My favorite place in the whole world is Mackinac Island, Michigan, a tiny picturesque island in Lake Huron. While the island and Grand Hotel were the setting for "Somewhere in Time" and "This Time for Keeps", it has been attracting visitors for well over 130 years. Lilacs and fudge not withstanding, the most famous thing about Mackinac Island is that it does not allow any sort of motorized vehicle. The 3 modes of transportation on the island are bikes, horses and your feet. This adds to the charm. However, waking up to the sound of clip clop, clip clop under your window as the horses pulling the drays and carriages pass by is initially a bit jolting but once you get used to it, the sound is quite soothing. At night, you can hear the clip clops in the distance echoing across the island.
Shortly after Thanksgiving while sitting on my front porch, I was sure I was having a Mackinac flashback as I heard the faint clip clop, clip clop coming from a couple of blocks away. It turns out that the historic district has nightly carriage rides from mid-November thru early January as part of the holiday festivities. As there isn't much traffic in my neighborhood, the evening is punctuated with this delightful sound for hours on end.
I won't have much longer to listen to the clip clop of the carriages but you can bet I'll be out on my front porch, on my white rocker, surrounded by red geraniums for the next few evenings.
Kathy
"Ain't Life Grand" by Kathy Hoynes 2004
02 January 2007
01 January 2007
Titanic: The Artifact Exhibition
I recently returned from a long weekend in Las Vegas – my third trip actually – and each time I’ve done very little gambling, though I do have a fondness for the Green Acres slot machine. I mainly enjoy exploring the hotels, people watching and seeing the many art exhibits. There always seems to be something interesting to check out each time I go but I was very surprised to discover The Titanic Artifact Exhibition sitting quietly at The Tropicana.
Historic tragedy has fascinated me for as long as I can remember - Custer at The Little Big Horn, the murder of Nicholas II and his family, the sinking of The Titanic. Each had first hand accounts by witnesses. Each continues to have the power over peoples’ imaginations to inspire the endless what-if scenarios. Each was seared into the memories of their time much as 9/11 is to us. And while each event remained strangely isolated and mysterious, the clues were there, waiting to be discovered. “Images of sorrow. Pictures of delight. Things that go to make up a life.”
Growing up, I remember seeing the British classic “A Night to Remember” numerous times on WGN (before it was a “super station”). Maybe because it was the late night movie, maybe because it was in black & white, maybe because at the time it was something I knew nothing about, I found the film to be more frightening than any slasher movie. In my teens I read “Raise The Titanic” finding it far fetched but it sparked my what-if’s. Who really knew what was down there. “Raise The Titanic” was made into a mediocre film but two scenes had me hooked – when the Titanic is found and when it is raised, a tad rusty and filled with water but amazingly intact, having sat at the bottom of the North Atlantic waiting to be discovered. In 1985 finding the Titanic is exactly what Dr. Robert Ballard did. The Titanic was more than a tad rusty, it was hardly intact and would never be raised as it had been in the film but it had been found. I devoured everything I could find. I watched every documentary. I read every article. A relative collected National Geographic and I remember begging him to give up the Titanic issues, which he graciously did. The gleaming black and white photographs of history were replaced by ghostly images that were both tragic and beautiful. I admired Dr. Ballard for his choice to leave the ship undisturbed. It was the final chapter.
No, it was just the beginning of the final chapter. I was horrified to learn that artifacts from the Titanic would be pulled from the sea and put on exhibit. I wasn’t sure why I felt that the Titanic was any more sacred than other shipwrecks. History is filled with grave robbers in all forms. The Titanic would be no different. I swore I would never see an exhibit of Titanic artifacts.
Never say never.
I was the only person in the exhibit. Well, it was 10am on a Friday at a historical exhibit in Las Vegas – of course I was the only person there!!! I was handed a boarding pass at the start of the exhibit with the name of a Titanic passenger. Her name was Miss Edith Corse Evans, age 36, a single woman traveling in 1st Class cabin A-29 on her way home to New York after a visit to family in Paris. At the end of the exhibit I would discover her fate.
