Archive for the ‘Christmas’ Category
Snow At Windy Point Vista, Tucson, Arizona — Photo-Artistry by kenne
When I think of the historical Christ, I think of courage:
“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”
— Theodore Roosevelt
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Chase Morris, December 24, 2004 — Image by kenne
“Listen to the mustn’ts, child. Listen to the don’ts.
Listen to the shouldn’ts, the impossibles, the won’ts.
Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me…
Anything can happen, child.
Anything can be.”
― Shel Silverstein
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Ducks at Christmas (December 29, 2012) Photo-Artistry by kenne
Behold the duck.
It does not cluck.
A cluck it lacks.
It quacks.
It is specially fond
Of a puddle or pond.
When it dines or sups,
It bottoms ups.
— Ogden Nash
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Christmas Tulips — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Beautiful tulips
In time present and time past
Point to the future.
— kenne
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Snow On The Santa Catalina Mountains On December 26th — Images by kenne
14
Cold Mountain has many hidden wonders,
People who climb here are always getting scared.
When the moon shines, water sparkles clear
When the wind blows, grass swishes and rattles.
On the bare plum, flowers of snow
On the dead stump, leaves of mist.
At the touch of rain it all turns fresh and live
At the wrong season you can’t ford the creeks.
— from Han Shan’s Cold Mountain Poems, translation by Gary Snyder
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Christmas 2018 Bartop Still Life — Photo-Artistry by kenne
We have lived at Tanuri Ridge
These eight Christmas years.
No Christmas trees over the years,
Instead, we add Holiday touches
To art, plants, whiskey bottles —
Our world exceeds stillness.
— kenne
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James is a challenge to photograph — Images by kenne
The quiet of Christmas morning,
everyone is still asleep as the sun
comes through the front windows
where the traveling bonsai trees,
Fica and Camellia, cast their shadows
on the table under the windows.
The smell of fresh coffee brewing
made special this morning, having
mixed in mocha with the Pike Place.
Later, the dogs enter the kitchen
having concluded their mistress
isn’t getting up to let them out.
Checking the Weather Channel App
having added towns where
family and friends live
from coast to coast,
Kate in the Northeast
and Lisa in the Northwest
are experiencing
the white Christmas
others can only dream.
— kenne
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Artwork by Kenne Jaxon Bailey (December 2017)
For many years I have used Photoshop to create electronic Christmas cards.
This year I am collaborating with our five-year-old kindergarten grandson, Jaxon.
Maybe I’ve started a tradition!
In the paper
in the scissors
in the lines
in the colors
in the string of lights
in the wonder of his eyes —
JAXON —
in the star.
— kenne j. & kenne g.
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A year of challenges
has made us stronger and
more appreciative of life.
Peace.
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Christmas ’05 Still Life — Computer Painting by kenne
“We do not “come into” this world;
we come out of it, as leaves from a tree.”
— Alan Watts
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Balancing Cactus — Image by kenne
This year we celebrated Christmas with family in Houston and my favorite gift was “Balancing Cactus”. OK, so it’s not a saguaro, but it’s a lot of fun to play with — for children 3 and older.
kenne
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Katelyn Turner — Images by kenne
(Click on any of the images to see a larger view in a slideshow format.)
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A Texas Christmas — Image by kenne (Back in Tucson from the holidays in Texas.)
The Night Before Christmas…Texas Style
‘Twas Christmas Eve in Texas, when all ‘cross th’ ranch,
Not one critter was stirrin’, not even a branch;
Th’ boot-socks were hung from barbed wire with care,
In hopes that th’ tops this year would not tear;
Th’ kids were all tucked up like cows in a shed,
While dreamin’ of baked goods like cookies and bread;
Mom hung up her Stetson by my worn Resistol,
Took off boots, jeans and belts then in bed we did fall,
When out by th’ barn there was all sorts of clangin’
We jumped up right quick to see what was a bangin’.
Grabbed up our rifles and dressed quick like hustlers,
Grabbed ammo ‘n’ shotguns case it was rustlers.
Moon glow on tin roof shined by sand blowin’ hard
Gave enough light for seein’ and showed th’ farmyard,
We ‘uns concluded we was a seein’ thangs
Like, an old worn-out stagecoach pulled by eight green-broke mustangs,
With a great big ol’ driver, who held a tight rein,
we sure knew right quickly it must be John Wayne.
Much faster than bullets his horses sure came,
Still he whistled, and shouted, and yelled out each name:
“Now Pitchfork! now Pickup! now, Chisum and Dallas!
On, Haybale! on, Hairball! on, Lonestar and Texas!
Right over th’ leech field! and on past th’ well pump
Now gee-up and yee-haw, git ready to jump!”
Like tumbleweeds scurry when tornadoes whirl by,
When they just go and head skyward, up they sure fly.
Yep, up to th’ rooftop them horses strivin’,
with that stage full of toys, and th’ Duke a drivin’
In just a short moment we heard on th’ roof
Th’ stomping and stamping of each unshod hoof.
As we threw on our hats, and were heading downstairs,
John Wayne kicked in the front door which fell on two chairs.
Was dressed like a sheriff, from his hat to his boots,
And his clothes were all showin’ deep-down western roots;
Saddle bag of toys he had flung ‘cross his back,
and small things stuffed in pockets too much for his pack.
His eyes how they squinted! his pistol how gleamin’!
His badge was all shiny, his neck scarf tied streamin’!
His shirt unbuttoned, with th’ flap hanging down
And th’ jut of his chin was as fierce as his frown;
His rifle he held onto tight in his hand,
‘Til he got a good feel for the lay of the land;
He had broad shoulders which carried quite a load in
And shook when he laughed as his face creased with a grin.
He was handsome and tall, a legend come to life,
And we sure liked what we saw both me ‘n’ th’ wife.
Him winkin’ at Mom and a noddin’ his head
Made us glad we did not get Santa instead.
He drawled a few words, but he mostly just worked,
Filled boot-socks with oranges and meat, spicy-jerked,
And waving his hand in gesture well known,
Crashed through a window just as if he was thrown;
He sprang to his coach, toward his team the whip cracked,
Away they all galloped as if some injuns attacked.
But we all heard him shout, as he started to go,
“Howdy, Pardner, all y’all, saddle up, wagons ho!”
Suzann Darnall
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Old Pueblo Christmas — Computer Art by kenne
Enhancing the color
of Sonoran Desert scenes
is not necessary,
but something I can’t resist —
not that it’s better,
it’s just mine!
— kenne
MERRY CHRISTMAS —
PEACE AND LOVE TO ALL!
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Christmas Past #9 (December 14, 2013) — Image by kenne
I wanted an electric train for Christmas but I got the saxophone instead.
— Clarence Clemons
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