like to hear your thoughts!

Property Rights

I have spent more time WRITING about this piece, than I have creating the piece itself.  I first saw the photograph posted by a friend of mine on her social web page and knew right away, I had to do something with it.   Until now, all of my pictures in the “Forgotten” series features people and my own brief encounters with them.  I DO have hundreds of my own photos in the archives from my coast-to-coast time on the road, but THIS photograph stuck with me.

Private Property Prints

Some may find it ironic  that the owner of this cart saw fit to chock the wheel, and then carefully padlock it to the street sign.  At the same time, I sort of understand his thinking.  Those who haven’t been there, don’t know.   What is that “garage sale” slogan? “One mans trash is another mans treasure”.  I “get it”.  

They say the term, ”private property” is the use, control, ownership and ability to dispose of land, capital or other forms of property by persons.  By being identified as “private property”, a monetary value is associated with the item. THEREFORE, private property plays an important role in capitalization. Private property is distinguishable from public property in that public property is owned by the state, local community or government and is generally available for use to ALL citizens.

My old friend Phil and I used to tease about the well-known cliché which has been attributed to Malcom Forbes (I’m not certain it’s true but…); ”He who dies with the most toys, wins!”  I know I’ve seen it on shirts and bumper stickers (will have to check on that).

Over a burger and a beer, Phil and I talked about the similarities of Sandra llene West, who had herself buried in her powder-blue ’64 Ferrari in a cemetery near San Antonio Texas, and the Pharaohs of old.  To the chagrin of avid car collectors (amongst other things, Phil and I were car fanatics), ‘Ole Sandra took some of it with her when she went!  Jewelry, clothing and gold  were buried with the Pharaohs. Too bad most of the treasure ended up in looters’ hand not in the Pharaoh’s next life!

In the movie “Wall Street“,  ”Greed, for the lack of a better term, is good…” became the motto of Gordon Gekko (played by Michael Douglas).  Gordon was a serious player. He was portrayed as a financial machine devouring all that was is in front of him, and had no problem chewing up and spitting out anyone who got in his way.  Ironically, in February this year,  Douglas became the newest face of an FBI campaign, “Perfect Hedge,” which has successfully prosecuted 57 people for insider trading, and they have targeted 120 more suspects! Now, Michael Douglas says he was wrong: Greed is not good!

On the other end of the spectrum, Jeff Dietrich of the L.A. Catholic Worker, whose work includes providing people with shopping carts to store their belongings, wrote, (L.A. Times April 16, 2012)   “We are homeless enablers, and we are proud to provide the essentials that enable the homeless to stay alive.”  To Dietrich, he and others like him are simply affirming the human dignity and basic rights of their brothers and sisters.  Dietrich continued; “Today, the homeless poor carry their valuables in mobile shopping carts. At the very least these treasures deserve to be protected from confiscation and desecration.”.  This banter is taking place in the op/ed of the L.A. Times,  due to an injunction by a Federal Judge, allowing the protection of the possessions of the homeless.

I don’t know. The Bible says “a man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth” (Lk. 12:15).  BUT, during a recent conversation with the same friend who provided the photograph I used, I caused her a great deal of frustration as I attempted to explain to her my complete, stubborn determination to get back on my feet in my own way.  Those of you who don’t know;  I was injured at work over a year ago.  Between complications,  my body failing to cooperate, and being “stuck” in a workmans comp/major medical nightmare, it’s a toss up.  Buy groceries, or keep the lights on.  Yet, I have been blessed by friends who invest in some of my art, neighbors who help with the housework, and in my own mind, the resolution to not “loose it all” because of the injury is what keeps me going.

