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Quoizel CZ8411BDFL Cozy Cottage 19-Inch Large Wall Lantern, Burnished Copper Finish
Brand: Quoizel
Model : CZ8411BDFL
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Quoizel CZ8411BDFL Cozy Cottage 19-Inch Large Wall Lantern, Burnished Copper Finish Feature
American design Style Large Wall LanternSuitable for Indoor or Outdoor UseMade of SteelAmber scavo glass panel; Burnished Copper Finish19-Inch by 11-Inch, 1 CFL SPRING SELF-BALLASTED GU 24 base bulb needed
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Rustic Outdoor Wall Light in Burnished Copper with Amber Scavo glass from the Cozy Cottage Collection by Quoizel. Dimensions: 21 H 11 W 13.5 E
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Sandra Bullock Collects Razzie
Monday (08th) 14:22
The Razzie Awards are perhaps not the accolade that any actor wants to be associated with, yes they celebrate everything that is bad over the last twelve months.
But there was one actress in Hollywood who embraced her Worst Actress win and turned up at the ceremony... total respect to Sandra Bullock.
Yes the star, who went on to win Best Actress at the Oscars last night for The Blind Side, claimed that she would turn up to collect that award if she was win and, lo and behold, she kept her world.
Picking up the award she joked with the 700 crowd "Something tells me you all didn’t watch the film because I wouldn’t be here if you really, really watched it and understood what I was trying to say."
Bullock becomes the first actress to pick up a Razzie and an Oscar in the same weekend. All About Steve also picked up Worst Couple for Bullock and her co-star Bradley Cooper.
Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen was the big winner of the night as the movie took home the Worst Picture gong, seeing off competition from All About Steve, G.I. Joe: Rise of the Cobra, Land of the Lost and Old Dogs.
The movie also won Worst Director for Michael Bay and Worst Screenplay.
Worst Actor went to all three of the Jonas Brothers while Billy Ray Cyrus and Sienna Miller picked up the supporting gongs.
The awards ceremony also looked back over the worst of the last decade; Battlefield Earth took Worst Film while Eddie Murphy and Paris Hilton took Worst Actor and Worst Actress.
The 2010 Razzie winners list:
- Worst Picture
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"The Insider" has your complete list of winners from Sunday night's 82nd Academy Awards! Read on to see who took home an Oscar on film's biggest night (winners' names bolded below)!
Best Picture
WINNER: “The Hurt Locker” Kathryn Bigelow, Mark Boal, Nicolas Chartier and Greg Shapiro
“Avatar” James Cameron and Jon Landau, Producers“The Blind Side” Nominees to be determined“District 9” Peter Jackson and Carolynne Cunningham, Producers“An Education” Finola Dwyer and Amanda Posey, Producers“Inglourious Basterds” Lawrence Bender, Producer“Precious: Based on the Novel ‘Push’ by Sapphire” Lee Daniels, Sarah Siegel-Magness and Gary Magness, Producers“A Serious Man” Joel Coen and Ethan Coen, Producers“Up” Jonas Rivera, Producer“Up in the Air” Daniel Dubiecki, Ivan Reitman and Jason Reitman, Producers
Directing
WINNER: “The Hurt Locker” Kathryn Bigelow
“Avatar” James Cameron“Inglourious Basterds” Quentin Tarantino
“Precious: Based on the Novel ‘Push’ by Sapphire” Lee Daniels“Up in the Air” Jason Reitman
Actress in a Leading Role
WINNER: Sandra Bullock in “The Blind Side”
Helen Mirren in “The Last Station”Carey Mulligan in “An Education”Gabourey Sidibe in “Precious: Based on the Novel ‘Push’ by Sapphire”
Meryl Streep in “Julie & Julia”
Actor in a Leading Role
WINNER: Jeff Bridges in “Crazy Heart”
George Clooney in “Up in the Air”
Colin Firth in “A Single Man”
Morgan Freeman in “Invictus”Jeremy Renner in “The Hurt Locker”
Foreign Language Film
WINNER: “El Secreto de Sus Ojos” Argentina
“Ajami” Israel“The Milk of Sorrow” Peru“Un Prophète” France“The White Ribbon” Germany
Film Editing
WINNER: “The Hurt Locker” Bob Murawski and Chris Innis
“Avatar” Stephen Rivkin, John Refoua and James Cameron“District 9” Julian Clarke“Inglourious Basterds” Sally Menke“Precious: Based on the Novel ‘Push’ by Sapphire” Joe Klotz
Documentary (Feature)
WINNER: “The Cove” Fisher Stevens, Louie Psihoyos
“Burma VJ” Anders Østergaard and Lise Lense-Møller“Food, Inc.” Robert Kenner and Elise Pearlstein“The Most Dangerous Man in America: Daniel Ellsberg and the Pentagon Papers” Judith Ehrlich and Rick Goldsmith“Which Way Home” Rebecca Cammisa
Visual Effects
WINNER: “Avatar” Joe Letteri, Stephen Rosenbaum, Richard Baneham and Andrew R. Jones
“District 9” Dan Kaufman, Peter Muyzers, Robert Habros and Matt Aitken“Star Trek” Roger Guyett, Russell Earl, Paul Kavanagh and Burt Dalton
Music (Original Score)
WINNER: “Up” Michael Giacchino
“Avatar” James Horner“Fantastic Mr. Fox” Alexandre Desplat“The Hurt Locker” Marco Beltrami and Buck Sanders“Sherlock Holmes” Hans Zimmer
Cinematography
WINNER: “Avatar” Mauro Fiore
“Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince” Bruno Delbonnel“The Hurt Locker” Barry Ackroyd“Inglourious Basterds” Robert Richardson“The White Ribbon” Christian Berger
Sound Mixing
WINNER: “The Hurt Locker” Paul N.J. Ottosson and Ray Beckett
“Avatar” Christopher Boyes, Gary Summers, Andy Nelson and Tony Johnson“Inglourious Basterds” Michael Minkler, Tony Lamberti and Mark Ulano“Star Trek” Anna Behlmer, Andy Nelson and Peter J. Devlin“Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen” Greg P. Russell, Gary Summers and Geoffrey Patterson
Sound Editing
WINNER: “The Hurt Locker” Paul N.J. Ottosson
“Avatar” Christopher Boyes and Gwendolyn Yates Whittle“Inglourious Basterds” Wylie Stateman“Star Trek” Mark Stoeckinger and Alan Rankin“Up” Michael Silvers and Tom Myers
Actor in a Supporting Role
WINNER: Christoph Waltz in “Inglourious Basterds”
Matt Damon in “Invictus”
Woody Harrelson in “The Messenger”
Christopher Plummer in “The Last Station”
Stanley Tucci in “The Lovely Bones”
Actress in a Supporting Role
WINNER: Mo’Nique in “Precious: Based on the Novel ‘Push’ by Sapphire”
Penélope Cruz in “Nine”Vera Farmiga in “Up in the Air”
Maggie Gyllenhaal in “Crazy Heart”Anna Kendrick in “Up in the Air”
Animated Feature Film
WINNER: “Up” Pete Docter
“Coraline” Henry Selick“Fantastic Mr. Fox” Wes Anderson“The Princess and the Frog” John Musker and Ron Clements“The Secret of Kells” Tomm Moore
Art Direction
WINNER: “Avatar” Art Direction: Rick Carter and Robert Stromberg; Set Decoration: Kim Sinclair
“The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus” Art Direction: Dave Warren and Anastasia Masaro; Set Decoration: Caroline Smith“Nine” Art Direction: John Myhre; Set Decoration: Gordon Sim“Sherlock Holmes” Art Direction: Sarah Greenwood; Set Decoration: Katie Spencer“The Young Victoria” Art Direction: Patrice Vermette; Set Decoration: Maggie Gray
Writing (Adapted Screenplay)
WINNER: “Precious: Based on the Novel ‘Push’ by Sapphire” Screenplay by Geoffrey Fletcher
“District 9” Written by Neill Blomkamp and Terri Tatchell“An Education” Screenplay by Nick Hornby“In the Loop” Screenplay by Jesse Armstrong, Simon Blackwell, Armando Iannucci, Tony Roche“Up in the Air” Screenplay by Jason Reitman and Sheldon Turner
Writing (Original Screenplay)
WINNER: “The Hurt Locker” Written by Mark Boal
“Inglourious Basterds” Written by Quentin Tarantino“The Messenger” Written by Alessandro Camon & Oren Moverman “Up” Screenplay by Bob Peterson, Pete Docter, Story by Pete Docter, Bob Peterson, Tom McCarthy
Costume Design
WINNER: “The Young Victoria” Sandy Powell
“Bright Star” Janet Patterson“Coco before Chanel” Catherine Leterrier“The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus” Monique Prudhomme“Nine” Colleen Atwood
Documentary (Short Subject)
WINNER: “Music by Prudence” Roger Ross Williams and Elinor Burkett
“China’s Unnatural Disaster: The Tears of Sichuan Province” Jon Alpert and Matthew O’Neill“The Last Campaign of Governor Booth Gardner” Daniel Junge and Henry Ansbacher“The Last Truck: Closing of a GM Plant” Steven Bognar and Julia Reichert“Rabbit à la Berlin” Bartek Konopka and Anna Wydra
Makeup
WINNER: “Star Trek” Barney Burman, Mindy Hall and Joel Harlow
“Il Divo” Aldo Signoretti and Vittorio Sodano“The Young Victoria” Jon Henry Gordon and Jenny Shircore
Music (Original Song)
WINNER: “The Weary Kind (Theme from Crazy Heart)” from “Crazy Heart” Music and Lyric by Ryan Bingham and T Bone Burnett
“Almost There” from “The Princess and the Frog” Music and Lyric by Randy Newman“Down in New Orleans” from “The Princess and the Frog” Music and Lyric by Randy Newman“Loin de Paname” from “Paris 36” Music by Reinhardt Wagner Lyric by Frank Thomas“Take It All” from “Nine” Music and Lyric by Maury Yeston
Short Film (Animated)
WINNER: “Logorama” Nicolas Schmerkin
“French Roast” Fabrice O. Joubert“Granny O’Grimm’s Sleeping Beauty” Nicky Phelan and Darragh O’Connell“The Lady and the Reaper (La Dama y la Muerte)” Javier Recio Gracia“A Matter of Loaf and Death” Nick Park
Short Film (Live Action)
WINNER: “The New Tenants” Joachim Back and Tivi Magnusson
“The Door” Juanita Wilson and James Flynn“Instead of Abracadabra” Patrik Eklund and Mathias Fjellström“Kavi” Gregg Helvey“Miracle Fish” Luke Doolan and Drew Bailey
If you didn’t see the Academy Awards last night or read about the winners this morning, Kathryn Bigelow won the Oscar for Best Director for “The Hurt Locker.”
History was also made. It’s the first time ever that a female has won the Best Director award.
Here’s something else we learned and verified in several sources.
Bigelow’s mother is/was a librarian in California. Awesome! Precisely where and what type of librarian is tbd.
Bigelow was raised in San Carlos, California. We came across several articles describing San Carlos as rural when Kathryn was being raised there. Today, it’s a suburb of San Francisco, not far from the San Francisco International Airport.
Her directorial win is well deserved. She made a great movie that also happens to be important film. One day (if not already) “The Hurt Locker” will be considered a classic motion picture.
The Hurt Locker also won Best Picture and several other awards.
