Odd Ball Photos are those great photos that you take which really don’t seem to fit into a common category.  We’ve all taken them and like them, because we just can’t hit delete and get rid of them.  

72-Jack-Keough_Labor Day Show Poster

This week, we spent some time in an art gallery. Most of the pictures from that will be in other posts, but these were interesting on their own. The preceding poster is to give you a taste of what’s to come … and what it’s all about.

From the back of the gallery look out to Main Street

From the back of the gallery look out to Main Street

Oddball? Maybe. But interesting, at least.72-Gallery-Wall-Jack-Keough_28

Art through aloe vera?

Art through aloe vera?

And then, there is Garry interviewing the artist, Jack Keough …




Love, Terror, and an American Family in Hitler’s Berlin

I have rarely been more conflicted about a book than I was about this one. It was gripping, sometimes mesmerizing. Simultaneously appalling and annoying.

William Dodd was made ambassador to Hitler’s Germany because no one else wanted the job — and because they didn’t want to put a “real” ambassador in a lose-lose position.

From the outset, it was the intention of Dodd’s bosses that he should fail. The U.S. government never had any intention of supporting him, of stopping the Nazi rise, or curtail the personal power of Adolph Hitler. You need to understand this in order for the rest of the story to make sense, if indeed it could be said to make sense.

The indifference and callously entrenched antisemitism of US State Department officials and their resulting tolerance for the atrocities of the Nazi government is hard to stomach.This is not an image of our government that would make anyone proud to be an American.

The failure of all western nations to do anything to stop Hitler while they could have done so with relative ease, is difficult to fathom. Their choice of Dodd, who was considered an amateur and not “one of the club” was an incredibly cynical move by the U.S.

Most of the people in the book are awful in one way or another. Dodd, the ambassador, ultimately grows to become, in his own way, heroic. He saw what was happening and tried — within the very limited power of his position — to do what he could. That no one listened to him is part of the tragedy. Dodd’s daughter, on the other hand, is a feather-headed self-absorbed brat. She is like a case of hives. The more you scratch, the more you itch.

Everyone acts in bad faith to one degree or another. Even more hard to bear are those who failed to act, failed to respond to Dodd’s repeated pleas for aid. Usually, it wasn’t because they didn’t believe him (although some didn’t), but because the majority of them were hardened anti-Semites who thought Hitler would rid Europe of the menace of Communism while wiping out the Jews. He didn’t get rid of Communism, but he did a pretty thorough job of wiping out European Jewry. Historically, I guess that would make the glass half full?

How revolting is it for me to learn this? I always rejected my mother’s suspicions on this score as paranoia. I refused to believe my government could allow — encourage — the genocide of an entire people. Sometimes, discovering mom was right is not heartwarming. This is one of those times.

To put the cherry on this dessert, the State Department’s little plot to allow Hitler enough latitude to “take care of the Jews” also led us into to the bloodiest war in human history, a conflict in which more than 30 million people — military and civilian — died.

The banality of evil has never been more terrifying. Read it and weep.

Evil intentions never produce good results. This book offers the ultimate cautionary tale.


It is not leftovers that have stayed too long in the refrigerator.


Typical famille rose design on an antique porcelain plate

You may know (or not) I have been a collector — in a small way — of antique Chinese porcelain and Asian art. As a collector, I love flea markets and yard sales. It’s part of the collecting mystique, that one day someone will be selling a great antique piece for a few dollars and I will be there to grab it.

It happened. Twice, to be exact. One pieces I got was a small, 200-year-old Qing dynasty pitcher. In pretty good shape. Got it for five dollars, sold it for $150. Ka-ching!

The other was a little dish which I’ve kept. It’s decorated with blue and yellow chickens. It’s a rice bowl, the sort of thing a working man might carry to work and use to eat his lunch. The piece fits loosely into the category of famille rose. Or famille verte. I haven’t decided if rose or green is the dominant color.