It has been awhile since I’ve done anything with the series, “Forgotten“.  I was honored recently by my friend, singer/song writer, Joe Izen when he choose to incorporate “Legislate Me” as the cover art for his song:  “Somebdys Child“.  “On this song,  Joe had the opportunity to work with his long time friend and premier arranger, Lou Bellofatto. Many singers from the New York area came to lend their voices to this endeavor, which speaks to the issue of the Homeless. You can feel and hear their spirit as they sing out for an issue which is central to our time. The Cover Art is by the exceptionally talented Artist Dennis Buckman who has created a piece of Art which highlights the song.”   I certainly appreciate the compliment from Joe, and hope that the artwork helps promote his work…  “A blend of Rock, R&B and Soul all rolled into one, with Joe’s voice at the center of it all. It speaks to the homeless issue in a way you’ve never heard before.”

I don’t know.  Certainly yes, one of the goals in my involvement on the Internet, whether it is here, Facebook, or wherever, is to promote and market my art work.  Another goal is to utilize my time, discussing “issues” as they cross my mind.  I haven’t given up hope entirely, though I AM frustrated with the situation right now.  I’m still able to dable with my art and  I should be considering myself quite fortunate.  I have the essentials and for now, I don’t have to lock down the shopping cart.

“Private Property” is available in a variety of print formats including greeting cards and post cards.  US Postage is pending.

Thanks for enduring my ramblings!

Salt Lake, Utah – Myths To Adhere To

During one of my High School English classes, we studied “The Iliad” attributed to Homer. (I STILL have my original copy in one of the footlockers!).  I found the book intriguing, and wish today I’d pursued a more traditional, formal educational path.  I enjoyed the fact that Mr.Clark challenged our thoughts, and led us to examine them.  The Iliad, and several other assignments did that for us.

The Icarian Sea (part of the Mediterranean Sea) gets its name from the Greek legend of Icarus.  And it was Icarus who came to mind during one of my weekly trips across the Salt Flats of Utah.  I named the piece simply, “Salt Lake”. The sun, still high above, was reflected on the water’s surface this trip across the flats.  And there he was.  A man alone, in a rowboat on the Great Salt Lake.

Salt Lake 2 by dbuckman

Mythology

About Icarus. In Greek mythology, Icarus was the son of Daedalus who, in escaping from Crete on artificial wings flew too close to the sun. The wax, which had been used to fashion his wings, melted and he fell into the Aegean Sea.

“Literary interpretations” of the Tale of Icarus concluded that the myth communicated the consequences of an overly ambitious person!  That there is a price to be paid for lack of self-control. “Too much of anything can be destructive” someone wrote… I’ll leave it to you, to investigate the entire Greek myth.

As I continued work on this piece, I thought of the symbolism of Icarus. The sea?  The symbol of life.  The sun?  The temptation of self-gratification.  His wings?  The freedom to soar.

I waited to see if the man would wander into the suns reflection as he journeyed on his meaningful adventure…

Genesis – I Didn’t See It

Before I loose anyone because THIS post deals a bit in religion, I only ask, give it a chance.  Towards the end, I included some biblical verses which may very well “offend”.  I’ll begin by saying, I have been fortunate throughout my life to have been in contact, acquainted or associated with, befriended and loved individuals from a WIDE variety of religious faiths.  Organized and otherwise.  Due to the fact that the family of my youth was (at the very least) dysfunctional, I was fortunate to have more sets of grandparents than most kids, and from THAT experience  alone, I was exposed to religious “extremes”.  Two of my Grandmothers walked daily, to morning church services before breakfast EVERY day.  Me in tow! We had a rolling-in-the-aisles Southern Baptist (and there’s nothing wrong with that!) in the mix.  .  My Step-Dad deeply believed in the Oglala Siouxs’ spiritual determinations.  Believe me when I tell you, I have been to the “temple” the synagogues, the cathedrals, community centers, and as Martin Luther King stated, “To the mountain-top…” in my own spiritual quests.