SPOILER ALERT – if you plan on seeing the Titanic Exhibition and do not wish to read a review, stop right now and go listen to the newest “Greyhounds Make Great Pets” broadcast. I love seeing exhibits without any forewarning. I also hate those audio sets that are handed out. It detracts from the oneness of what you are seeing. An art or historical exhibit should be able to move and inspire you all on its own, without a recording playing in your ear, telling you what you are perfectly able to discover by simply opening your eyes.
The exhibit is set up to resemble movie sets. This is not as tacky as it sounds. In the beginning of the exhibit you learn a bit about the historical period, White Star Line and Harland & Wolff, the builders of the Titanic. The interiors switch from warehouse offices to the docks as the building of the Titanic progresses. Artifacts are mingled in with the background information. It’s interesting but slightly unimpressive. Already knowing the background of the Titanic, I was not sure if a Titanic novice would be as equally bored. Yet this gave me a slight feel of anticipation of what was to come as I climbed the gangplank into the main portion of the exhibit.
Walking down the hallway of lower deck cabins, I discovered just how uncomfortable the crew and 3rd class passengers must have been. The large area with many artifacts and room displays was more fascinating than I would have ever imagined. The biggest shocker for me was not to see these items, but to see them in color. For years the black & white photos of the Titanic captured my imagination but to give these items colors changes the entire perspective. Floor tiles, dishes, copper pots, marble fixtures, the elegantly simple 3rd class mug. The opulence of la belle epoc is tantalizingly hinted at.
Turning the corner, my mouth literally dropped open.
I stood before a one third size reproduction of the grand staircase of the Titanic. It was stunning. The artificial “natural” light from the domed skylight was realistic and almost blinding. However the souvenir photo op completely brought me back to reality. The idea of having a snapshot on the reproduced Titanic staircase, embossed with the exhibition logo reminded me why I was so against the exhibit in the first place. I continued through the exhibit, lights, sounds and documentation told me that the night of 14 April 1912 was fast approaching.
Was it getting colder? Had the lights dimmed? Looking through the porthole, I saw stars. I heard the ocean. My imagination was getting the best of me I thought as I opened the door. Or had it? A burst of freezing air hit my face as I walked into the darkness. Once my eyes adjusted I found myself on the Promenade Deck of the Titanic on that cold, moonless last night in one of the most creative illusions of exhibition staging. Being the only person there that morning, I closed my eyes and wondered what it must have been like. I knew the end of the story and yet I understood how everyone thought she was unsinkable. Through another door and around a dark corner, barely visible at the far end of the next room was the iceberg. Not “the” iceberg but an interactive example of what might have been.
I found the remaining part of the exhibit anti-climatic and portions bordered on ghoulish. Personal belongings of those both known and unknown gave the final portion of the exhibit the grave robbing quality I had always been leery of. The passenger list of the Titanic took up a huge floor to ceiling wall. I searched for Edith.
The Titanic is literally rusting away and estimates are that what remains of the ship will totally collapse in 45 to 60 years. For 95 years, the names of those who perished that fateful night have lived on. For many, their name on the ship’s manifest is the only record of their life. Long after I am gone, the dead of the Titanic will be remembered.
Miss Edith Corse Evans never arrived in New York.
Historic tragedy has fascinated me for as long as I can remember - Custer at The Little Big Horn, the murder of Nicholas II and his family, the sinking of The Titanic. Each had first hand accounts by witnesses. Each continues to have the power over peoples’ imaginations to inspire the endless what-if scenarios. Each was seared into the memories of their time much as 9/11 is to us. And while each event remained strangely isolated and mysterious, the clues were there, waiting to be discovered. “Images of sorrow. Pictures of delight. Things that go to make up a life.”
Growing up, I remember seeing the British classic “A Night to Remember” numerous times on WGN (before it was a “super station”). Maybe because it was the late night movie, maybe because it was in black & white, maybe because at the time it was something I knew nothing about, I found the film to be more frightening than any slasher movie. In my teens I read “Raise The Titanic” finding it far fetched but it sparked my what-if’s. Who really knew what was down there. “Raise The Titanic” was made into a mediocre film but two scenes had me hooked – when the Titanic is found and when it is raised, a tad rusty and filled with water but amazingly intact, having sat at the bottom of the North Atlantic waiting to be discovered. In 1985 finding the Titanic is exactly what Dr. Robert Ballard did. The Titanic was more than a tad rusty, it was hardly intact and would never be raised as it had been in the film but it had been found. I devoured everything I could find. I watched every documentary. I read every article. A relative collected National Geographic and I remember begging him to give up the Titanic issues, which he graciously did. The gleaming black and white photographs of history were replaced by ghostly images that were both tragic and beautiful. I admired Dr. Ballard for his choice to leave the ship undisturbed. It was the final chapter.