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Mr. Greazly's daughter feigned to think him too worn and weary to mow the hill-pitched landscape of his own lawn. Her ruse was that she was convinced he would try anyhow and cut off some toes in the process, so his daughter called Southend Lawn Wizards. It was a gesture of her ability to be generous with her money. To Mr. Greazly, it was a perturbative continuation of an unsettled disagreement. I was the trim man at the time. I and the two-cycle engine weed eater were a team. We turned tight around trees and filtered out the straggling growth beneath the house front bushes. We ran the engine on its side marching along the curb line to keep flush the edges of the yards we cared for. We brought down tall reeds of weeds coming up from cracks in concrete walks and flushed them out from the soil at the side of entrance steps. I could even bring up the propelling string which cut through the vegetation like a saw and use it to put a nice well-rounded look to arborvitae, junipers, holly and others.Though she lived far away in New York City, this call of Daughter Greazly's, whatever the motivation, would change my life forever. She settled with the small one desk Accounting Department, which consisted of the owner's sister, and agreed to pay for their weekly visits to her father's hilltop. How in the world she came up with our recommendation from so far away, I will never know. That Tuesday morning when we were busy loading up the truck, I was destined for other unkempt lawns. But one of the more unreliable workers, who often showed up at six in the morning already red-eyed from an early waking visit to the "eye doctor", had called in under the blanket term of being sick. This happened often during the first few days after a paycheck. Before money would run thin and all concern would turn to the next check and getting hours on the punch card. But this morning, the other team had been left two shy in number. (One worker already out for the week with a legitimate illness.) So complaints were vocalized, diplomacy unraveled, and the numbers equalized. Five to each truck was the decision and I was moved from Truck 2 to Truck 1.Truck 1, the team which boasted the primary owner of Southend Lawn Wizards, would head first up into the hills to introduce ourselves at a new account. After loading up on coffee and Danishes at the One Step across the street from our offices, we went there."It's up in the forest," was the word on the truck. I had never been "up in the forest" and the prospect pulled at my imagination. The hills, which had loomed lifelong at my back, seemed only peripheral to my living. Like a shadow in the corner of a room.As we entered the tree-tunnel which enveloped the two lane road at the park's boundary, I was taken off by the sense that I had been deeply wrong in my lack of assumption about these hills. They reeked with the age of the earth, the trees loomed like totems to a God I wanted to know, the shadowy air cut through with bars of gold light smelted from the sun.Slightly the road began to lift us from the low land. Then in a sharp ascent between the guardrail to our right and the wall of earth to our left, our truck shifted into a low gear and caught. The engine moaned loudly into the quiet morning of pristine expanse. In the open air of the truck bed, I wanted to cry out that I had come home. But my coworkers would not have understood such declarations of spirit and my revelation stayed private and understated though the change in my soul was permanent.I would come to be like the stray dogs and cats slung into the forest road from familiar cars by ignorant white trash considering themselves thoughtful, no doubt, for taking the "animal" they no longer want "back to the wild". They themselves understanding little of the irreversible paradigm shift involved in domestication. Top Hill Road had led us in a snake-bent fashion along the level of the ridge peak. We passed Bedford Stone Cape Cod inspired homes with large front porches and thick green yards. We passed little vinyl wrapped ranch homes with walkout porches backed by sliding glass doors. We passed a small farm hemmed in by cattle fences and barns. The cows, ear-tagged and dull-faced, moved slow like creatures weary of the slightest change.One of the other fellows on the back of the truck roared a "mooooo" loudly into the forest morning as we drove by and a few interested bovine looked to our direction. There big eyes filled solid with the color of burnt coffee.We pulled onto the six acre property and followed the narrow road into an extant entrance between two spreading trees about the rock drive. We approached a small building of questionable integrity and made a correct assumption that it was unlivable. We continued south into the shadows pinned down beneath the great Elms over head. We were on the second highest point in all of Jefferson County. (The tallest peak residing to the north east of us some four miles away and 130 feet above.) The driveway curved to the west and maybe a hundred feet past this curve, held out like a box in the hand of an extended arm, was Mr. Greazly's old blue trailer. In front of the house, a mint white and red 1979 El Dorado. Just past his plot, on all sides, nothing but drop. No where to mow. I offered to go and make introductions but it was the owner's protocol and he took the part. He offered a shy knock at the front door and a faux-pleasant "Hello, Mr. Greazly." When the door swung to, I spied a short bulldog of a man in thin gold-rimmed glasses dressed in cotton pajamas on the other side of the mesh screen door. At first, I thought he might be the confused sort of old person who must survey things twice as long as the rest of us before assessing the situation satisfactorily. He looked to my boss and then at the rest of us standing expectant by the truck of tools."Yes, I'm Mr. Greazly.""Mr. Greazly, we're here to do your lawn.""Well, it's good you're not here to patch the roof. I don't think those would help," he said pointing to the lawnmowers and such. "Are you a charity?""Well, no sir, your daughter has sent us.""Long drive to cut some grass. She must be paying you very well.""Well, we're from over off Dixie sir.""Oh, I see."Mr. Greazly opened his screen door and stepped into the driveway. I noticed then a mug of coffee, black, in his hand. He walked to the truck and looked at the equipment. He looked to each of us with a censorial stare and sipped. His wetted lips pursed in thought which might have passed for a frown. But I did not sense he was moved one way or the other. "Did you quote her a price?""Well, it's hard to do with the site unseen. I mean, she described the place to us but you know how that is...""I would like to have heard that description.""I believe she said it was 'a nice place'. I think that was the wording.""I'm sure she did. Well, let's walk up into the front of the property." There we all went in single file fashion, more or less, behind this old man with the daughter who makes calls from New York City to get his lawn mowed. We passed the old structure which looked about to slip into the chasm below. When we stepped into the bright light of the low sun I noticed that Mr. Greazly had marched out here with us in feet as bare as