I grew up in a place (Boys Town Nebraska) which exposed me to an even wider smorgasboard of “sacred matters”.   I remember growing up with a young man raised up in the Bahai faith, and the “walk around the lake talks” we shared.  Bruce wasn’t trying to convert me, but I WAS impressed even then, how well versed he was in the intricacies of his religious upbringings and the things he believed in…

I believe it was in 2005, I began work on this piece, , I was “playing with” camera filters, editing software, a process I call “overpainting” (where I enlarge, then print the photo and much like paint by number, paint it, scan it back into the computer and “play” with it some more before the final canvas print). Experimenting and searching for my “style” and expressing what I felt.  Frankly, I wanted to communicate fire, heat, intensity and a melding of the horizon from a Western sunrise I’d experienced on that trip.

Genesis by dbuckman

The Beginning

I didn’t see it, but AFTER the piece was published and had been “out there” for a while, someone contacted me and began their admonishment.  I don’t recall EXACTLY the conversation but it went something like:  “I’ve always liked your art and photography.  It is very neutral, and without controversy…  But this one?  I’ll NEVER invest in another of your works”"  My thought?  “I’m not sure what THAT means!”   Then he went on…  “This print is extremely controversial.” he said  “You’ve mixed politics, religion, and birth, and women’s choices and birth control and the bible and…  and… and… And you’re cramming your religion down peoples throats.”  “My religion?  It’s a sunrise!”

Years ago, I stated in my bio (written by a third-party) that I invited ALL criticism of my work, and this guys opinion was no different.  It took awhile.  I’d glance at the piece from time to time and ask myself,”I wonder WHAT he saw?”  Then it hit me.  In fact, I pulled the piece for a while.   I dug out “the good book” handed down to me by one of my Grandmothers before moving to Boys Town and I began at the beginning, “Genesis”.   I’ll share:

 “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form, and void; and darkness was on the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters.

Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good; and God divided the light from the darkness. God called the light Day, and the darkness He called Night. So the evening and the morning were the first day.

Then God said, “Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters.” Thus God made the firmament, and divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament; and it was so. And God called the firmament Heaven. So the evening and the morning were the second day.

 Then God said, “Let the waters under the heavens be gathered together into one place, and let the dry land appear”; and it was so. And God called the dry land Earth, and the gathering together of the waters He called Seas. And God saw that it was good.

Then God said, “Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb that yields seed, and the fruit tree that yields fruit according to its kind, whose seed is in itself, on the earth”; and it was so. And the earth brought forth grass, the herb that yields seed according to its kind, and the tree that yields fruit, whose seed is in itself according to its kind. And God saw that it was good. So the evening and the morning were the third day.

Then God said, “Let there be lights in the firmament of the heavens to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs and seasons, and for days and years; and let them be for lights in the firmament of the heavens to give light on the earth”; and it was so. Then God made two great lights: the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night. He made the stars also. God set them in the firmament of the heavens to give light on the earth, and to rule over the day and over the night, and to divide the light from the darkness. And God saw that it was good. So the evening and the morning were the fourth day.

Then God said, “Let the waters abound with an abundance of living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth across the face of the firmament of the heavens.” So God created great sea creatures and every living thing that moves, with which the waters abounded, according to their kind, and every winged bird according to its kind. And God saw that it was good.And God blessed them, saying, “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the waters in the seas, and let birds multiply on the earth.” So the evening and the morning were the fifth day.

Then God said, “Let the earth bring forth the living creature according to its kind: cattle and creeping thing and beast of the earth, each according to its kind”; and it was so. And God made the beast of the earth according to its kind, cattle according to its kind, and everything that creeps on the earth according to its kind. And God saw that it was good.

Then God said, “Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness; let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, over all the earth and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth.” So God created man in His own image; in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them. Then God blessed them, and God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply; fill the earth and subdue it; have dominion over the fish of the sea, over the birds of the air, and over every living thing that moves on the earth.”

 And God said, “See, I have given you every herb that yields seed which is on the face of all the earth, and every tree whose fruit yields seed; to you it shall be for food. Also, to every beast of the earth, to every bird of the air, and to everything that creeps on the earth, in which there is life, I have given every green herb for food”; and it was so. Then God saw everything that He had made, and indeed it was very good. So the evening and the morning were the sixth day.”

