Kay Buena's Blog

Kay Buena’s blog › Edit — WordPress. Density of time a drop on the window like that kind. Is it rainn, aare thoue tears coming from the inside?  It’s hard to tell.

Long ago, in elegant poverty, Love caught us there.  We  were perfectly placed among wild flowers and filth.  Some now gone forth beyond us they flew by, easily holding us frozen- like a picture in an old-fashioned frame, or a magazine.  Where we stay laughing and young, forever. No rotten past, just a rumitizing hypmottize

    But when that page is turned, the next shot shows that same couple posed and more polished version of the other time; I can’t remember that sight. But it’s certainly insistent and said to be right.    And it might be. Then those same people, seen when much older, comfortable around the oddly impressively set together by some one’s good ideas, the way a good restful reason should be.   The same people, later,… among the same sort of things, thrown like jacks from the hand, here and there.    But the sardonic decor, somehow  perfect but which will become later a country standard unto it’s own intrusive and oddly disdained, backkdrop for music. New, starting from that piano–I can’t work it.  50% probablity of half as much unlike what surrounded them when they were in a  family before,  as if they were changing, as the days passed they changed infront of a backdrop. 

  When they were young and constantly in  motion, though both in close proximiy to friendship  it wasn’t to be, There is that unannswered question still there as they continue to share that spaceinnthe gaps in the picture. They are both carefully holding hot-house roses, each rose perfect, each one young and painfully colored. I remembered these roses held no smell, and when touched, most, if not all the petals dropped to the floor,-in an artful display.  Thouugh outwardly projecting a impervious emotional barrier, to seperate these people here froming seeming too pround and assured.  They were realy there  the next time,  but some how things come out in a slow mo. view of walking down stairs.  First when I was 25, then now when I am 60 years old, some things remain, though somewhat disconnected;  Oddly appearing  but much more dignified — at least they were that. Maybe no longer the beautys time stole from us, we continue, These same lovers, so different in so many ways and years from now, when the bills are all paid and their souvenirs neatly placed on polished glass shelves, opened graves, needing weekly dusting, remain posed,   

     Still.   It all fits like so many leaves on a tree in the shade. A welcoming comfort we offer each other, together, suspended, sustained. Then, we will stop and brush off these extra few days–caked on like dirt–. In a haze; we, in our separate ways. In amazement, I remember two youg, too young  lovers with the dirt swept away. Slowly fading as they begain falling bac, into that particular dust that smelled like old roses.

Caroline Abbitt Sauer (1998/2007)

With that in mind (?), I am currently on hiatus from writing these stupid blogs, so I can concentrate on music, the piano and the guitar, not that that has been picked up and strummed for about 15 years, but it’s different, and that’s an important quality.  One must at some time stop the madness or you get type casted.   Also, having some new music that was not recorded during the McKinley Administration (1897-1901) by Kay Buena and the Associates, would be a nice change. Ahreaaaaveaderchi, you mothers.

Betty Jane is the kind of doll that most kids can tell is a doll to “play with” and not just look at.  My mother gave me the dubious and questionably intelligent Betty Jane, on my 4th birthday.  At first with her long blond hair and a surprised look, and prim red serious smile, I took her to be the kind of doll  you look at, but was not the all together trusted friend she became.  Even though she was given to me in her own traveling trunk and with a decent wardrobe (encluding a Coat and boots, handy those’  back when  we lived where it snowed and seemed miserably cold in the winter…Where were we?  North Carolina ?, who knows… ) that my mother had made herself on the Singer sewing machine we had back then. Actually I remember how pleased I was with what was the nicest gift ever .  Though she seemed  somewhat aloof, in that manner that makes any doll too fancy when it’s new.  However, upon further examination and extensive hours spent in her company, I found her to be extremely smart, having a proclivity for solving the most heinous crimes (much like Perry Mason’s Della Street), with her wit, wisdom and logic…  three things that most 4 year old kids lack, big time. So she was ever so valuable an addition to our household back in the early 1950’s. I was a little girl then, happy but hyper, and I had an older brother, who refused to play dolls, as was his choice.  Because we moved so much, and friends came and went, my brother and I were closer than most siblings, both in age and as playmates, simply because he and I were the only kids constantly available.  So we compromised, an unusual even for sure, as we began to grow and become aware of literature and plays (this was before we had a TV, for the most part.) But radio and no TV really helped with our imaginations, and before too long my brother agreed to “play” with me and my dolls, under the given fact that all my stuffed animals were boys and all dolls were girls (my department.)  But the star of the show, and the most clever and strong of the lot was “Foxie”.

