Am I more than you bargained for yet?

I've been dying to tell you anything you want to hear

'Cause that's just who I am this week

Lie in the grass, next to the mausoleum

I'm just a notch in your bedpost

But you're just a line in a song

(A notch in your bedpost, but you're just a line in a song)

Drop a heart, break a name

We're always sleeping in, and sleeping for the wrong team

We're going down, down in an earlier round

And, sugar, we're going down swinging

I'll be your number one with a bullet

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

We're going down, down in an earlier round

And, sugar, we're going down swinging

I'll be your number one with a bullet

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

Is this more than you bargained for yet?

Oh don't mind me I'm watching you two from the closet

Wishing to be the friction in your jeans

Isn't it messed up how I'm just dying to be him?

I'm just a notch in your bedpost

But you're just a line in a song

(Notch in your bedpost, but you're just a line in a song)

Drop a heart, break a name

We're always sleeping in, and sleeping for the wrong team

We're going down, down in an earlier round

And, sugar, we're going down swinging

I'll be your number one with a bullet

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

We're going down, down in an earlier round

And, sugar, we're going down swinging

I'll be your number one with a bullet

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

Down, down in an earlier round

And, sugar, we're going down swinging

I'll be your number one with a bullet

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

We're going down, down in an earlier round

(Take aim at myself)

(Down, down in an earlier round)

And sugar, we're going down swinging

(Take back what you said)

(Down, down in an earlier round)

I'll be your number one with a bullet

(Take aim at myself)

(Down, down in an earlier round)

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

We're going down, down (down, down)

Down, down (down, down)

We're going down, down (down, down)

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

We're going down, down in an earlier round

(Take aim at myself)

And sugar, we're going down swinging

(Take back what you said)

I'll be your number one with a bullet

(Take aim at myself)

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

youtu.be/_2eTNxPxXRc

I almost used this shot for the last Smile on Saturday - Begins with B. Bike by a Bedpost. Seems an unusual combination but it would have worked! The bike however would not go very fast. I just recently realized there are no tires on it! Garden store in Micanopy, FL.

Happy Window Wednesday!

Crazy Tuesday: "A Line Or Title Of A Song" theme

Released as a single in 1959 by Lonnie Donegan, "Does Your Chewing Gum Lose Its Flavour? (On the Bedpost Overnight)" entered the UK Singles Chart on Feb. 6, 1959, and peaked at number three. It was also Donegan's greatest chart success in the United States, reaching number five on the Billboard Hot 100 chart in 1961, according to Wikipedia.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=x6bFTVi0hHs

NEW from KiB DESIGNS -

DARK ARMY HELMET!

Unisex Group Gift in KiB Designs Mainstore. TAXI: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Lost%20Dreams%20Island/177...

youtu.be/_2eTNxPxXRc

Am I more than you bargained for yet?

I've been dying to tell you anything you want to hear

'Cause that's just who I am this week

Lie in the grass, next to the mausoleum

I'm just a notch in your bedpost

But you're just a line in a song

(A notch in your bedpost, but you're just a line in a song)

Drop a heart, break a name

We're always sleeping in, and sleeping for the wrong team

We're going down, down in an earlier round

And, sugar, we're going down swinging

I'll be your number one with a bullet

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

We're going down, down in an earlier round

And, sugar, we're going down swinging

I'll be your number one with a bullet

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

Is this more than you bargained for yet?

Oh don't mind me I'm watching you two from the closet

Wishing to be the friction in your jeans

Isn't it messed up how I'm just dying to be him?

I'm just a notch in your bedpost

But you're just a line in a song

(Notch in your bedpost, but you're just a line in a song)

Drop a heart, break a name

We're always sleeping in, and sleeping for the wrong team

We're going down, down in an earlier round

And, sugar, we're going down swinging

I'll be your number one with a bullet

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

We're going down, down in an earlier round

And, sugar, we're going down swinging

I'll be your number one with a bullet

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

Down, down in an earlier round

And, sugar, we're going down swinging

I'll be your number one with a bullet

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

We're going down, down in an earlier round

(Take aim at myself)

(Down, down in an earlier round)

And sugar, we're going down swinging

(Take back what you said)

(Down, down in an earlier round)

I'll be your number one with a bullet

(Take aim at myself)

(Down, down in an earlier round)

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

We're going down, down (down, down)

Down, down (down, down)

We're going down, down (down, down)

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

We're going down, down in an earlier round

(Take aim at myself)

And sugar, we're going down swinging

(Take back what you said)

I'll be your number one with a bullet

(Take aim at myself)

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

The incredible safety emanating from the Victorian bedpost. Samyang tele-lens wide-open; natural light, contre-jour, reflector.

youtu.be/Pr_rLSdseH8

Am I more than you bargained for yet?

