Saturday, October 13, 2007

After the Ball Is Over

After the ball is over, after the break of morn,
After the dancers' leaving, after the stars are gone,
Many a heart is aching, if you could read them all—
Many the hopes that have vanished after the ball.

Of course, I don't know that Deanna's party ended quite so sadly as this 1890s song though the faded sign lets us know that the party excitement is past. In my wanderings around town, I often come across poignant little leftovers from what had been a Big Event.

The last table being cleared after a League of Women Voters' breakfast meeting...

The super-sized dumpster after a major tourist weekend event at the Sharlot Hall grounds, heaped high with refuse...

Leftovers from a move to a new, downsized apartment...

The racks of folding chairs that await the next big affair at the rodeo grounds...

And certainly this deflated balloon, companion to the deflated seller's hopes after one more open house.

Linkables: Walktopia was kind enough to post a link to a past post that's one of my favorites, Virtual Pressed Flowers. And a thousand pardons to Prescott Style which published several pictures of Navajo Mountain up on the res, which is seldom seen by white man -- I've been meaning to link for a couple of months, now! Next, you should go visit Many Eyes, an experimental site where data collections can be converted into visual presention form to make meanings more clear; interesting stuff there! Finally, I discovered that Blogger has a link search, which led me to Artist Stumbles, who was kind enough to mention the recent post about Gussi's awesome pressed flowers.


Olivia Kroth said...

You certainly have an eye for special situations and sights, Granny J.
These photos of endings and left-overs create a feeling of melancholy in me.

Lucy said...

Yes, I detect a mood of autumnal melancholy in GJ's last couple of posts!
My mother taught us a spoof version of thast song from her childhood:
'After the ball was over
Mary took out her glass eye,
Put her false teeth in the basin
Hung up her falses to dry,
Put her false leg in the corner
Hung up her wig in the hall,
All that was left went to bye-byes,
After the ball!'

Olivia Kroth said...

Oh, Lucy, this is macabre!
What did the good lady have on her body that was natural?

Granny J said...

Olivia -- as Lucy says below, it is the time of autumnal melancholy. But this, too shall pass!

Lucy -- I plan on printing out the full words to After the Ball for my visit to my mother this afternoon. I shall certainly take your take-off, also. (I recently introduced a couple of reasonably well educated ladies who sit at her table to the original Southey poem about Father William....)

ericat said...

A lovely blog! I came to the conclusion it is a talent, cannot be learned. Every time we return from our short excursions I think I should have have taken this or that photo. I look at your blog and it is interesting with beautiful photos - sigh. I think I will just resign myself and enjoy blogs like yours.

Granny J said...

ericat -- please don't stop. I love your posts about South African plants and your outback, which is so similar and yet so different from our Sonoran desert. Everybody -- this lady has a fabulous collection of aloes and occasionally takes her readers on a trip out in the desert or mountains. Well worth a visit!

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