Perhaps these passages DO apply to the piece after all.  I suppose depending on your religious persuasion, you may very well see the beginning of life, in this work.  Come to think of it, I kind of prefer my critics interpretation of the piece more than my own!  I even renamed it a few weeks later!  I may very well lose a few fans, maybe even gain a few by this work and this writing.  But again, I invite ALL constructive criticism.

I’d like to know what YOU see here.  Feel free to call, write, comment, smoke signal.  Art is about communicating ones feelings thoughts and emotions.  MY personal beliefs don’t really come into play here.  Though I don’t set out to please everyone, everyones opinion DOES matter to me.  I don’t know WHY all of these years later, this persons words still linger with me, but they do.

Thanks for listening…. 

The Happy Hunting Grounds

The Happy Hunting Grounds

“I will follow the white man’s trail. I will make him my friend, but I will not bend my back to his burdens. I will be cunning as a coyote. I will ask him to help me understand his ways, then I will prepare the way for my children. Maybe they will outrun the white man in his own shoes. There are but two ways for us. One leads to hunger and death, the other leads to where the poor white man lives. Beyond is the happy hunting ground where the white man cannot go.”

Many Horses – Oglala Sioux

Happy Hunting Ground Prints

To the Native American, the Happy Hunting Ground resembles the living world, but with much better weather and animals.  It is a place where one finds abundance in all that is needed or desired.

The Happy Hunting Ground is a place where one may pursue their passion and activity without restriction.  It’s a “place” which provides feelings of great pleasure, and an absolute absence of evil.  The Happy Hunting Ground is by no means, “easy street”, for dedication and effort is still required.  To dwell there, the individual MUST attend to the tools of his trade as diligently as when he were still of this world.

For the career-over-the-road-trucker, THIS is a place where the souls of drivers of days gone by are gathered together. Here the freight is plentiful, the roads are long and the weather clear. A world of abundant opportunity for the free-spirited, hard-driving truck drivin’ man.

A Somewhat Lengthy Health Update With a Little Art Mixed In

No matter how the medical profession tries, and no matter how well intended your friends or neighbors,  preparing for ANY major surgery can be terrifying.  Regardless of how “routine” the procedure may be made to sound.  Hearing from the doctors, “We do these every day” or  from your neighbor the plumber, how “…advanced…”  the operation has become, there is always going to be an emotional rollercoaster.   Well.  Speaking for myself.  Especially given MY health history!  I mean, you’re reading about a guy who went in for  out-patient shoulder surgery, and came out three days late with heart stents.  And so on, throughout my medical life!

My neighbor, Tom (the one who gives me free art-related access of his flower garden, and who cared for Skip  in ’08, during the first three months after my exploded intestine surgery), gave me a ride to Methodist Hospital Wednesday morning around 5:30.  I was checked in and Tom was on his way home by 6:15 or so.  I admit, I went through the entire rollercoaster range of emotions all over again as the nurse, Nancy, ran me through the prep.  I did a little more bargaining with “Man Above”. “Just give me a little more time….” I negotiated. The anger returned. The mere thought of not being in control of my own body!  Angry at everything, and nothing. I revisited denial; “This isn’t happening to me again!  I WILL wake up from this dream!”  And lastly, the feelings of depression set in again.  I don’t depress easily anymore.  It doesn’t just come and go.  I think it’s more than “situational” depression.  Mourning for myself, angry at the sensation of self-pity, knowing there are others going under the knife today, facing far worse odds than myself… But still, I wanted to wake up alive.  Selfish of me I think.