the hands he began to point with. After some minutes, he had made the edges of his property apparent. Then he began to point out other small to-do projects. As the list grew, our boss kept unfolding and folding his arms about his chest and his nod of supplication became less exaggerated. Finally, he interrupted his new client. "Do you think I should, or you should, call your daughter first?""What for?""Well, I mean, she said to come and... Well... Maybe just to let her know about the cost and the other work.""You can let her know when she gets the bill."With that, he turned about on his bare heel and walked into the shadows and down the drive. We were paying out in heavy sweat for our labors. I with my whirling weapon in hand making the edges clean up and down the hillside. The fellows on the self-propelled 42" mowers standing upright and floating over the land like fearless charioteers. Shortly after our work began, the sound of a car starting. A big engine by the sound of the turning over. And then the El Dorado on the ridge of the drive, rocking like a boat as it moved. When he got to the road, he gave a quick beep of his horn, and turned left.At ten o'clock we took our break. The rest gathered around the truck taking long draws from the water cooler and smoking Marlboro Reds, Camel Lights, Newports. Telling jokes about each other's girlfriends and lies about the quality of the women they themselves had been with. I slid away from their banter into the mystery of this second building. It looked as if I could stand on the west side of it and shove it over into the abyss on its eastern face. The front door was unlocked, indeed it had no door set in it to lock, and I pushed it open. There was the sour reek of mildew to greet me. I swung the door until it hit a wall and I stepped in. A mild light from windows streaked with seepage from the roof, bird shit, and mildew fell into the room from outside. Then, from a black spot in my vision, something shot past my ear, brushing it, and was gone out the door. I stood motionless, beckoning others to follow, but no more. I was in a square room with two doorways to two other rooms. In the back of the house was a small kitchen. A porcelain sink stained along the back wall where water appears to have leaked for years from a faulty gasket at the base of the water spout's neck. A square patch of tile in the southeast corner with four rust brown circles where the glides of a vacated refrigerator had picked up moisture and corroded before being hauled out. A small old electric stove no wider than a bread pan was on the south wall of the kitchen beneath the only window."A stove beneath a window, hm." On a kitchen counter, a small pink plastic purse that a young girl might carry to emulate her mother. It was transparent but for some glitter and its pink hue. Empty.I tried the window and after some heaving had it opened. The air seemed to empty out as if from some crack in a long sealed sarcophagus.I walked into the other side of the house. Immediately notable: A huge black Hutch Rebel wood stove with a lip below the heavy iron doors to catch ash. Brass handles in the shape of pinecones made from coils meant to keep from picking up the intense heat just inside the doors. (These did not work well.) A seven inch round black sheet metal chimney running up from its top and through the ceiling. Old pine wood floors and the inside walls also of cinder block. Eight foot ceilings with drywall mud relief in mop fashion. Chair rail borders and crown borders made from kitch country themed bands with pumpkins and horns-o-plenty in earthy tones.A door at the back of the north side front room. I approached it and must distend an arch of spider webs transgressing from door jamb to door jamb. I am reminded of my dead grandmother's hair I used to touch as a little boy. The thin gray strands then pressed to a silky ball and wiped against the cold wall. A rust-spotty fake brass knob filled my palm. As the catch released the door seemed drawn open by the force of gravity at the long deep chasm behind the house. An odor like a warm air struck my face and I was breathless.Without thought, I was heaving up a yellow lumpy Danishy mess. It went shooting out of me and slapped the floor and struck my boots in cumin-colored specks. My eyes watered appropriately enough and a burning liquid dribbled from my nose and burnt in the middle of my head. I glanced up through water-soaked vision to the floor of the bathroom. Two masses side by side. Flies. Weevils. Maggots. Cartilage wrapped joints and the soup of old dead organs in a bowl of bones and stiff hide. Most striking: the protruding jaw of the larger raccoon, bare of nose and skin, opened in war-like fashion. Upside down and pointing directly at me as if pleading for its long lost life. Teeth small and sharp, once ferocious and feral, now innocuous. The stench still washing over me in its filthy bath. I left the door open and moved away. The boss was calling for me from outside.We were back to work when Mr. Greazly returned. His car rocking once again boat-like along the packed dirt ridge. At quarter after eleven we were anxious to make a break for lunch. Our progress in the manicuring of an acre hillside and the grassy shoulders along the driveway was significantly moved along. My own job done splendidly well even along the jungle border of the manageable piece of dear old Mr. Greazly's property. To the south of our stake the continuance in full force of the ocean of green all around which seemed to me like walls of the Red Sea, parted momentarily for the passage of human existence, only to collapse back into the vacancies and swallow convincingly everything with gooseberry, briars, hardwood suckers come up from roots tapered out a hundred yards from edge-land Elm, Poplar, Chestnut, Walnut, and the others. I had combed slowly along the edge with my spear. Slicing in a sheer face the outspurts of ivy and pokeweed and low hanging northern limbs of the wall of trees. It looked like something one might climb like the very face of a rock if we were built of the stuff of spiders, say, and light as birds.As I made my way along the lush verdant border toward the hour of lunch, dew-wet stars of fresh mown grass pasted against my boots, a fury of activity fifteen feet inside the mesh of brown vine and branch. A burst of bird calls without the stock melodious peal commonly thought to accompany birds during vocalism. Many loud whistles like screams. Like some small dervish of wind come up suddenly on a city block, churning the once-settled grit and debris. A circling storm of birds. No more than a pair or two of any kind. Blue jays and robins and finches and starling-like black birds and some dark cardinals with barely a trace of true red but at the tail tip and the back of their pointed heads. Males or females, then I could not say? It looked a meeting of intense division and an egalitarian guest list. Perhaps some unseen hummingbirds alighted in the melee I could not tell from my poor vantage. Who forgot to call the pileated woodpecker? And here we see, too, that the scavengers, the high flyers who circle patient on-the-wing, do not fight for their food. Nor do the noble birds ruffle feathers over a hill of worms. "What's that?" My boss yelled, having eyed