Tag Archives: drawing

Danse Macabre

Every good writer writes about love…  Well, not love exactly…   Love.  Every theme, every idea, every character basically boils down to that one very human emotion.   You know that every religion says that God is Love… at least they say the good God is.  But love has many facets, and leads to many other essential ideas.  Life and Death, Sex and Birth, Love and Hate… all are part of the great dance… Camille Saint-Saens called it the Danse Macabre, the Dance of Death, and wrote about it in symphonic music.  I reached a time in my youth where I had to confront the fact that people live and people die and I was no exception.

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I have never believed in Hell.  The God I know does not punish His creations with eternal torment… especially for reasons like having the wrong religion or making the wrong choices.  I have to admit that once I rejected the notion of eternal punishments, I also began to doubt eternal rewards.  Looking forward to a time after life is just as foolish and just as much a waste of time as fearing it.  We do have to look carefully into the darkness, however, because in the unknown  are concealed many traps and terrors.  Fear is a real thing, and it does an important job warning us and making us prepare for the worst.Image

We always seem to associate innocence with goodness and purity.  But as important as grappling with the idea of our own death is, is grappling with the loss of our own innocence.  There comes a moment that we are confronted with the awful truth.   It came for me when I was ten and was sexually abused by a neighbor.  Feelings of guilt and humiliation were not totally new to me, but they dropped on me then like a landslide of granite and lava.  That which is child-like and trusting is replaced distrust, fear, and loathing.

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Where do we find the answer?  Where do we find release from suffering and pain?  Where do we find peace of mind?  Religion can fuel love and forgiveness.  It does it well.  But it also fuels guilt and self-loathing.  Unfortunately it does that well too.  Psychiatry is an inexact science and needs a lot of further research.  So what is the conclusion to this philosophical quest?  What is the answer?  What are the last steps of the Dance?  I tried to sum it up the best that I could in the final panel of my cartoon Danse Macabre.

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Melodrama

Melodrama

This old colored pencil Paffooney once won a blue ribbon at the Art Contest at the Wright County Fair in Eagle Grove, Iowa… back in the 1970’s. Sergeant Peppercorn and his Native American sidekick, Wampum Boy, have tracked down the evil Handsome Harry Hardtack to save Blondie Goodnight from being tied to a railroad track. Don’t heroes always arrive in the nick of time to save the day?

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May 18, 2014 · 2:22 am

Creepy Times, the Second Chapter

Creepy Times, the Second Chapter

As a teacher, you always have to wonder who is pulling your strings, who is the puppet master? It is usually a principal, but today I think it was a colleague. She dumped another monster assignment on me. Individual test score conferences with all our ESL 10th and 11th grade students. They are taking my classroom away from me tomorrow, so I have no place to do the work, nor sufficient time. I apparently get half of the ninth graders too. Then I will called on the carpet if I don’t get this done soon… preferably tomorrow. This from a woman who has no classes to teach and no job beyond paperwork. Why can’t she do all of this extra work? She has the time and an available office. Another of the many reasons I am retiring in June. I love teaching, but nobody lets me do it any more… at least, not the right way.

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May 15, 2014 · 1:54 am

Yawn!

Yawn!

Today was an incredibly hard work day. I haven’t slept now since 8:00 a.m. yesterday. Almost 36 hours of achy wakefulness. Thunderstorms are making my arthritis ache and keeping me from actually falling asleep. I stumble now in five directions at once… forward, backward, to the left, to the right, and straight down. Soon this old clown will tumble down and roll around on the ground and finally fall to sleeeee….zzzzzzzzzzzzz

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May 13, 2014 · 12:31 am

The Book of Old Art

I have notebooks full of old drawings of many sorts.  Some novel-related, most not.  Let’s start with my first novel… one not published yet.  I call it Superchicken after the central character.

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And here are supporting characters in various stages of drawing…

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The story-teller character is, of course, the younger version of me.  This story is more than thirty years old.

I have many other drawings of various weird things.  You may notice the signature says Leah Cim Reyeb.  That goofy old etruscan so-and-so is actually me, my name spelled backwards… err… sdrawkcab.

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So… there it is.  A sample of the contents of my old book of art.  I am not completely demented yet, but as you can see… I’m getting there.