I've been dying to tell you anything you want to hear

'Cause that's just who I am this week

Lie in the grass, next to the mausoleum

I'm just a notch in your bedpost

But you're just a line in a song

(A notch in your bedpost, but you're just a line in a song)

Drop a heart, break a name

We're always sleeping in, and sleeping for the wrong team

We're going down, down in an earlier round

And, sugar, we're going down swinging

I'll be your number one with a bullet

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

We're going down, down in an earlier round

And, sugar, we're going down swinging

I'll be your number one with a bullet

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

Is this more than you bargained for yet?

Oh don't mind me I'm watching you two from the closet

Wishing to be the friction in your jeans

Isn't it messed up how I'm just dying to be him?

I'm just a notch in your bedpost

But you're just a line in a song

(Notch in your bedpost, but you're just a line in a song)

Drop a heart, break a name

We're always sleeping in, and sleeping for the wrong team

We're going down, down in an earlier round

And, sugar, we're going down swinging

I'll be your number one with a bullet

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

We're going down, down in an earlier round

And, sugar, we're going down swinging

I'll be your number one with a bullet

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

Down, down in an earlier round

And, sugar, we're going down swinging

I'll be your number one with a bullet

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

We're going down, down in an earlier round

(Take aim at myself)

(Down, down in an earlier round)

And sugar, we're going down swinging

(Take back what you said)

(Down, down in an earlier round)

I'll be your number one with a bullet

(Take aim at myself)

(Down, down in an earlier round)

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

We're going down, down (down, down)

Down, down (down, down)

We're going down, down (down, down)

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

We're going down, down in an earlier round

(Take aim at myself)

And sugar, we're going down swinging

(Take back what you said)

I'll be your number one with a bullet

(Take aim at myself)

A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

This is the larger of the two young bucks. I loved how the evening light was hitting him and turning his fuzzy antlers golden.

I wonder if that notch on the end of his ear is like a notch on a bedpost, hmmm

If you bought the book you saw this little bed in a different shot the back cover. One of many I took hoping to get him 'making his bed". I finally had to wire the bedposts together since the glue kept coming off with the bark.

just like another notch on a cowboys bedpost, this old guy had quite a few on the horn.

The place where Prof. Pangloss discovers new aspects of the universal truth. Fuji X-E3 plus Helios 44M-7 at F 5.6.

🎵 I left a note on my bedpost saying not to repeat yesterday’s mistakes. What I tend to do when it comes to you, I see only the good, selective memory. The way you make me feel, yeah, you got a hold on me, I never met someone so different. Oh here we go. You’re part of me now, you’re part of me. So where you go, I follow, follow, follow. I can’t remember to forget you. I keep forgetting I should let you go. But when you look at me, the only memory is us kissing in the moonlight. I can’t remember to forget you. 🎶

✺} F E A T U R I N G {✺

__________________________________

Eyeshadow | Chronic Cosmetics Blake Shadows

@ GOTHCORE

Glasses | Violetility Virgo Glasses

@ SABBATH

__________________________________

Find the full credits and product reviews on PERENNIAL PANIQ.

Window light, Zeiss Pancolar 1.8/50 wide-open.

Like a boxer up against the ropes , this bush brushes bravely before bedding between bedposts. Thoughts of a pink cloud enter its mind and a hill "caps" it off.

www.photographycoach.ca/

For a while, I can call this bed mine. Sleeping here. Like many others before me. I am a transitory user. The bed frame is made to last - steel, cast iron and brass. Certainly outlasting me. Will others one day sleep here? And listen to the dreams of those who have gone before and add their own ones? I hope so. Hope that the chain of life continues. That there are ears to listen to the many voices and all those dreams. Fuji X-E3 plus Samyang 135/2 telephoto lens.