me standing idle. I moved and ascended, cutting cleaner the well trimmed border.What a strange surprise, as we fumbled into the truck to take our leave, when Mr. Greazly, dressed now in a University of Louisville sweatshirt and an old faded pair of blue jeans, still barefoot, stopped us. "I have lunch.""Oh, we couldn't trouble you," said my boss."Well, it's all ready.""Uhmm, I've got to do some banking. I was going to let them off somewhere to eat. Fellas, what do you want to do?""That's O.K. I'd rather just go with you," one of them mumbled. The rest made no action to get from the truck. I stood in the bed of the truck and leaped to the ground. "I'll eat here.""Well, I made enough for all of you. At least the biggest one has decided to eat.""You sure?" My boss inquired of me. "Yeah, I'm sure. I'll just save my lunch money.""O.K., we'll be back in an hour."The truck rolled from the shady interior and disappeared in the bright. "Thank you.""Don't thank me yet. Eat first."I followed. Inside the door, the smell was of broth and butter. Something too was rising in the oven and had the scent of corn. Broccoli boiled, I was sure. His trailer inside was clean as a museum and that was not the only comparison that could be made to archiving history. Shelves were the sign of the times. Every wall which was not generously pictured with various framed black and white photos was taken up with hardwood shelves. The shelves then were taken up with memorabilia of sundry niches.None of the tacky home shopping knickknacks. A country fortune of pewter was abundant and took the form of salt spoons, forks, miniature tea pots, and vases slender as the stem it would sleeve. Crystal glasses and dishes from antique warehouses all over the world. (This I would come to learn.)A collection of vintage straight and single-blade razors which looked to have never touched a rough surface. An old Gillette Super Speed which boasted "One-piece razor" on the clear plastic lid of its red case. There were even two unopened packs of "Weck Prep Blades" and "Weck Junior Prep Blades" in the little storage space of the case. A wall of turn of the century cameras facing across the room a wall of vinyl forty-fives and LPs. "Do you like jazz?""No.""You'll like this." I picked up the record sleeve as he loaded the disc onto a circa 1980 Sony turntable feeding into a bulky old Panasonic tuner beneath it. The only modern expenditures in the components were the small wall mounted speakers where the music issued forth into the room. 'Charles Mingus' was the name I read and I put the sleeve onto a handmade coffee table with thin hand carved mahogany slats and legs holding a half-inch thick slab of frosted glass. A unique thin magazine rack beneath the couch front edge of the table held a stack of unseen subscriptions. The floor was waxed hardwood of various woods and inconsistent cut. I must have gazed at it long because he began talking about it. "It's called a poor man's hardwood floor. You know why?""Because it's not all the same.""Exactly. You find you a mill and go talk to the foreman or the lead cutter and you get all the cutoffs for the frame stock for about a week, you can get them for pennies almost, or you used to could, and then you tongue-and-groove all the edges and just start fitting them together like a puzzle. You like puzzles?""Not really.""You should. They teach you to concentrate.""I'm already good at that."As we sat in front of full plates at his red oak kitchen table on wicker high back chairs, he made a quick motion and had my hands in his. I was startled but did not draw back. He read my trepidation and it must have amused him for he smiled slightly in the wrinkled corners of his countenance, closed his eyes."We're a circle now," he said and bowed his head in grace formation. "Dear Lord in Heaven above, thank you for this food which fills our bellies and the company which fills our hearts. Thank you for my daughter's misguided gesture today. I know she means well and has no other way of showing her love except with all her money, but I guess that will have to do. In Jesus Christ's name, Amen.""Amen."The lunch was chicken piccata, which was where the butter and broth smell ran from. Boiled broccoli and corn bread with homemade blackberry jam were the sides. I was weary of the little pea-like capers in the milky sauce he poured over the chicken breasts but should not have been. So it would come to be with Charles Mingus, puzzles, and "Amen".We ate and he told me that all the photographs on his walls were taken personally. He welcomed me to look at them after eating. He had framed each one himself using the wood shop at Fort Knox, fifty miles to the south, where he worked for thirty years as a tank mechanic. He had made most of the furniture."Every thing but the chairs we're sitting in and the entertainment center, I guess."He was a do-it-yourselfer. Everything which surrounded us did so by the will of his hand. The photographs, the furniture, the food he had prepared, and the floor where we stood, so to speak. I ate three chicken breasts seeing as he was in the predicament of having prepared so much food. He thanked me in a round about way for this and I assured him that it was fine and to not mention it again.After lunch I obliged his invitation to peruse the walls of pictures. The hardwood frames were perfectly mitered at the corners and flawlessly routed, satin finish. The mats were all black. The photos of a lifetime. It appeared a young Mr. Greazly flew jets in the Air Force as countless pictures of him in pilot caparison next to star-studded fighters. Or holding up hands with fellow pilots in exotic military base-hosting countries from the Far East to South America. Photographs of animals were more abundant than any other one set. All of them in true habitat except one of a large caged cockatoo or some such bird whose sharp colors will be forever lost to posterity."You know, they make color film.""Ahh, there's no art to it, though," was all he said on the matter and seemed to move quickly on to other thoughts. Anecdotes of the hunt for each picture. One of a black bear taken five miles from where we stood. One of a Zebra taken across the ocean. An eagle out west. A seal on a cold coast. The list read like a zoo roster. Too soon, the crew returned, disturbing our sanctity. Work pending, I once again took up arms and began my dance of destruction. I made my way all the way back to the edge of his trailer and took out the minimal stalks growing in the shadows of his walls. Mr Greazly came from the front door and I could hear the spring loaded screen door thwack shut behind him. I saw him barefoot his way out to the property front. He flagged my boss with the wave of his hand. He returned in a couple of minutes and motioned me to have a word. "I've spoken with your boss, now, if you don't mind, he's O.K.ed you to clean out my gutters. Before you say you'd rather not...""Sure, I'll do it.""You don't mind.""Got a ladder?" An access panel in the foundation opened to a crawl space beneath the trailer. From here, we withdrew a fourteen foot aluminum extension ladder. I grabbed it in the center and took it from his hands. On the roof I was afforded a view of the rear property heretofore unrevealed. Down a long slope of vegetation to