No, it was just the beginning of the final chapter. I was horrified to learn that artifacts from the Titanic would be pulled from the sea and put on exhibit. I wasn’t sure why I felt that the Titanic was any more sacred than other shipwrecks. History is filled with grave robbers in all forms. The Titanic would be no different. I swore I would never see an exhibit of Titanic artifacts.
Never say never.
I was the only person in the exhibit. Well, it was 10am on a Friday at a historical exhibit in Las Vegas – of course I was the only person there!!! I was handed a boarding pass at the start of the exhibit with the name of a Titanic passenger. Her name was Miss Edith Corse Evans, age 36, a single woman traveling in 1st Class cabin A-29 on her way home to New York after a visit to family in Paris. At the end of the exhibit I would discover her fate.
SPOILER ALERT – if you plan on seeing the Titanic Exhibition and do not wish to read a review, stop right now and go listen to the newest “Greyhounds Make Great Pets” broadcast. I love seeing exhibits without any forewarning. I also hate those audio sets that are handed out. It detracts from the oneness of what you are seeing. An art or historical exhibit should be able to move and inspire you all on its own, without a recording playing in your ear, telling you what you are perfectly able to discover by simply opening your eyes.
The exhibit is set up to resemble movie sets. This is not as tacky as it sounds. In the beginning of the exhibit you learn a bit about the historical period, White Star Line and Harland & Wolff, the builders of the Titanic. The interiors switch from warehouse offices to the docks as the building of the Titanic progresses. Artifacts are mingled in with the background information. It’s interesting but slightly unimpressive. Already knowing the background of the Titanic, I was not sure if a Titanic novice would be as equally bored. Yet this gave me a slight feel of anticipation of what was to come as I climbed the gangplank into the main portion of the exhibit.
Walking down the hallway of lower deck cabins, I discovered just how uncomfortable the crew and 3rd class passengers must have been. The large area with many artifacts and room displays was more fascinating than I would have ever imagined. The biggest shocker for me was not to see these items, but to see them in color. For years the black & white photos of the Titanic captured my imagination but to give these items colors changes the entire perspective. Floor tiles, dishes, copper pots, marble fixtures, the elegantly simple 3rd class mug. The opulence of la belle epoc is tantalizingly hinted at.
Turning the corner, my mouth literally dropped open.
I stood before a one third size reproduction of the grand staircase of the Titanic. It was stunning. The artificial “natural” light from the domed skylight was realistic and almost blinding. However the souvenir photo op completely brought me back to reality. The idea of having a snapshot on the reproduced Titanic staircase, embossed with the exhibition logo reminded me why I was so against the exhibit in the first place. I continued through the exhibit, lights, sounds and documentation told me that the night of 14 April 1912 was fast approaching.
Was it getting colder? Had the lights dimmed? Looking through the porthole, I saw stars. I heard the ocean. My imagination was getting the best of me I thought as I opened the door. Or had it? A burst of freezing air hit my face as I walked into the darkness. Once my eyes adjusted I found myself on the Promenade Deck of the Titanic on that cold, moonless last night in one of the most creative illusions of exhibition staging. Being the only person there that morning, I closed my eyes and wondered what it must have been like. I knew the end of the story and yet I understood how everyone thought she was unsinkable. Through another door and around a dark corner, barely visible at the far end of the next room was the iceberg. Not “the” iceberg but an interactive example of what might have been.
I found the remaining part of the exhibit anti-climatic and portions bordered on ghoulish. Personal belongings of those both known and unknown gave the final portion of the exhibit the grave robbing quality I had always been leery of. The passenger list of the Titanic took up a huge floor to ceiling wall. I searched for Edith.
The Titanic is literally rusting away and estimates are that what remains of the ship will totally collapse in 45 to 60 years. For 95 years, the names of those who perished that fateful night have lived on. For many, their name on the ship’s manifest is the only record of their life. Long after I am gone, the dead of the Titanic will be remembered.