Out of street clothes, into hospital clothes.  EKG machine hooked up with those glued-on electrodes.  Blood pressure and  oxygen-reading machine,  IV lines into both arms. ‘Ole Nancy floated around the bed-side just like the pro that she is.  She wiped away my tears a couple of times and asked, “Don’t you have anyone here? IS there anyone I can call for you?”  “No, but thank you for offering.”  “You’ll do fine,” she replied, “You have one of the best surgeons…”

Some phases of this, I don’t remember well,  but one part, I will NEVER forget.  Being taken out of Nancys care by three surgically clad nurses.  I remember their gloves taped to their sleeves.  Funny what we remember. My bed being piloted  through several hallways into the operating room and watching the ceiling lights wondering, “Is THIS my last view of life?”.  How the temperature changed from comfortable to uncomfortably cold. When I commented on the temperature to one of the bed-pilots, she only responded by saying, “Germs don’t like cold weather!”  Along one wall, I saw what I refered to in my mind as “the tool bench”.  Reminded me of the metal-topped bench which runs the entire length of my garage wall.  And the three or four unfinished projects I have there.   Six or seven people, clad in operating gowns and caps, whose gender was unidentifiable unpacking, unrolling and clanging metal tools on the finely polished table-top.  Three people at one end of the brightly lit operating table, and around THEM more monitors and graphs and hoses then I’d seen since heart surgery back in March last year!  And finally, after scanning the room, I spotted Dr. Lodhia and his crew.  “Well, the star is here!” he exclaimed, “Lets get started!  You ready Dennis?”.  One of the other “pilots of the bed” told me, “We’re going to give you this shot in your IV and when you wake up, you’ll be all done!” “All done?” I thought.  “I hope she means the operation…”  NOT “All done” as in “Call the morgue.”  “OK” I agreed…  Like at this point I could say, “Oh never mind.  I think I’ll just go home.”

Thought I was dreaming.  “Dennis?  Dennis?  How are you feeling?  You did very well.  Can you wiggle your toes for me?  Can you wiggle your fingers? Move your left leg…” and so on.  You’re in the recovery room Dennis, and you’ll be here a couple of hours while we observe you and make a spot for you upstairs.”  If there’s anything you need, try to push this button… And DON’T MOVE!”

I learned MANY years ago, there is no sense of time when you’ve been in surgery.  Over a year ago when this saga began, I went in for outpatient shoulder surgery on a Friday morning.  I woke up three days later in Cardiac Care, searching my right shoulder for bandages, tubes, ANYTHING indicating I’d be back on the road soon…  Instead, I came to, surrounded by  beeping machinery and a nurse telling me that it was Monday morning! THIS time was no different.  Went to sleep mostly naked and nearly frozen, under the bright lights.  Woke up in a dimly lit room covered with blankets from head, no, make that lower-neck, to toe.  And even MORE things attached to my body…  Some “pumping things” on my legs to keep the blood going around, a couple of air hoses up my nose that itched but I couldn’t reach.  LOTS of lines connected to the previously installed IVs…  Lastly, I would have sworn someone ran my Western Star, fully loaded with California Produce over my body back and forth a couple of times.  “How would you rate your pain on a scale of one to ten, Dennis?” asked the nurse.  “500″ I replied.  The entire staff noted later, something about my sense of humor, but regarding the pain, I was serious!  As I told them “dead” serious!  If there was anything “nice” about this experience, when they gave me pain injections, they worked immediately!  I got warm ALLLLLL over!  And nodded off again.

Finally made it up to my 8th floor room around 5, 5:30 (or so they claimed). Must have been about then because I smelled FOOD! Not that I was hungry, it just smelled like dinner time at the hospital.  You have to spend some time there to appreciate the fragrance.  This shirt has “Dennis” all over it!

I remember Dr. Lodhias’ assistant coming in…  “Things went pretty much as planned.”  “Pretty much?” I thought. 