a level plot some hundred feet below. There I could see sparsely sewn vegetables in various stages of growth. This little 400 square foot piece of land was the final straw to break the back of my envy. This seemed living to me and the trees less alien than the people I worked with. I removed in handfuls the thick wet black humus of decaying leaf and limb. It reeked like nature's vomit. I threw it in dripping gobs over the back of the house and onto the verdant slope above the garden. I watched them fly from my hand and fall like shot crows and land silently thirty feet down. I began to hurl one lump from one hand and then another after it in quick succession with the other hand. Being naturally ambidextrous I more often than not could get the two clumps to meet in midair and explode into carbon flak. When I was finished, the black markings lined the hillside. I descended the ladder, collapsed it, and returned it beneath the house. I folded the panel shut and secured the lasp.In the drive I washed my hands with the cold water of the cooler on the truck. Letting it fly from the opened spout as I tried to remove the unctuous humus residue from my palms. Without hot water and soap, it seemed futile."Gloves."I wiped my hands dry on my pants and retrieved my weed eater. I was making busy work in the shade as the hot block of the day approached. Within the hour, the crew was finished with the multitudinous chores and all had migrated to the truck. My boss started the truck and let it run while we planted ourselves in travel position. He approached the house and knocked on the door. Mr. Greazly and he exchanged brief words and the boss returned to the truck. "Dwin, he wants to talk to you," the boss said out of the side of his mouth as he planted himself in the front seat. As in Edwin without the E. Dwin is me. Son of an Edwin and so a Junior as well but I was always bigger than the other kids and never would let anyone but Mom and Dad call me that. Some creative and budding linguist in my seventh grade class made the decisive cut of the E one day when I walked into class before the bell had brought us to relative order. It was my second day at a new school on account of the previous one asking me to leave. His poetry went something like:"Ya betta duck cause here comes Dwin packs a punch like a motha-fuckin Mac10."It wasn't mean the way he let it out. It turned out he made little couplings like this all day long with regards to many various subjects. And there was usually an insight in there as there seemed to be here. I sat at a back desk silently pondering where he acquired such information which seemed directly deduced from the very incident which had placed me in a new school in the first place.Turned out Mr. Greazly wanted to give me thirty dollars. I tucked it deep into my front pocket after he had refused me refusing it. "It would have cost me twice that to get someone out here to clean those gutters like you did. Take it, period."He was a salesman in that sense, the way he made me take the money. His mind was set. Back at the truck they all pried into my private space with their stares, wanting to know. I regained my seat. "Never mind," I told them and was off in my own thoughts... Raccoon bones and black bears and hillsides over gardensAnd happy old men sipping coffee, barefoot, in pajamasPewter like stars shining, jazz in the country ramada And a giant hairy redneck eating chicken piccata? ...We descended. Our left shoulders leaving off into the high air of the steep drop. From here we were looking straight into the highest fringes of hundred and fifty foot trees. Then slowly we fell and straight ahead, the line of vision followed the trees down until we were staring straight ahead at their trunks, the thick knees of roots. And then we went lower still, to lower rooted trees, until it was the same on both sides and we were level with the mass beneath us. Up ahead I could see the throat of fire where the overbearing presence of the trees let up into the yards of the sparse neighborhood of houses running south from the park-forest border. The bright sun of open air. "What?"I thumped hard against the glass. Boss turned and looked at me and I motioned as if to pull my dick from pants and pee. He slowed just at the edge of forest-declared privacy. The block of sunlight just beyond a spit's distance. The shade holding firm around us.I jumped from the truck and moved to a tree. I made to pee but no water was there so I stared at bark for half a minute. I repackaged and back at the truck."I quit," I told the boss."What?""I quit.""What?""I quit.""Right here?""Yep.""After nine years?""Yep.""Right here, after nine years, just like that?""Yep.""You quit?""I've never lied to you.""I know.""So, I'll see you around."He was looking into the late afternoon stayed just at the grill of his F250 by the forest given shade. His mouth balled up like he had something sour to swallow or a piece of food he was trying to dexterously dislodge from between teeth with his tongue. The situation is, when something is somewhere long enough, people are stupid enough to believe it a permanent thing. But sometimes rocks get up and move, sometimes water flows uphill, sometimes strangers greet each other with genuine smiles.The forest, for all of the columns of bark and lumber, and the impossible thread of the canopy woven into the blanket overhead, resonated like a hollow thing all around. The air was its own and it seemed contained and so the trees were like supports and the leafy mass a roof that went on endless when I turned my back on them who would often be so dumbfounded and befuddled as I graciously left them. I heard the truck off and was rid of its noise forever. I went southeast and put the noise, smell, and sight of the road in a forgotten region of my thoughts. Some prehistoric delicacy lingered like an atavistic flesh hair on the skin of honeysuckle and the heal of orange finger-sized Lady Shoe flowers walked on air casual and uninspired but by some old forgotten miracle of the weather. I half expected some mythic beast -a Unicorn I guess, that's the only one that comes to mind- to come charging out into a silvery frame. I laughed because the thought of a Unicorn reminded me of a girl named Sheilah Dunnegin who worked for Lawn Wizards and was so dumb she thought dinosaurs and Unicorns were both creatures that humans had conjured from our imagination. I was nice enough to agree with her but reconsidered later the disservice to enlightenment and told her the case. "Dinosaurs were real."The trees affronting me, too, were very real. I must have walked a half mile or so southeast. Coming up under my feet in front of me was a break in the land. Vines as thick as grandfather snakes hung, forked together and stronger than thick ropes, from high treetops into the slope of the dry stream bed of rock and pebble walled dirt. The uneven run of the bank land which at times dropped down to four feet high above the rock bed and rose to eight, perhaps. I walked along the western edge looking for the good footing down. I stopped and took the first conscious really slow deep breath I had taken since I was hospital bound ten years ago and doctor instructed to "take a deep breath and hold it." This time, no cold prosthetic touch of metal