Miss Edith Corse Evans never arrived in New York.
24 December 2006
Not a creature was stirring...
I love this time of night. All the pups are sleeping, visions of squeaky toys dance in their heads. I've made sure the homeless cats are all snug in their beds...well actually they have a home. It's my potting shed. My "Charlie Brown Christmas CD" is playing and I will be dancing around the living room when the "Lucy & Linus" tune comes up. And a bit later I'll go down to the village square to enjoy the lights. It's cold here tonight - gloves and scarf weather - so my Christmas Eve is complete. Tomorrow morning I'll get up bright and early, call a few friends and then start to prepare everything for Christmas dinner.
I wish you all the happiest Christmas and hope your day is filled with joy and good cheer!
Kathy
23 December 2006
Christmas Shopping
Just got back from some last minute Christmas shopping at the mall. What the heck was I thinking???!!!?!?!?!?!?!???? It was insane. Makes me wonder if re-gifting is really so bad.
Kathy
Kathy
19 December 2006
Marty's Moment
Marty is the senior member of the house – both in age and in residency. He’s a sweet 12 year old brindle boy with a kabuki white face and huge dark eyes surrounded by long, lovely lashes. Marty loves to give kisses. His breath is terrible so I guess you could call them stinky kisses but Marty gives the BEST stinky kisses. Marty has very big, very expressive ears even if they do make him look like Brighty of the Grand Canyon. He has a little trouble walking as there are problems with 2 of his disks, but Marty is nothing if not spunky and has learned to navigate around all the pushing and shoving of the other pups. It’s a joy to see him romping around the yard with his lopsided gait, leading off a group roo.
Marty has mastered the art of the woof. If he stands by the French doors wagging his tail and giving two soft woofs that means I should open the door and let him out. One loud woof after meals means he’s finished eating and I can remove his bowl. Several agitated woofs of increasing volume means he would like me to come ASAP to give him hugs and kisses.
So it’s only natural that this very special boy is suddenly an artist’s supermodel. I recently drew Marty sleeping with his MooCow stuffie and a Swiss cheese pillow as a fundraising image for GPA-Wisconsin (www.gpawisconsin.org) . The group has turned it into a great assortment of must have items – t-shirts, cards, holiday ornaments. Marty hasn’t said much about all this but I think it’s very cool!
Well, I must dash...someone is woofing and it's getting louder.
Marty has mastered the art of the woof. If he stands by the French doors wagging his tail and giving two soft woofs that means I should open the door and let him out. One loud woof after meals means he’s finished eating and I can remove his bowl. Several agitated woofs of increasing volume means he would like me to come ASAP to give him hugs and kisses.
So it’s only natural that this very special boy is suddenly an artist’s supermodel. I recently drew Marty sleeping with his MooCow stuffie and a Swiss cheese pillow as a fundraising image for GPA-Wisconsin (www.gpawisconsin.org) . The group has turned it into a great assortment of must have items – t-shirts, cards, holiday ornaments. Marty hasn’t said much about all this but I think it’s very cool!
Marty had another modeling go round when I was asked to do illustrations for a story called “Sandell’s Exciting Day” by Carol Sumilas Boshears which appears in the Winter issue of CG Magazine. True a brindle male looks nothing like a fawn female but that’s where artistic license come into play. And Marty already had the long eyelashes. I don’t think Marty minds too much.
Well, I must dash...someone is woofing and it's getting louder.
Kathy
18 December 2006
My 1st Foster
One would think that with 9 greyhound running around the house, I'd be crazy to take in a foster greyhound. About a month ago, my first foster greyhound, Huey, arrived at my doorstep. (no comments on my sanity, please) To say I was nervous is an understatement! Huey had been in a previous home for several years and the owners had issues with his behavior. Things happen, I 'spose. Huey was understandably perplexed upon his arrival even though the pups made him welcome. As I was not sure just what to expect, a living room/dining room lock down had been imposed for the evening. During final bed check I discovered that Huey was missing - from inside the house that is. He'd gotten the hang of the doggie door and was laying on one of the outdoor beds in the moonlight. While he seemed perfectly happy, he was shivering so I went outside and persuaded him to come back into the house. By that time all the good sleep spots in the house were occupied and Huey looked up at me with big sad greyhound eyes. Against my better judgement I brought Huey into the living room where he promptly plopped himself down on the fluffiest bed and fell asleep. He sure didn't look like he'd do anything dastardly to my living room but just to be on the safe side I spent the night on the couch.