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Cotulla Cowboys

Cotulla Cowboys

I began my teaching career in deep South Texas, in a place called Cotulla. One thing I learned right away about Cotulla was that it was the same school district where Lyndon Baines Johnson taught as a young man. It was the site, at the Welhausen migrant school where LBJ taught, that the Elementary and Secondary Education Act (ESEA) of 1965 was signed. I later learned that LBJ had referred to Cotulla in his autobiography as the “donkey-hole” of Texas. Of course, he used the biblical word for donkey. He must of loved that town in much the same way as I did. Cotulla made the nightly news often enough that my relatives in Iowa all discovered where it was. It made the news as part of the weather report… hottest place in the nation. I guess we averaged about 107 degrees Fahrenheit in the summer. Hot, hotter, and hottest… I made friends with the mayor of Cotulla, William L. Cotulla whose family had founded the place two generations before. I taught there long enough to become the middle school English department head. I had three whole people in my department. I regularly went to the Wild Hog Cook-off and LaSalle County Fair. It was the kind of place where you have to be a cowboy. And I was. It was the high school team name after all. So there you have it… love it and hate it both… the reason I am a cowboy.

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May 9, 2014 · 12:25 am

The Blue Dragons of Somber Ceremony

The Blue Dragons of Somber Ceremony

Today the faculty of Naaman Forest High School held a retirement reception for me and four other teachers. All of us around 30 years of work in education. The school is losing 150 years worth of experience. Math, English, and Special Education… I managed to go through the thing without crying, but stiff upper lips get melted by the blue dragons of sadness. I will cry yet before the year is out. I still haven’t faced the final goodbye with students. How do I do that? I will bite holes in my lower lip and still fail to stop the waterworks. What a hopeless ball of wimpishness I am! But I’ve fought dragons all my life… dragons of one sort or another. Remember the intestinal gas contest started by Little Slick Pooflinger? Oh, wait, you weren’t there, were you…. Well, believe me, fart dragons are real. So, it was sad… blue dragon sort of sad… and I fought dragons one more time.

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May 8, 2014 · 12:37 am

Bad Kids

Bad Kids

They are a puzzle to their teachers, sometimes with only 493 of the 500 pieces. They act out at the worst possible time, calling attention to themselves… sometimes the kind of attention we would label scorn or hatred. Sometimes classmates have less patience with them than I have. But I have always had a soft spot for bad boys… right on the bottom of my left foot. Seriously, they often have an aching need that no one in their lives seems willing to fill. One child finally told me that it was the separation of his parents that kept him awake nights and reduced him to a caterwauling clown on the classroom floor. Another revealed to me that he could only deal with loneliness by smoking weed. Their stories, once you dig them out, can seriously make you weep. And I have always believed that there was a key to opening up any kid. It’s a real shame that sexual predators can find the keys more easily than a classroom teacher can. And believe me, people look at you as if you are a monster too if you open up bad kids and try to find treasure inside. Only pirates and monsters do that, right? Well, I am neither. And I can’t reach every child.
But I have reached some. Diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, and pearls.

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May 7, 2014 · 12:57 am

The Book of Life (an Eight-Syllable Poetic Photo)

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(An old drawing of Milt Morgan, the magical-me portrait)

The book is opened to page one…

A boy is born in a blizzard…

Page two reveals the night that he…

Stayed up for first steps on the moon…

And page three sees the girl he loved…

Though he never spoke the real word…

Page four ends with high school’s pain…

Loneliness and some self loathing…

Page five reveals in college days…

That one can achieve anything…

But page six admits the truth that…

One will always be a young child…

And page seven tells the sad tale…

Of teachers in the monkey house…

Page eight is twenty years and more…

In middle school, the wonder years…

Page nine is learning competence…

Is only in your mind and heart…

Page ten is learning all again…

And digging toward the hidden light…

Page eleven reeks of hard work…

 And making lives grow solidly…

Page twelve makes doubts seem useless dross…

And faith in men truly returns…

And page thirteen brings some sorrow…

For endings inevitable…

And so I do not turn the page…

For every book must somehow end…

And I am not yet finished here…

There’s so much more to see and read.

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(Me as I was about to start teaching in South Texas)

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The Girl on Skates

The Girl on Skates

Honestly, I only saw her from afar at the Wright County Fair in the Summer of 1977. She was perfect. She could skate backwards as well as I could skate forwards. She dipsy-doodled all around the rink, never noticing me watching with my mouth open. Beautiful auburn hair and a smile that could melt butter better than the August Iowa weather… I wasn’t sure how old she was, the main reason I never tried to talk to her. I was already a college sophomore at the age of twenty. I suspected she was a mere high school girl, not yet eighteen. All I felt safe doing was looking and longing, wishing only to adore and draw near. This Paffooney of checkerboard and stripes is not actually her. It is inspired by my niece and some actress from the musical Annie. But it makes me remember. A sweet, sad summer crush that never went anywhere but into a sappy old Paffooney post. Forgive me. I am old. And just maybe I will soon be a dirty, evil old man.

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May 3, 2014 · 12:34 am