against my chest. No healing broken bones of hand. Instead, some faint deep flavor of a process which seemed to settle in the stomach of my throat and become I then a part of it? As I stood there I found a spot suitable for an easy crossing. I positioned for a short leap to a lower step of ancient rain leveled granite. I felt for the first time during the latter third of my life, (that of neo-responsible young adulthood), that I had formed a coup of sorts. That I had broken free and was quite clever for the sudden move. A peace like no other that had been mine, which is the only true peace there can ever be -one's own- rushed not over me but out of me. I descended into the river bed without even now a small hand mirror's worth of water anywhere along the north to south path. Only these great and small rocks. Brown slick pieces with layers of colors and gray white fossil rocks sometimes the size of five gallon buckets. Gray shale and pieces of coal washed downhill from country wagons fifty and a hundred years ago. Then these great unearthable slabs of tonnage and hard plain earth filled with millions of pebbles. I found a quick route up the other side and took two steps, perhaps, away from the drop before a louder-than-you-might-expect buzzing did just that about my head. It was powerfully close and then not so much and right in front of me something not quite birdlike came into focus as if formed from lines already in the veins of leaves, the churn of bark by where it hovered. We stared off and I not knowing the diplomacy involved somehow provoked the thing further for it raged right at me in the time it takes one to think to duck much less duck!My head kicked back and the thing missed my features and lodged like a tacky ball into the thick flag of my hair and if one could rip one's own head free by flailing it I would have done so. The thing then luckily swatted free with a frantic and repeated comb of my hand through the place where it kicked and screamed into my right ear. Then it was flying of my throw away from me and then circling out on the apex of its orbit and back like a string loaded ball circling on a stake. I learned that my instinct then in such a situation would be to duck again having learned the thing a preference for my head and then I recall specifically and with great conviction that I ran 6'7" and 270 lbs. of cowardly bulk from this thing which must have measured in by the ounce. But that was a short lived dream, perhaps one of the shortest ever, for I progressed only about a step in my escape before it circled from the back right in close turn by my ear and into my innocent cheek-flesh. I dropped and punched myself in the nose while forcing it aside. Then I turned from it and ran off a seven foot drop into the ancient creek bed in want of a good rain to fill its cup with a trickle and give it such a little hint of the good old days of more significant and Biblical waters. After I fell I can only imagine: that I was knocked out. That slowly a rain began to fall which was common in the Ohio Valley, sudden rains. That I rolled over. That the rain continued to fall. That the water rose around me. That I was covered by the water. That I floated in the water. That the water carried me along. That the clouds moved on. That the rain stopped slipping through the trees, over the leaves. That water flowed away and was stolen by lower ground. That I sunk lower until the rocky bed grabbed me once again. That I stopped moving. That the water went away again.That I woke up I remember for certain so there need be no speculation about that. It is odd to have the first thing you see in the morning not be the last thing you saw last night. So it was that day. My clothes and hair were wet and my everything was sore. My face felt like a big bruise beneath my beard. As I managed sitting up, I surveyed. I could not locate the distinctive rock upon which I lowered myself into this creek bed when I crossed it. Slowly I stood and wearily I listened. If my attacker were still about he would have to just sting me or whatever his defense because I would have been unable to run. I found a way out of the creek bed and stood checking the motion of my body. It seemed at the worst that I was only sore and bruised. Nothing pulsed like a broken bone or a sprained joint. I made a perpendicular path away from the creek for a couple hundred yards and turned east. In a few minutes, I was back at the road where I had taken my leave from the work truck. I was deeper towards the hills than I had been then but the mouth of the forest's end was not far. "Shoo," I told the world beyond these majestic totems; these comforting giants of bark and bloom whose shade falls without prejudice upon a child as lost as I. Heading uphill along the road's shoulder as a blue Buick Century descended. The driver slowed down and the passengers ogled so you'd think blood, not water, dripped crimson from my beard. What then when I start to carry rocks? Pull old used tires from the ravines and line them along the guardrail? Walk with a wolfish hound and two six toed cats along the road at night? Will pictures be in order? Will your whole universe be framed by that trim around that window you who enter the forest without ever going in?When I had made a final turn of the road before it broke eastward and out of the forest to the clearings of the hilltop homes, I found the sun. I guessed it to be late morning. Quiet prevailed as I walked the yellow lines past the kept and tidy houses. I could hear the hum of the power lines tracing the road over head. An old yellow retriever with a thick brown leather collar and deep wrinkled eyes let a half inspired bark and took some steps towards me from the blacktop drive where he had been stretched belly-wise. He was neither behind a fence nor on a tether but his fat round body inspired little fear.My clothes felt dry against my skin by the time I reckoned the final curve before Mr. Greazly's property would reach my view. It was planning to be a hot day and already would be considered so by many. As for me, with such a tragic hatred of the cold, I figure no complaints of heat can ever rightfully fall from my lips. I drummed lightly with my fingertips on his old faded tin mailbox as I walked past. The sound of a plane approaching as I made the mouth of the driveway. I looked up to the east but there was nothing in the sky. The sound got significantly louder and I stopped to search but saw nothing. Then the nose appeared coming from just over the trees and low enough to have been hidden until just now. One of the big Air Guard C-130Bs heading for the Grade Lane airport and so close you could read the call numbers along its side as it swept into a wide leeward yaw and descended to the north of the hills."You can't get away from them. No matter where you go. Planes that is."He was speaking from the shadows where he stood with a wheelbarrow half full of dirt balanced in his hands. Baby blue chiffon pullover and matching pants and gray suede clogs. He thumbed his glasses to higher ground along the ridge of his nose and smiled."Remember me?" "I would be having leftover chicken piccata today if it weren't for you. But instead there's a crawfish etouffee finishing on the stove as we speak. We can't let it burn." "Did you