"I left a note on my bedpost

Said not to repeat

Yesterday's mistakes"

Caro is Wearing:

Head Nova by Lelutka

Skin Teresa by Mila

Hair Valentina by Doux

Melanthis Bodysuit & Harness by NX-Nardcotix @ Fameshed

Feather Earrings by NOIR

Ketan is wearing:

Head Nova by Lelutka

Skin Talija by Glam Affair

Hair Eleni by Doux

Reese Lingerie by NX-Nardcotix @ Uber

Cinderellas Bracers by MINIMAL

We Believe Collection – Free Gift by IDTTY Faces

Friends NatG Pack – Group Gift by Amitie

SIM Baja Bay

It was our second night in Africa. Our guide warned us to watch the path carefully at night for scorpions. So Sheree and I made our way back to our little cabin sweeping our headlamps back and forth looking for these venomous little peckers.

It was sort of exciting in a strange way,. We don't get a lot of scorpions in Edmonton...although I felt a geek wearing a headlamp. (I knew a kid who was president of the Science Club who took a headlamp to camp once...enough said.)

Anyway: since the room lights ran off a generator and we were asked to keep the power uses down, I decided to read my book using my headlamp.

Sheree was sleeping beside me and I was turning pages on a Mankell thriller about a guy in South Africa during the bloody uprising era waiting for the machete to fall.

Time passes and I am deeper and deeper into this book. Then all of a sudden there's this humming thrumming sound and something flies into my face.

I assume it's a bug, but it's a fast little sucker. It smacks me in the face and flies away. Since the only light source in the room is currently on my forehead, I accept it. (I don't like it, of course and am better than half way grossed out by it, but I accept it.)

Since the hero of the book is landing in serious doo-doo, I go back to my book. A few minutes later it smacks me in the face again -- and I am starting to get better than half pissed now.

It must be some serious kind of bug, I think. And, being a great white hunter, I shrewdly evolve a clever plan: I shall hang my lit headlamp on the bedpost, wait for the insect to be drawn to the light again and I will squish it with my book (being very careful not to get any African bug guts on me because...well y'know.).

(Sometimes I surprise myself with my own cunning.)

So I sit there in the dark, novel poised, every sense alert and tuned to the whispering darkness. I was quivering with a hunter's anticipation.

Nothing.

I wait.

Pretty smart bug I think.

I get tired and begin to think it's a little silly for a grown man to be waiting in the darkness to outsmart and then ambush a bug.

That little sucker comes round again, with the usual soft whispering thrumming sound I can't identify...and I see it's not a bug at all. In the flash I see it's a BAT. A little tiny bat.

I abandon the "wait and squish strategy," turn out the light and go to sleep.

Being a Great White Hunter, I most definitely do NOT pull the covers over my head.

Score?

Bat: one.

Great African/Canadian hunter: zero.

I love Africa. I really really do. This is an amazing place.

We're here for another two...almost three days...before we leave for London.

Thought you guys might like to see The Headlamp...and it makes for an excellent excuse to tell the story.

Tomorrow, Sheree and I are going into a shark cage in Great White Shark infested waters. They promise up-close interactions with the most ferocious ocean predator on the planet. Seriously...we are. Her idea. Of course. Imagine that: going into a cage in the water...with sharks. On PURPOSE. Geez.

I think I'll take my novel with me in case I need to squish the shark.

**sigh**

The woman to whom I was once married gave (as opposed to "gifted"... sheesh!) this hat to me as, I think, an Easter gift many, many years ago. I wore it for a couple of summers at outdoor events as a matter of keeping the sun from burning my scalp, but otherwise it sat on our bedpost. Likewise since our divorce (I got the bed).

The edge has been torn like this for some time, so naturally, I've not had an inclination to wear it, but for no good reason, I've not gotten rid of it. Even after I gave the bed to Zachary a little over a year ago, the hat hung around, and its raison d'être seemed to be as a dust collector, moving from the top of the TV to the top of my dresser to wherever it ended up next.

I've not ever had a particular attachment to the hat. I'm not really much of a hat wearer as it is, although winter and clear summer skies occasionally require protective measures, and since the hat is damaged, it's not like I'm going to wear it again. Still, I hang onto it.

I simply have problems disposing of things which have some sort of personal history involved.

This is why I still have drawings that the kids made when they were much younger. Of course, in my defense, I feel that I'm somewhat a protector or archivist of their histories; 'one day,' I think, 'they'll appreciate that I saved these things.'