Huey is the happiest of greyhounds. He's sweet and loving and if you tickle his ears just right, he'll smile. He's very easy going and trusting. Huey has even let me trim his nails...a very risky thing as I had never trimmed nails before. Huey's are white and a bit translucent so it was quite easy however, I still won't trim the nails of the other pups. There have been a couple of families interested in Huey but so far he has not found his "family" but he will!
Huey will make someone the perfect greyhound. For now, there will be a couple of extra presents under the tree this year.
Kathy
Huey is the happiest of greyhounds. He's sweet and loving and if you tickle his ears just right, he'll smile. He's very easy going and trusting. Huey has even let me trim his nails...a very risky thing as I had never trimmed nails before. Huey's are white and a bit translucent so it was quite easy however, I still won't trim the nails of the other pups. There have been a couple of families interested in Huey but so far he has not found his "family" but he will!
Huey will make someone the perfect greyhound. For now, there will be a couple of extra presents under the tree this year.
Kathy
16 December 2006
Fa-La-La-La-La
I've had rather a funky couple of days so leave it to my friend Pat to send me a goofy e-mail to make me giggle. Pat is warped, marginally wicked and tons of fun. My grandfather, who is on the far right of the photo, was much the same and would have loved Pat and thoroughly enjoyed her sense of humour. Heck, if I didn't know better, I would have said he wrote the e-mail she sent me. So from my cozy little dysfunctional family to yours, join me in singing some disturbed Christmas carols.Kathy
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1. Schizophrenia --- Do You Hear What I Hear?
2. Multiple Personality Disorder --- We Three Kings Disoriented Are.
3. Amnesia --- I Don't Know if I'll be Home for Christmas.
4. Narcissistic ---Hark the Herald Angels Sing About Me.
5. Manic --- Deck the Halls and Walls and House and Lawn and Streets and Stores and
Office and Town and Cars and Buses and Trucks and Trees and Fire Hydrants and...
6. Paranoid --- Santa Claus is Coming to Get Me.
7. Borderline Personality Disorder --- Thoughts of Roasting on an Open Fire .
8. Full Personality Disorder-- You Better Watch Out, I'm Gonna Cry, I'm Gonna Pout,
Maybe I'll tell You Why.
9. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder ---Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,
Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells...
10. Agoraphobia --- I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day But Wouldn't Leave My House.
11. Senile Dementia --- Walking in a Winter Wonderland Miles From My House in
My Slippers and Robe.
12. Oppositional Defiant Disorder --- I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus So I Burned
Down the House.
13. Social Anxiety Disorder --- Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas while I Sit
Here and Hyperventilate.
11 December 2006
Big Paw Prints to Fill
When my lovely Winston passed away in January 2005, I was devastated. He was the perfect spot in my world and I was suddenly adrift. While he did not define me as a person, I felt that his presence had shaped who I was and how my art evolved for the 8 years we were together. Who would recognize me without the big brindle greyhound in the Crayola yellow collar leashed to my arm? It was difficult to express my grief in words so I expressed my grief over Winston the only way I knew how – through my art. The three images I created allowed me to survive the rawness of those first months in a quiet house. When they were finished, it was time to face the world again.But was it? I felt I was still not ready. I began to doubt if I would ever adopt another greyhound but I missed having a dog. I missed the touch of a cold nose under my arm, jolting me out of a sound sleep. I missed the understanding of a sweet, fuzzy face as I shared all my secrets. I missed “that look”. Would another greyhound ever look at me like that again? I was uncomfortably jealous of my friends as they had what I no longer did. Winston is forever engraved on my heart. He left very big paw prints to fill. Another greyhound would never be Winston but I didn’t want him to be. A new greyhound deserved to be a dog of his own uniqueness, finding his place in the world and in my life. But my life was not as it should be and I had no idea when and if it would ever be normal again.
It’s funny how life manages to get you back on track even when you have no clue as to where the track will take you.
