
(From left to right) My green-haired Wish-nik from 1966, my teacher troll from 1990, Poppy, and the wizard troll from 1992 (with the garden gnome in the background)
Okay, here is some bad news for a guy who suffers from hoarding disorder, especially when it comes to things like dolls and toys that he can play with while he’s supposed to be trying to be a writer in his burned-out sick-bed retirement. They are making a movie about Trolls at Dreamworks… and there are dolls already on sale.
The city is after me to repair the house and yard on the outside, especially the cracked swimming pool that now only seems to hold bug-water for brewing the next generation of West Nile and Zika squeetoes to bite me and immediately die from the toxic chemicals already in my sick old blood. I need to do more than just put mosquito poison in the water. They say I must have the filter operating and it must be clear enough to see the drain in the bottom of the deep end. Pool repair guy says the crack repair is in the neighborhood of $14,000, which is $16,000 more than I have to spend right now. I’m already not buying medicine any more for my six incurable diseases. I’m also not going to the doctor any more because he will just yell at me for not taking medication anymore… even though I actually feel better not having taken the blood pressure medicine for over a year now. So the plan is to clean and repair the pool myself. This apparently will satisfy the trolls at the city inspector’s office, at least until I die from the cold and rain we seem to be getting now.
But those aren’t the trolls I meant to write about today. I am writing about the little troll doll named Poppy that I bought for $5 yesterday at Walmart. She’s the pink one in the middle of my photo-paffooney. The one that’s not a nudist like the rest of my remaining troll collection. (My daughter, the Princess, played with my troll collection of over 20 troll dolls when she was smaller and decided they all needed hair cuts and make-overs that completely altered them and eventually murdered them when she learned to cut and melt plastic.)

A troll corpse from the garage, murdered by make-up and partially eaten by rats.
So, the movie will feature a number of different trolls, the corresponding toys for which are already on sale in places where I will not be able to help myself from collecting the entire goofy little crew. And I do not have any place for them to live. I had to remove a section of Booggloopenstein Castle just to display the old trolls for a photo-paffooney. They will take over the house. And I know I should be out working on the pool instead of plotting where to put more trolls. But I just can’t help it. There is something irresistible about collecting ugly and goofy toys.







I am still battling headaches, bone pain, and illness. But I am getting by with bed rest. And a bit of playing with dolls.




















Skyscapes of the Cloudy Mind
I admit it. Even though I collect pictures of sunrises to glory in the fact that I still have another day of life in this world, I rarely snap a picture of the cloudless sunrise. It is very possible that this has something to do with what ultimately gives life value and makes it worthwhile to live one more day.
If there is no pattern, no color-changes, no contrast, no variation… then why bother? And this doesn’t only apply to living your life. It applies to taking pictures of the sky too. Solid blue or solid yellow are about as interesting as a minimalist painting. (Have you ever seen the big beige squares and red squares that fill entire walls of the Dallas Art Museum? Like a picture of a polar bear in a fierce blizzard or an extreme close-up of the side of a tomato.)
Yes, sunshine and happiness are all well and good… but you don’t get a satisfactory skyscape without some clouds in it. In fact, rain clouds provide the most fascinating patterns and colors. What would the picture be without a little drama splashed here and there to make a center of interest or a counterpoint to the happy ending? They say that variety is the spice of life. And when they say that they probably mean cayenne pepper rather parsley or oregano. If that’s not what they mean, then why the hell did we bring food into the discussion?
So, I am thinking, there have to be clouds. (Notice, I said “clouds”, not “clowns”, because… according to the song, there “ought to be clowns”, not “have to be clowns”.)
It is true that clouds can mean sadness… that the rain is coming, that your vision is obscured, that something has come between you and God’s eye. But without clouds, the sky would be plain and boring. Better to burn bright and explode in a short amount of time than to linger over a plain pale blue.
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Filed under clowns, commentary, foolishness, humor, photo paffoonies
Tagged as clouds, humor, metaphor, sunrises