I am overly sentimental.

There is nothing innately wrong with that, I suppose, but I've come to think that it requires living in a really big house — not a two-bedroom apartment!

So, as I continue my attempt to purge my life of the unnecessary and further whittle my life to the basics, the hat goes.

*No... not literally!

on the bedpost overnight!

Do you remember that song?

www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Waw9s44A04

I love how this bench looks like it was constructed

from an antique twin bed headboard!

Happy Bench Monday, Everyone!

. . . and, an early "Window Wednesday" to you too . . .

Sindy heard cries of anguish from Sleeping Beautys bedroom. Sleepily she put on her robe, slipped on her slippers and tottered over.

Sindy: What ever is the matter love?

Sleeping Beauty: Oh Sindy how good of you to come. I can't sleep.

Sindy: Why not? You were awfully sleepy when you went to bed.

Sleeping Beauty: I still am! But my eyes fly open as soon as I let go of this string. Oh how am I ever going to sleep now?

Sindy: Hmm, my mum always gave me a glass of warm milk, but that won't do here. Let me think...

Sleeping Beauty: *Crying* You will have to call me Awake Beauty from now on!

Sindy: There, there. *Patting the duvet* So as long as the string in your neck is pulled out, your eyes are closed?

Sleeping Beauty: Yes.

Sindy: Ah! Then I will tie it to the bedpost, so when you lay down, your eyes shut and when you sit up, you see again.

Sleeping Beauty: Oh Sindy you are marvelous!

Sindy: You can thank me in the morning. Goodnight love.

*******************

My first BIG ICY Blythe doll! (The seller wrote ICY, but she looks more like a factory Blythe to me) a little help please!

I was planning on getting one with more colourful hair, but this one was sold for a bargain at a local auktion site and she didn't get sold the first time round.... I HAD to buy her then didn't I?

_____________

Oh, and I thought they all closed their eyes when they lay down, like a baby doll haha!

A close up of a bed post in the Windsor Room at Casa Loma.

This ornate Venetian bed was used by Pellatt's guests.

Originally a sitting room. Connecting to it’s own conservatory, the ceiling is painted with the constellation of the stars at the time of the third marquess’s birth, and this is one of the rooms that was remodelled by the sixth marquess to allow him to use Mount Stuart as a home. The bed is his, and it is stunning, with carvings inspired by the tales of Reynard the Fox. On the bedposts are carvings of the fox playing a psaltery to lull the marquess to sleep, and on the other side is a badger with a set of bagpipes to waken him up. Hovering above is the noble lion in a nightcap. The furnishings are beautiful and it includes Egyptian revival chairs.

Mount Stuart House, Isle of Bute.

When this photograph was taken, my great grandfather Xavier j. Covfefe was a grocer and confectioneer in the Storyville District of New Orleans. An enterprising man, he worked on inventions late into the night. One of his more notorious inventions became known as the Storyville pocketwatch, as it was used in houses of ill repute throughout Storyville.

Xavier J. Covfee served with the American Expeditionary Forces in the Great War (WW!). He returned home in 1918 minus a leg and eye, to find the bustling Storyville a ghost of it's former self.

A dashing figure with his eye patch and a false leg he fashioned from a bedpost from Mahogany Hall, Covfefe began to recruit the returning men of the 369th Infantry Regiment and formed one of the more notorious enforcement arms of the Matranga family of New Orleans. In 1929 while working for Sylvestro Carolla, Covette saw Al Capone off on a train back to Chicago. But not before disarming his bodyguards and breaking their fingers with a hammer.

While on a scouting expedition to Little Rock Arkansas for his bootleg business, Xavier J. Covette committed suicide. He shot himself twice in the head while staying overnight at the Rodham Inn. His pistol was never recovered. Xavier J. Covfefe is entombed in Metairie Cemetery.

We're Here! : Covfefe

Want more interaction on flickr? Join We're Here!

Mustard walls that glow in the lamplight. Bed that squeaks every so slightly when you roll over to check the early morning hour.

Leica M8, Elmar (collapsible) 90/4.

Thank you dearest Skippy Beresford for being my Tiny Tim!

♪♫♪♫ To get in the right mood ♪♫♪♫

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yes! and the bedpost was her own. The bed was her own, the room was her own. Best and happiest of all, the Time before her was her own, to make amends in!