They are both a style rather than a dynasty, though the vast majority of piece in this category are between one and two hundred years old. Most of these pieces are elaborately decorated, but simple pieces were made for regular folks.

qing famille rose rice bowl

Chinese porcelain was secular. Art for art’s sake. Decorative. Non-collectors may assume Chinese porcelain was lavish. What I would call “imperial porcelain.” Certainly some very fine porcelain was made for the wealthiest members of society, but much of it was not. The Chinese were very egalitarian, believing that everyone needed art, the same way everyone needs food.

Food feeds the body. Art feeds the soul.

blue chicken on a qing dyn rice bowl antique porcelain

Art — dishes, figures, vases, ginger jars and so much more — was made for peasants, servants. Middle, and upper classes. Beauty was not a privilege of the few, but part of life for everyone.

The concept of art for everybody delights me. Too many people think art is a waste of money because it has no “function.” Merely being beautiful isn’t enough for them.


In this bowl indeed has a function, but it wasn’t painted to make it more functional. It would hold a man’s rice without hand-painted chickens. But me? I prefer it with chickens. In fact, I just love those chickens!


One of my favorite effects — certainly the one I use most often — is the oil painting filter. It softens the focus slightly and adds a texture to the surface. It’s subtle and a bit other-worldly. Very flattering for portraits, too, especially if your subject is older or has less than perfect skin. Or your focus was less than perfect!








As you can see, it’s a broadly useful tool. It’s one of the native Photoshop filters. Give it a try. You may be surprised at how versatile it is — unless (of course) you’ve already discovered it.



Please check out other floral posts through Cee’s Flower of the Day!


Margo Ballerina

Although I am currently a senior citizen with extensive arthritis, my life goals remain unchanged. I am planning to be a ballet dancer. Everyone tells me I should never abandon my dreams, no matter how hopeless, unrealistic, or just plain stupid. I figure I merely need a better walker.

Marilyn by Cherrie

When I was a girl, my mother took me to the New York City Ballet productions when George Balanchine was at the helm. I would leave the theater  feeling light as a snowflake, sure that I’d found my future. All I needed were a few lessons, a pair of those cool ballet slippers and I would leap and twirl on my toes into a golden future.

In between, I did a few other things, but we all know, because everyone tells us so, that anyone can be whatever they want. You just have to keep trying. You have to try and try and try until you succeed or die. Never give in, never give up. Never find something else at which you could be successful.

That’s why I’m sure I will eventually be a ballet dancer. Don’t laugh at me. I’m serious, here. Hey, you, I see you smirking …



Photographing small, antique bronze sculpture turned out to be a lot more difficult than I expected. I’m sure setting up some lights would have helped, but I put away my lights a few years ago and the idea of climbing into the attic to dig them out did not appeal to me. Nonetheless, I thought this was a good opportunity to finally make a few good pictures of some of my most prize possession, my Asian sacred art bronzes.

Vishnu rides garuda bronze macro sepia

Vishnu Rides Garuda. Tibet.

Old Bronze buddha, Tibet, date unknown, Maybe 18th century.

Buddha. Tibet. 


A rerun (with editing) from 2013. Shorter. Pithier. No less true.

Asking for help is easy. Getting it may not be.

I don’t mean getting someone to review your post or help you carry a heavy box up the stairs. Those are easy things, no big deal. You’ll happily do such things for anyone, even a stranger … and they for you.

What about when you can’t manage the basic stuff of life on your own anymore? When a bag of groceries is too heavy? When a flight of stairs looms Everest?

Ask you family for help? They’re busy. Maybe they can find a little time around Thanksgiving. Or New Year’s.

“But I need help today!” The silence is deafening.

Growing older has plenty of good, solid reasons for fear. Real issues of being left to the care of unfriendly strangers, unable to manage day-to-day tasks are more than a little scary. There’s nothing psychological about them.


Everyone would rather not need help. Universally, people prefer self-sufficiency. When that’s no longer an option, the world has a frozen, dark look. It’s not your world any more.

There are boulders in the middle of your life. Immovable. Huge, heavy, solid. Waiting.