The prospect of suddenly sharing my life with 9 greyhounds never fazed me. How could it? I had nothing to compare it to. I had nothing to be afraid of. Ignorance can be bliss. 9 fuzzy faces opened their hearts and their home to me. One by one they each offered me their own unique gift.
Beauty made sure she took care of her newest “pup”.
Marty made sure I smiled.
Remy made sure I had a friend to snuggle with.
Scotty made sure I was protected.
Harley made sure I had someone to play with.
Nutmeg made sure I shared my things.
Blueberry made sure I continued what I started.
Bobo made sure I learn to expect the unexpected.
Dee made sure my new house felt like my home.
No, they are not Winston. Nor would I want them to be. They are Remy, Scotty, Marty, Blueberry, Nutmeg, Harley, Beauty, Bobo and Dee. And I love each of them for who they are. Hopefully as time goes on, I can give each of them a tiny bit of what Winston gave me.
Yes, Winston had very big paw prints to fill and it took 9 greyhounds to fill them.
Kathy
10 December 2006
"Who's There?"
In my last entry I told you a little bit about Scotty, my beautiful, noble and camera shy greyhound. I'd like to share a drawing I did of Scotty which captures his typical pose when he detects a camera pointed in his direction.
"Who's There?" by Kathy Hoynes 2006
Have a wonderful weekend!
Kathy
"Who's There?" by Kathy Hoynes 2006Have a wonderful weekend!
Kathy
06 December 2006
Stinky Feet
Ya know how people say that after a period of time a human begins to resemble their dog? What happens when the dog starts to imitate the human??!!
Scotty is my beautiful red fawn. He's stunningly regal and has huge soft brown eyes. He hates getting his picture taken and I have yet to get a photo of him that isn't blurred or with his head turned. He loves getting his tummy rubbed when no one else is looking. And he has a very big "woof". If I were a greyhound, I'd like to be like Scotty.
I am a klutz. If there is a pile of poop, I'll be the one to step in it...literally! In the yard, on a walk, minding my own business (no pun intended). Especially if I have on a to-die-for pair of Jimmy Choo's. I'm hopeless!!!
So why would a greyhound as noble as Scotty feel the need to "be like Kathy"?
Scotty has observed me well for he's developed the uncanny knack of stepping in poop. Full paw. It's like he's making a plaster cast for posterity. But Scotty is very neat about this faux-paw (there I go again!). Rather than tracking his discovery thru the house, he will promptly sit on the closest bed and wait for his poopy paw to be discovered and cleaned. He would never dream of walking around with this paw in such a state. And to be honest - how could he? Scotty never fails to encase his finely doggyicured toenails in 2 inches of...er...um...poop. Even if he tried to walk, he'd be totally off balance. Which is what a lot of people say about me. But I digress....
Then again, maybe Scotty has not picked up my klutziness. Perhaps he is just exerting his own unique form of artistic expression.
Scotty is my beautiful red fawn. He's stunningly regal and has huge soft brown eyes. He hates getting his picture taken and I have yet to get a photo of him that isn't blurred or with his head turned. He loves getting his tummy rubbed when no one else is looking. And he has a very big "woof". If I were a greyhound, I'd like to be like Scotty.
I am a klutz. If there is a pile of poop, I'll be the one to step in it...literally! In the yard, on a walk, minding my own business (no pun intended). Especially if I have on a to-die-for pair of Jimmy Choo's. I'm hopeless!!!
So why would a greyhound as noble as Scotty feel the need to "be like Kathy"?
Scotty has observed me well for he's developed the uncanny knack of stepping in poop. Full paw. It's like he's making a plaster cast for posterity. But Scotty is very neat about this faux-paw (there I go again!). Rather than tracking his discovery thru the house, he will promptly sit on the closest bed and wait for his poopy paw to be discovered and cleaned. He would never dream of walking around with this paw in such a state. And to be honest - how could he? Scotty never fails to encase his finely doggyicured toenails in 2 inches of...er...um...poop. Even if he tried to walk, he'd be totally off balance. Which is what a lot of people say about me. But I digress....
Then again, maybe Scotty has not picked up my klutziness. Perhaps he is just exerting his own unique form of artistic expression.
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