`I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future.' Miss Scrooge repeated, as she scrambled out of bed. `The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. Oh Jacob Marley. Heaven, and the Christmas Time be praised for this. I say it on my knees, old Jacob, on my knees.

She was so fluttered and so glowing with her good intentions, that her broken voice would scarcely answer to her call. She had been sobbing violently in her conflict with the Spirit, and her face was wet with tears.

“I am here -- the shadows of the things that would have been, may be dispelled. They will be. I know they will.'

`I don't know what to do.' cried miss Scrooge, laughing and crying in the same breath; and making a perfect Laocoon of herself. `I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a schoolgirl. A merry Christmas to everybody. A happy New Year to all the world.'

`There's the door, by which the Ghost of Jacob Marley entered. There's the corner where the Ghost of Christmas Present, sat. There's the window where I saw the wandering Spirits. It's all right, it's all true, it all happened. Ha ha ha.' Really, for a woman who had been out of practice for so many years, it was a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The mother of a long, long line of brilliant laughs. `I don't know what day of the month it is.' said miss Scrooge. `I don't know how long I've been among the Spirits. I don't know anything. I'm quite a baby. Never mind. I don't care. I'd rather be a baby.'

Running to the window, she opened it, and put out her head. No fog, no mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold; cold, piping for the blood to dance to; Golden sunlight; Heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry bells. Oh, glorious. Glorious.

`What's to-day.' cried miss Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday clothes.

`Eh.' returned the boy, with all his might of wonder.

What's to-day, my fine fellow.' said miss Scrooge.

`To-day.' replied the boy. `Why, Christmas Day.'

`It's Christmas Day.' said miss Scrooge to herself. `I haven't missed it. The Spirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like. Of course they can. Of course they can. Hallo, my fine fellow.'

`Hallo.' returned the boy.

`Do you know the Poulterer's, in the next street but one, at the corner.' Miss Scrooge inquired.

`I should hope I did,' replied the lad.

`An intelligent boy.' said miss Scrooge. `A remarkable boy. Do you know whether they've sold the prize Turkey that was hanging up there -- Not the little prize Turkey: the big one.'

`What, the one as big as me.' returned the boy.

`What a delightful boy.' said miss Scrooge. `It's a pleasure to talk to him. Yes, my buck.'

`It's hanging there now,' replied the boy.

`Is it.' said miss Scrooge. `Go and buy it.'

`Walk-er.' exclaimed the boy.

`No, no,' said miss Scrooge, `I am in earnest. Go and buy it, and tell them to bring it here, that I may give them the direction where to take it. Come back with the man, and I'll give you a shilling. Come back with him in less than five minutes and I'll give you half-a-crown.'

The boy was off like a shot. He must have had a steady hand at a trigger who could have got a shot off half so fast.

`I'll send it to Bob Cratchit's.' whispered miss Scrooge, rubbing her hands, and splitting with a laugh. `He shan't know who sends it. It's twice the size of Tiny Tim.' The hand in which she wrote the address was not a steady one, but write it she did, somehow, and went down-stairs to open the street door, ready for the coming of the poulterer's man. As she stood there, waiting his arrival, the knocker caught her eye. `I shall love it, as long as I live.' cried miss Scrooge, patting it with her hand. `I scarcely ever looked at it before. What an honest expression it has in its face. It's a wonderful knocker.

Here's the Turkey. Hallo. Whoop. How are you. Merry Christmas.' `Why, it's impossible to carry that to Camden Town,' said miss Scrooge. `You must have a cab.' The chuckle with which she said this, and the chuckle with which she paid for the Turkey, and the chuckle with which she paid for the cab, and the chuckle with which she recompensed the boy, were only to be exceeded by the chuckle with which she sat down breathless in her chair again, and chuckled till she cried.

She dressed herself and at last got out into the streets. The people were by this time pouring forth, as she had seen them with the Ghost of Christmas Present; and walking with her hands behind her, miss Scrooge regarded every one with a delighted smile. She looked so irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four good-humoured fellows said,' Good morning ma’am. A merry Christmas to you.' And miss Scrooge said often afterwards, that of all the blithe sounds she had ever heard, those were the blithest in her ears.