“We widened out the canal.  BUT we found it necessary to put two metal plates on the front and back of #4, 5 & 6.  Here are some x-rays.  This is why your outside hole is bigger.”  Sure enough, right down there in my neck, assuming they were MY x-rays, I have new iron.  “Crap, at this rate, I’ll NEVER get through another metal detector.  Iron in my heart, iron in my knee, now, new iron in my throat!”.  “What are these?” “Oh, THOSE are the screws we use to hold the plates in place”.  “Rust-proof I hope?”  “Medical Stainless” he replied.  “Now you’re talking my language.  Stainless, to a trucker is like platinum wedding rings to a bride!  Stainless!  Can I get in there to polish it?  When I go to the chrome shop, do they have matching pieces for my heart and knee?  Do they come in 300 gallon fuel tanks too?”  Back to sleep.

Unlike the last operation for the heart, they didn’t want me up walking around. In fact, due to my reputation for escaping (literally) from the hospital (another story for later), they had an alarm on my bed. My medical records have me listed as a “Flight Risk” (I SWEAR!).   I learned Wednesday night, the alarm worked! All I wanted to do was visit the men’s room, figuring after I studied the layout of all of the hoses and tubes etc. that I could gather up the attached machinery for the 20 foot walk to the head. Oh no. The alarms went off immediately, and less than a minute later, I had four new faces in the room. “And WHERE do you think YOU’RE going?” “Uhhh, the bathroom?” “You were told DON’T MOVE! Push this button when you have to go to the bathroom!”  I think I used my “pouty, dejected, hurt feeling face” when she caved and said,   “Well, now that you’re up…”

Unbeknownst to me, she’d wrapped this cargo strap around my midsection as I wavered there in the middle of the room during the negotiations.  She says, “Lets go.”  So I went into the bathroom and tried to close the door behind me. ”Whats the matter?”  “The door won’t close”.  ”It won’t as long as I have a hold of you” “Well, then let go!”  “Can’t, sorry”.  “Then at least turn around a little”  “Can’t, strap won’t reach”. “Not even a little bit?”  I felt the strap loosen.  “Okay okay, let’s get this over with”.  BUT, I DID observe how to turn that alarm on and off upon my return to the bed.   “Next time” I thought. ”Sly like a wolf!”

I remember the nasty hospital jello Wednesday night sometime. They already had me halfway sitting up (a position I’ve become accustomed to sleeping in for over a year), so feeding time was no big deal. I asked for “Jello Shots instead. They laughed. Back to sleep.

Around 4:00 a.m. Thursday I was “awake” for the last time for a while…  I quit breathing.  Bells, buzzers and whistles, nurses and doctors in my room, and I hadn’t even pushed the button or tried my next escape!  I was impressed!  Even MORE impressed when they determined that my airway had swollen shut, needing immediate attention.  I got a new hole in the throat (actually, they used the existing one and made it even bigger) on the outside, a whole bunch of injected steroids in the IV lines and a whole bunch of morphine (to relax me they said).  “Ahhh, if I die, I will die feeling warm!”  Wasn’t long before I was back breathing on my own again, Nurse Gina telling me after the commotion, “This isn’t that unusual for the kind of surgery you had…”. ”I think it was that dead guy not listening again…” I stated (more on that in another writing).

The begging (and negotiating) began mid-day Thursday.  “When can I go home?”  I’m pretty sure it was initiated by round three or four of the dietary jello cuisine.  The nurses had all been very kind.  Even let me sit in my chair and look out the window without the escape alarm.  But I knew I’d slipped up when I saw their expression at my question,  ”Where are my clothes?”  Heck, I figured it was time.  I’d gotten more than I came for (the new iron wasn’t part of the original deal), I was satisfactorily glued back together.  Heck, with a full crew working ’round the clock, I’ve had 550 CATS overhauled in about the same amount of time…

 I had to establish to them that I could swallow.  At least swallow my pills, finely ground and blended in with (what else) the Jello flavor of the day.  I had to prove balance (I told them THAT was due to the “dead weight I’d inherited).  I had to demonstrate a sense of “time” (I suppose so that I didn’t overdose after I got home).  ”Or…” I wondered, “…did they need assurance that I had a concept of eternity?”  All of that aside, I failed miserably through Thursday evening.  Gagged on the pills, couldn’t manuever out of the bed…