keep in mind that I am 60 years old and that I still have Betty Jane.  Foxie recieved a Military funeral years ago.  She and I once again became friends when I decided to put her next to my computer, so we could  again re-establish our relationship.  This was  just after I shot said computer.  If you click on one or all of the pictures, you can observe the direct hit at about 10 paces (a 22 hollow point-long rifle bullet went right fine amungst it’s horrible intrills) as the bullet hole can be detected near the middle of that old Dell, which I had for many years. This picture was taken about 4 years ago, before the birth of my Grandaughter and our sobering up around here.  Betty Jane does not approve of computers, as all one does all day these days, with one of these dang things, is sit and stare into what looks like a box to her. It is a a bizarre act, I must agree if you stop and think that over. I’m not talking about shooting that computer.  It had it coming, believe me…I’m talking about staring into it, for hours on end.  I am enclosing 4 pictures of the occassion of when she took over my study (or what ever room  that should be called now) and that particular wounded computer, to hang her panties and dress on a clothes line strung upon part of the unplugged computer that was handy. Where-ever that was. Well, this was convenient for her. While waiting for them to dry, she found a piece of velvet fabric which she wraped around herself as though it was a toga. Like I said, Betty Jane is no fool and doesn’t take prisoners.  She hadn’t washed her clothes in about 40 years, so I agree that it was high time to be doing that.  But that’s later.

      This “Foxie” Character first appeared in my brother’s plays &/or dramas, much to my mothers sad realization, when my brother and I played in her closet one day and found among her coats and jackets a real fox jacket, that’s collar was made of two entwined fox tails with a simplified fox head that clamped the collar together by his mouth. As bizarre as this seemed to us, there was no other option but to logically free foxie.  And although this addition to a costly coat was not an approved action, we some how, detached the fox head with it’s flowing tails from that coat with no mercy.  Then Foxie became the star of our shows, the man.  As he was an an obvious addition to our company of crime solving dolls and stuffed animals, or that was our excuse was back then. We ripped him off, grabed him and ran. This left the coat a torn up mess on the floor of my mothers closet, not that we cared.   Thus Foxie proceeded to star in our complex and semi rediculous stories, for several years until he was an unsightly mess, I must say…(and looking back in my memory, my mother put up with more crap from us two kids than most mothers, because my brother and I were hyperactive fiends.) Whats new there?    

 As one can imagine, Mother was not all together pleased with this arrangement, however she had a nice warm scarf that could top that jacket, so foxie was free at last, and obviously ours. “Foxie” was a combo Perry Mason, violent Soldier, and very clever crime fighting genius, who would right all the many wrongs in the stories we made up. My Brother, who thinks I’m crazy as a nit house mouse, probably does not remember Foxie and that gang of merry players.  But I do. 

So More about Betty Jane’s current critiqes and adventures will appear on this site from time to time… later, and  with pictures and drawings…..to be continued…There are many a horrible but anecdotal and much revered memories of that lot to be revealed to you ,  in the immediate future. 

So check back and notice them.

Thanks for visiting my blog and I hope you’er cool, comfortable, have your feet up and a big glass of Iced beverage.  Its  105 out side in Austin , Texas.  No lie…I guess we must have had a cool front come through last night.

As ever,

Caroline Abbitt Sauer (AKA)  KayBuena@KayBuena.com

P.S.  Ms. Buena appreciates all comments of real value or idiocy, (?) to be sent to her email account, so as to back up all the software’s attempt to clear the queue of spy-ware and spam. That should make my husband very happy. Go ahead: Tell me something, that is not obscene.