She went to church, and walked about the streets, and watched the people hurrying to and fro, and patted children on the head, and questioned beggars, and looked down into the kitchens of houses, and up to the windows, and found that everything could yield her pleasure. She had never dreamed that any walk -- that anything -- could give her so much happiness.

But she was early at the office next morning. Oh, she was early there. If she could only be there first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late. That was the thing she had set her heart upon. And she did it; yes, she did. The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarter past. No Bob. He was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time. Miss Scrooge sat with her door wide open, that she might see him come into the Tank.

His hat was off, before he opened the door; his comforter too. He was on his stool in a jiffy; driving away with his pen, as if he were trying to overtake nine o'clock.

`Hallo.' growled miss Scrooge, in her accustomed voice, as near as she could feign it. `What do you mean by coming here at this time of day?'

`I am very sorry, ma’am,' said Bob. `I am behind my time.'

`You are!' repeated miss Scrooge. `Yes. I think you are. Step this way, sir, if you please.'

`It's only once a year, ma’am,' pleaded Bob, appearing from the Tank. `It shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry yesterday, ma’am.'

`Now, I'll tell you what, my friend,' said miss Scrooge,' I am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore,' she continued, leaping from her stool, and giving Bob such a dig in the waistcoat that he staggered back into the Tank again;' and therefore I am about to raise your salary!'

Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler. He had a momentary idea of knocking miss Scrooge down with it, holding her, and calling to the people in the court for help and a strait-waistcoat.

`A merry Christmas, Bob,' said miss Scrooge, with an earnestness that could not be mistaken, as she clapped him on the back. `A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you for many a year. I'll raise your salary, and endeavour to assist your struggling family, and we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a Christmas bowl of smoking bishop. Make up the fires, and buy another coal-scuttle before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit.'

Miss Scrooge was better than her word. She did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did NOT die, she became a second mother.

She became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a woman, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in her, but she let them laugh. Her own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for her.

She had no further meetings with Spirits, but lived upon the Total Abstinence Principle, ever afterwards; and it was always said of her, that she knew how to keep Christmas well, if any woman alive possessed the knowledge.

May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!

Pacifique

maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Pacifique/105/199/22

Long before I joined the "making the bed" group, I made this pillow for the Day of the Dead to honor my parents. It's always in my room, just not always on the bed.

Back Pillows: West Elm

White Embroidered Cases: I believe were embroidered by either my Grandmother or Step- Grandmother given to me by my Mom 20 years ago.

Front Cases: My Target Stand - Bys

Top Sheet: Urban Outfitters inspired by my flickr friend Belledame73

She has an incredible sense of design, visit her photos

Sugar Skull pillow you've seen before ~ my design

Down comforter: The Company Store

Crochet afghan: ebay bargain last Fall

Oh, and the sugar skulls on the bedposts are from Walgreens ~ I just added a little glitter and puff paint. Close- up coming.

janinepauke.com

Happy Birthday Dad.

This past year has by far been the toughest of the past 18. I have learned a lot about myself and about you. Things I didn't know. Things I never wanted to know, but things that I feel that I needed to know.

So here I am at 31 years old. A man that I don't think you would recognize. I am a hell of a lot different than you ever were, but I am also so much like you. That is something that I live with everyday. It is something that makes me proud.

Sometimes it makes me hate myself - but I have learned to accept the good and realize that the bad is what makes each and every one of us human.

You were not perfect. God knows I am not.

I have let the pain of my childhood and of your death rule my life for 18 years. It has stunted me in so many ways. I realize that now and am taking steps to assure that it doesn't affect those that I love.

I still have not forgiven you - but I do understand.

I go past this old garage every day on my way to work and it makes me think of you. Those are the good memories. The clutter of tools, stacks of old tires, the unused fan belts that lined the walls. The smell of grease and machinery. Your black stained finger nails and the way that you used to hang your uniform on your bedpost, with a big loop of keys dragging towards the floor. Your perfect grey hair slicked back and the sharp stubble on my cheek when you used to pick me up.

Those are the good memories.

I realize now that you sit somewhere in the back of my head like this old car - a work in progress. Not something to hate - but a labor of love.

I miss you and I love you. Two things that were never said.

What I see is unreal

I've written my own part

Eat of the apple, so young

I'm crawling back to start

______________________

and one for him.