I had TWO visitors Thursday night.  Tom came by to give me a “Skip Report”.  Skip and Izzy were doing great together.  Skip had made herself at home on her own blanket Tom keeps at his house, just for her.  She’d visited Izzies food bowl, without protest from her pal.  He teased that he had to recall HER methods of communication such as: “When I stand at the back door, I want out NOW!”.  But Tom assured me, Skip was fine….   My dear friend Dr. Schmidt and her son Christopher stopped in.  I guess she still doesn’t know me too well because she laughed when I told her “I’ll be home sometime tomorrow…”.  BUT, she did get the low-down on my dietary requirements before she left.

I really don’t remember falling asleep Thursday night.  You know how it is though.  The nurses come in every hour and wake you.  “You asleep?”  “Am I in heaven?”  “No. Room 836, Methodist Hospital.”  ”Then yes, I was sleeping”.  ”OK.  Need anything while I’m here?”  “Yes.  Sleep”.

Friday morning early:

Nurse: “What do you want for breakfast?” 

Dennis:  “A large fillet, medium (from Big Freds) garlic toast (extra cheese), salad with house dressing (no anchovies) and pasta…  Long Island Iced Tea to drink please.  A double I think” 

Nurse: “What flavor Jello?” 

Dennis:  “Crap!  When can I go home?” 

Nurse:  “Doctor will be here in about an hour.  What flavor?”

I’d determined to pass the “tests”.  “Bathroom?”  “You sure?”  “Yep”.  Took longer to unhook all of the medical paraphernalia than it did to actually “use the facility” but I DID manage to demonstrate my ability to manuever unassisted to and from.  AND, she let me close the door!  Next on the list, “time”.  “I’ve been awake an hour, when’s the doctor coming?”  “After breakfast.”  “Good” I thought, another task before his arrival.   But, let me tell you.  If you think hospital Jello is nasty.  Ha!  Mix in two tablets of ground up Hydrocodone and one tablet of Dexamethasone, and you have a concoction that will burn your throat all of the way to the pit of your stomach, no matter WHAT flavor Jello you choose.  I may have choked a little as it slid down, but I got it in… “Water please?”

Dr. Lodhia was there around 8:30.  “Wanna go home?”  I tried to not act too excited.  “Yeah, I guess I could…”  “Well, how are ya’ feeling?”  Trying NOT to sound helpless, but not give too much credit to miracles or immaculate recovery, “Pretty good” I stated.  “Well, if you promise the following:  No twisting, turning, jumping, reaching, no lifting, (I laughed at the next one) no kinky sex ( THAT has been awhile, believe me Doc),  no extra-curricular physical activity, I guess I could send you home.”  I put on my “Awww shucks Doc…” expression and shook his hand.  “Thank you.  I think my dog misses me” I said.   “The nurses will have your paperwork by the time you’re ready”.  Dr. Lodhia doesn’t know me very well either.  An old racing slogan came to mind:  “When the green flag drops, the bullshit stops!”   I was dressed, fed, packed and was “fake-reading” the morning paper, as if I’d been there for HOURS,  when the discharge nurse came in with the paperwork.  She expressed no guilt in the delay.

I already had a call into Tom (premonition?) to come get me after his morning chores.  “The car” was there as the ink was drying on my paperwork.  Tom had it all arranged.  Skip was home and waiting.  My mail was neatly stacked in the living room (including the shut off notice from the phone and light companies), and the trash cans back in their rightful place in the garage (I’d missed trash day but Tom saw to that on Thursday for me).

I’m home. I do have a fist full of pills to grind up several times a day, but I’m breathing. There is another batch I’m avoiding (the pain ones) for a number of reasons.   There is much more to write about when it comes to this most recent experience with our health care system, and I may as well.  I won’t be having any “extra-curricular” physical activity for a while and may as well start on a good case of carpal-tunnel for an encore.   Besides, I think I hear the ice cream truck coming into the neighborhood.  “Get out of my way kids…  I’m on a mission!  And when the green flag drops…”!!