kill those raccoons?""Come over here so we can talk in normal tones."I approached the shade where he stood. "I just wanted to know about the raccoons. The raccoons." He rested the barrow on its two legs and removed a pair of leather work gloves. Upon further report of yesterday's incident he let me lead us into the abandoned house and so complete the description with his very own eyes. "Poor things," was all he said as he looked to the carcasses. He stepped around them and to the window. After several failed attempts at uplifting the bottom sash, I quickly sidled up and offered. It allowed to be opened about 2/3 of the way and would rise no further by my arm. I stuck my head out of it to breathe and gaze at the wild drop and subsequent bottoming-out before rising back up across the way like a neighbor's place. As we ate his stew with some ripped pieces of sourdough bread and pesto-cream spread, he proposed that I return to the old house after lunch and clean out the raccoons. "I could do that.""How much would you do it for?""I'll do it for lunch.""How about ten dollars?""Five.""It'd cost me twenty to get anyone else to do it?"He gave me ten dollars then and there and I would have felt rude to have forced him to keep it. I was commissioned with a pair of black 30 gallon Hefty Cinch-Saks, a snow shovel shopped from the access panel crawl space, and a white fiber mouth piece secured with an elastic string to sterilize the air as it entered my mouth and throat. When I returned from the door with the bags, he was standing with his barrow. He motioned to the dirt top and I laid the hapless tandem side by side as if upon some death cart exhibition.I removed my mask and he pointed out a spade against the front left tire of his El Dorado.I retrieved the shovel and caught up to him training southward from the house to a trailhead teased out of the rough behind a carpet of trellis-hung Virginia creeper vine woven together with flox at the ground below where it arched. The trail pitched subtle along a wide right handed U-turn where he moved easy with the balanced weight of the cargo. The spade over my left shoulder with my grip around a heart shaped metal handle which I pivoted on my shoulder top up-and-down in rhythm with my step. "Some American Indians used to take little fish and plant them beneath the seed of a corn. Let us see what a whole raccoon can do. We'll go south of the garden. We might have to do a little excavation. How is you're back?""Fine.""There's nothing worse than a bad back, they say. I wouldn't know myself."As we swung back in towards the direction of the garden the noise of another plane on top of us. "They're all the time coming in and out of the Guard. We don't get as many from Louisville. At least not that close. I swear at night you can almost read by their bottom lights."He directed our funeral march to the foot of the slope and then towards the south side of the garden before footing a perpendicular line into the near thick woods and stopping soon enough before the shade was complete overhead. Here some weaker specimens of locust and poplar, short and non-prolific in limb, where formed a fertile circle of ground opened to the sky and receiving light. I looked to the garden and the neat rows sprouting in lines in a rectangular grid within the cinnamon-colored turned bed. "What do you think? Dig here?"I shrugged. "Good enough. You want first stab?"I answered him with an incision of the dark steel palm in past the coat of mossy green terra firma. I swept back the clots which fell from the shovel, still clinging by the blood-white root mesh of the grass to the ground I broke. The scrape of shovel on buried rocks that I would strike with the pointed nose and crack through. The brown pool of dirt and worms and dark spawned stones opened up by the merest thimbleful of my hardware. Then it seemed about the right size for the smaller and I stepped to my right and repeated the action, going a little wider, a little deeper, for the larger and Mr.Greazly never uttering an advice nor instructing me in what must be plain to me or I stupid to some certain simple reckoning. When I finished the boring of their resting places he laid the bags beside and opened the cinched necks. He grabbed the bags at the bottom corners and coerced the bodies of each into the customized holes. I threw back the dirt I'd taken and, when the cavities were not quite full, he stopped me and said we'd leave room for the sewing of two plants we would choose from the garden. He stepped to the edge of the eastern grave and cupped his hands pastoral in front of himself and bowed his chin beneath shut eyes."Dear Lord," he began, "we give back what you have already taken and indeed what was never ours. Like Radshack, Meshak, and Abendigo, they burned in an oven and were gone and rise again at your feet. Now they know the other life, the eternal one, which resides only in the blessing of your arms. Uhmm, let them rest in peace and bless this spot where we give them final rest and let it breathe life while it swallows death. Amen."So we removed one each of broccoli and a pepper plant from the garden. The broccoli over the smaller and the pepper plant over the larger and then I shoveled on the dirt around the roots and spanked it with the convex bottom of the head. Mr. Greazly knelt and kneaded the soil into the airy spaces of the rootballs and then pulled in leveling dirt from opposing sides with the wall of his upright hands. That done, he lifted straight and clapped his hands clean enough.He alerted me to a water spout protruding from the base of the hillside where the divots I scooped from the gutter were nearly washed away by the shower of yesterday's rain. A bucket on the ground and a hose which screwed to the spout's mouth. I filled the bucket several times and we emptied them over and around the broccoli and pepper plant. He then emptied the original barrow load of black top soil flecked by white stipple of bone meal and peat at a corner of the garden. Then we ascended with our empty tools to the house some eighty feet above our finished work. At the house he parked the barrow by the front corner and asked if I didn't want a glass of iced tea to temper the rising heat of the day. I allowed that I did and stood in the shady globe of the driveway aria as pollen and mosquitoes alike moved in pockets of chiaroscuro like smoke thinned out by a long ascension. Mr.Greazly returned with two old red plastic 32 oz. Pizza Hut soda cups filled with crushed ice and a dark berry flavored tea. He handed me my drink with a twenty dollar bill doubled over twice and pressed flat against the wet textured side and so adhering like this beneath his palm as he gave me it. This hardly went unnoticed as I received it but I saw the predicament of his cleverness in such matters was unprecedented. Yet again he had acquired the upper hand and dastardly manipulated me into accepting non-contracted yet another sum of money. Strategizing in my own conations, I settled a conviction then to undertake whatever sundry favors might present themselves in the caretaking of his property and so exact my revenge against him and gain the high ground he was forever jockeying to obtain in relative speaking to me.
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