Hanging on my bedpost... I need all the help I can get... ;-)

MACRO MONDAYS Flickr Group: www.flickr.com/groups/macromonday/

HMM!!!

Nikon D7100 + Tokina 100mm f/2.8 FX Macro Lens (AT-X M100 AF PRO D AF 100mm f/2.8)

+ Nikon Speedlight SB-700 Flash fitted with mini-softbox

f/32 @ 1/60 @ iso 200

(tweaked in Smart Photo Editor)

Myself.

This photo was basically just me experimenting a little.. Not good, but not awful I suppose.

© Breeanna Owsley

Tutti and a Ninja had time to rummage threw the Christmas decorations while Patch was away asking her mum how long it was till Christmas.

Tutti: Well? How long is it?

Patch: About forever. Did you find the golden angel?

Tutti: Yes it's here.

(she is holding it up, but the bedpost is shielding it)

Patch: Excellent! Now all we need is a spade.

Tutti: Are you sure we have enough time to be naughty before Christmas? I don't want to miss out on any presents.

Patch: Absolutely! Besides, I blamed you.

Tutti: What!?!

___________________________________

Chest of drawers by [https://www.flickr.com/photos/dudidier/]

Bed and boxes by me.

~ Kevin Jared Hosein

*

forgetting something

Nick Flynn, 1960

Try this—close / your eyes. No, wait, when—if—we see each other / again the first thing we should do is close our eyes—no, / first we should tie our hands to something / solid—bedpost, doorknob— otherwise they (wild birds) / might startle us / awake. Are we forgetting something? What about that / warehouse, the one beside the airport, that room / of black boxes, a man in each box? I hear / if you bring this one into the light he will not stop / crying, if you show this one a photo of his son / his eyes go dead. Turn up / the heat, turn up the song. First thing we should do / if we see each other again is to make / a cage of our bodies—inside we can place / whatever still shines.

*

$25 13x19 prints shipped any where in the US.

BedPost(detail)

"in the middle of the night

i start and minutes later

the phone begins to howl

so i search for my hands

but they aren't where i

hung them on the bedpost so

the silence when you don't leave

a message is a message."

– annelyse gelman, "six reconstructed dreams," everyone i love is a stranger to someone

***

instagram / tumblr

Waiting, waiting.... for her prince.

Get the rope, tie me to the bedpost. Because I can't find within myself the happy host.

Song link: youtu.be/9zmOUSX6mw0

Macro Mondays theme : #Celebration

The tradition of the Christmas stocking is thought to originate from the life of Saint Nicholas. In some Christmas stories, the contents of the Christmas stocking are the only toys the child receives at Christmas from Santa Claus; in other stories (and in tradition), some presents are also wrapped up in wrapping paper and placed under the Christmas tree. Tradition in Western culture threatens that a child who behaves badly during the year will receive only a piece or pile of coal. Some people even put their Christmas stocking by their bedposts so Santa Claus can fill it by the bed while they sleep.

Ref: Christmas stocking - Wikipedia

My Christmas Stocking Glass Ornament measures 1 ¾” in height. I guess I am better find a bigger one before Christmas for all my gifts!

Thank you everyone for your visits, faves, and kind comments

In southern Indiana.

Effect of late evening sunlight hitting the crystal on the bedpost in the upper suite of the casita behind our house in the city of Querétaro, Mexico.

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Windsor Room: Sir Henry Pellatt hoped to have the Royal Family as guests in this room.

Take note of the tightly weaved striped blanket on the right, the animals fur pelts coverlets, and the added straw lining on the back wall for extra insulation. The sweet old patina on the wood bed with its craving and wood pegs nails.

I sit and think some profound thoughts....

Does your chewing gum lose it's flavour on the bedpost overnight?

Do infants enjoy infancy as much as adults enjoy adultery?

If a pig loses its voice, is it disgruntled?

Why do women wear evening gowns to nightclubs? Shouldn't they be wearing nightgowns?

If love is blind, why is lingerie so popular?

If lawyers are disbarred and clergymen defrocked, doesn't it follow that electricians can be delighted, musicians denoted, cowboys deranged, models deposed, tree surgeons debarked and dry cleaners depressed?

Makeup and styling by Kelayla.

IMG_7239

8 Aug 18

i loooove my room at school, especially when the light is pouring in through the window

I also love that I managed to edit my cell phone and a sleeping Brendan right out of the picture