 

Thank you everyone, for the thoughts, the prayers, for enduring and putting up with me….  More later…  PS  ALL of the posters, stickers, prints and photos can be clicked on for purchase.  They aren’t all my own, but by investing in them, you’re helping me AND the other artists and creators.  Thank you again.  More later…

 

 

Overgrown Prints

Overgrown Prints/Canvas by dbuckman

 

THIS piece is a far cry from other things I’ve done and slipped into the “Rural” category.  In hindsight, I should have put it into “Vintage Vehicles”.  Or, perhaps it fits into BOTH…

I have many years worth of photographs that I use for subject matter in my work.  The majority being my own.  But over time, knowing my “tastes”  people have also sent pictures with notes:  “Can you do this one?”  Or, “I thought you might like this!”  I have pictures of bridges, flowers, people, and yes, abandoned vehicles. 

I especially liked this one, and don’t know what took me so long to get around to it.  Perhaps I was saving it for a few of those “rainy days” such as we’ve been having lately!

Below, are a few example of both “Rural” and “Vintage Vehicles” I’ve done.  You’ll have to let me know into which category YOU think “Overgrown” belongs!

Mojave Sunrise

Mountain Clouds

In The Woods Print

Mountain Tunnel

The original “Overgrown” piece measures 47 x 31 inches on canvas, but it is available in other printing formats and sizes.  Just be sure that if you order a smaller size, that the image doesn’t get “cropped”.

More Thoughts & Floral Art

Pastel Tulip Prints by dbuckman

This piece began from photographs of a friends garden.  I “rested”on publishing the print.  The dilemma was the roller coaster of emotions I was experiencing while working on it.  What it eventually came to represent.  Came very close to just tossing the entire thing!  But, I hardly ever throw anything away!

A couple of old 60′s tunes came to me when I initially started.  The first one, from Peter, Paul & Mary, “Where Have All The Flowers Gone?”  Actually, the first three verses were written by Pete Seeger in 1955, inspired by a Russian novel he’d read!  The Kingston Trio recorded it.  Marlene Dietrich sang it.  As did Joan Baez and others.  The song was popular during the Viet Nam war era and was interpreted as a “perceptive comment” regarding the war.  If you take a listen, the song itself is rather wistful and dreamy…  Until you understand the words.  I knew if I dwelt on the words long enough, I’d get depressed.  This pastel piece wasn’t intended to cause depression!  “OK Self.  Think of something else…”

Tulups Postage by dbuckman

Not ALL of my art-work comes about because of music.  Some of it evolves from relationships;  acquaintances, friends, close friends and so on…  Or even THEIR experiences in life, they’ve related to me over time.  Soooo, as work progressed, I began thinking on something that started recently .  Odd.  How comfortable and secure I felt in our conversations.  “Blooming…” I thought was a good description of this new-found kinship (being defined as a close connection with a community of interests and similar in nature!).  Instead, THAT all came crashing down, unexpectedly one day.  Progress on the flower stopped as I tried to understand what went wrong.  I think…  No, I KNOW at times I can seem overbearing, overly enthusiastic..  No..  Not “seem” but BE.  I can become spirited, zealous, enthralled and even come across as being transfixed on something or SOMEONE who represents positive things.  Yep.  The conversations became habit-forming.  I didn’t realize that by being as captivated as I’d been, I was actually creating undue ”pressure”, perhaps even panic in someone else.  I don’t like hurting other people.  But I did.  Making good friends is difficult.  Loosing them, even harder to cope with.

Pastel Tulips Postcard

In order to finish the piece, I decided to revert to an old stand-by way of doing things, and simply share the “meaning” of this flower.  Tulips are sometimes referred to as “the flower of the sun”, because of their upright growth.    The “black” center of the flower is said to represent a lover’s heart, burnt to a coal by passion. Ironic.  I ended up pretty much where I started!