A big thumbs up

[artsyone]

 "Gosh! Those trees do look funny! I must have dropped my cheaters! They're not on my nose! By Jehosophat's Beard I must have left them at the park! Waddy! We must go back! Oh yes, there they are in the pool, but where is the left lens?? How odd. No matter! One good eye is better than none. I'll just squint!"

[artsyone]

Don't you just love these new fangled gas buggies? One must have the correct attire of course.

[artsyone]

Stop5: Braxton Thayner III now takes over the tour. Mr Dave has to make water. If those cheaters are too loose, Mrs F., you should have them tightened up at the office of Dr. Farrize on Bleecker street, upstairs from Stephenson's Job Printing and, if you think of it, please stop in next door at Patrick Griffin's Tobacco Company and pick me up one of those rotten smelly cigars; I stick them into flower pots to keep the bugs off.

[Clipper]

LOL! I have no doubt that I am going to enjoy this and look forward to each new page. Thank you.

[artsyone]

to everyone who is following this thread: Dave did all this on photoshop, as well as developing the story line. I supplied some of the postcards, photos and characters. This is a long thread: over 75 posts in all and it is housed on my fb page, so I can only put up 5 posts a day. I am trying to redo the posts exactly as Dave sent them. You would have had to know him to fully appreciate this work and what he is trying to say about society. I have had over 500 views and some people just say "What the hell...?" I agree it funny, irreverant, bizzare and yes, it does get more obscure. Dave had a dry way of looking at culture and nothing escaped his evil eye. See you later.

[Clipper]

Dave had a knack for leaving us occasionally confused, often enlightened, and ALWAYS entertained. He brought interest to the forum and as an individual I considered him a mentor as well as a friend. To say that he is direly missed is an understatement.

[artsyone]

Wheat germ and Prunes


starring  Mrs. Agusta Flarc as herself

     Mr. LaCommode wrote to say that he will have his touring car in town for those who would like to motor from park to park and thus avoid mixing with the questionable classes, especially up towards Eagle Street. But he has to drive in from Saquoit. To cover his commuting expenses he has accepted a fare from from Mr. and Mrs. Frances O'Reilly and children and Mrs. O'Reilly's mother , the crusty Mrs. Agusta Flarc. They're seen here at the early morning departure for a picnic frolic in one of the parks in the East side of the city. But, at 5:30 AM the normally happy family is seen just waking up and doesn't appear to be in a gay mood. Indeed, the crusty Mrs. Flarc has been up all night, first worrying whether the vehicle's brakes would control the descent down to Chadwicks and later keep them safe on the steep hill down to Washington Mills where so many automobiles with failed brakes have met their end. Each month the lady reads in the newspaper of an auto careening down the hill and zooming through the main intersection with all occupants screaming as the driver stands with both feet on the brake pedal before the poor riders are all dumped off in a corn field. And if that wasn't enough, Mrs. Flarc wonders if her breakfast of wheat germ and prunes will hold till the nearest rest stop somewhere in the bowels of Utica and who, if any of the children will sit next to her. The good lady has agonized over this prospect. Mrs. Flarc had a good friend at the Pinnacle Road Methodist Church, who, one hot  Sunday morning, after her  sumptous breakfast of Wheat germ and prunes, reccomended of course by the crusty Mrs. Flarc,  had to leave her pew and help push an ailing auto up Paris Hill. It was not a pretty site and Mrs. Flarc has had a weak heart ever since.

[Clipper]

I love the photos and especially love the stories.

[artsyone]

OH NO !!

     Oh No!!!    Mrs. F. has been involved in a motor accident!!

Mean while, Mrs. F. languishes in a convent where she was taken, after being plucked off the side of the road by the gay young blade, Virginal Bestlove, who just happened by with his own photographer in tow. He quickly spirited Mrs. F. away to a local woman's monastary where he lives with his aunt, the Redoubtable Sister Magesteria. The nuns are now caring for our benefacteress injuries, such as they may be, and Mrs. F. reports by hand delivered mail that she is some degree of pain, but has no broken bones. Bestlove, the fellow who saved Mrs. F. from the vicious beaks of the circling turkey buzzards, visits often to ensure her total well being. She has ended her missive begging that I ask Waddy to bring her two or three bottles of gin from the cellar, secreted  in a carpet bag if you will away from the prying eyes of the The Sisters Majesteria.  Mrs. F. also notes  the nom de plume, Virginal Bestlove, contains the word gin and she has taken that as a sign that it may be a while before she can rejoin us in the banquet of life that is Utica. I don't know what this portends for the rest of today's tour, but it worries me..

[Clipper]

LOL! I look forward to checking out "Scatterings" every morning. Just as I always was drawn to the stories and photos and pieces on Genesee Hill and the Olbiston's history. Something interesting and different from the average chit chat among friends. Thanks for sharing it with us.

[artsyone]

One of those facebook demons deleted this post and now I no longer remember what I had to say about it, except at that time Mrs. F. had gone to Butterfield's Hotel and Waddy had retired to the far end of the solarium with the Misses Clarabell, presumably for (family?) planning purposes, we assume. I am embarassed to say that without Mrs. F.s excellent knowledge of the environs of Utica, I hate to begin the tour. I might easily get us lost. However, Mr LaCommode has arrived, having dropped off the O'Reilly family and the crusty Mrs. Flarc at the East end of the chain of parks, where he tells us, his mother in law was last seen brandishing a Sears catalog whilst running towards a thick copse of trees at the edge of Starch Factory Creek, so I should think of something. I usually do.

[artsyone]

I am really starting to become excessively fond of the Mrs. Agusta Flarc. As a character she's a real stinker.!

[Clipper]

Hahaha! "a real stinker." No pun intended I am sure. I wonder if water quality in Starch Factory Creek ever fully recovered.

[artsyone]

I am indeed flummoxed! This map of Utica has nothing but the locations of sewer pipes and fire alarms. And, wonder of wonders, there are streets drawn in Cornhill. Wasn't anything but corn in evidence last time I walked up there from the edge of civilization on South Street. However, I'll faithfully follow Mrs. F's directions and trudge up Seymour Ave, no more than a dusty trail, to the top of the hill. Of course, SHE was going to take Mr. LaCommode's motor car, but he has said that he has had enough for one day and that, inexplicably, there appears to be a large burn hole in the leather seat where his mother in law was sitting, which he thinks he may understand, but doesn't ever want to discuss.

[artsyone]

A Religious Ephipany!!

Attention Dear readers! Attention! Alas and anon the patient and long suffering Mr. LaCommode
has told us that the O'Reilley's had to exit his car and all lend a shoulder to push the monster up the grade. Mrs. Flarc was not pleased and threatened to haunt him for all eternity should she die assisting his infernal machine skyward; as if they were pushing a reluctant Moses up the mountain to receive word in stone that all of his favorite sins were now illicit and would be interdicted by an angry creator. I wonder if Mr LaCommode is either a thespian or an attorney. Anyhow, I am sure he is a rotten driver. A good motorman would by careful adjustment of the accelerator handle coax his machine up any mountain, burning bush at the top or not.