Thank You, Mrs. Galvin

I received a note today from 6th grade teacher Karen Galvin. She explained that she had been using my website’s “News & Info” page as a resource for information and suggested that I add a new reference for a valuable resource given to her by a student. So here it is:
ADD/ADHD Learning Center
www.healthline.com/health/add-adhd-attention-deficit
My thanks to Mrs. Galvin’s student for this important reference, soon to be added to my webpages. http://www.charlieredner.com/

Love for Tucson Gets Wings

photo by Charles Redner

Let it be known, writing “5 Best Photo Opportunities in Tucson” for AOL Travel via RedRoom wasn’t simply an opportunity to see another byline. I love Tucson. My wife and I visited for vacation during New Year’s 1999-2000. She left for a bike ride and returned in a car driven by a Realtor. We looked at a house, purchased it on the spot, only returning to New Jersey to pack our things. I have visited and photographed every site mentioned in the article (except the Titan Museum) and hope, should you visit Tucson, that you find my assessments agree with yours. Space did not allow but the Pima Air and Space Museum is also worth a look.
http://news.travel.aol.com/bloggers/charles-redner/

Guest Appraiser

Guest Appraiser
By Charles Redner
My wife’s painting of a battered red truck
proudly hangs in her art society’s gallery
where a class, currently in session,
is painting a female model.

The artists appear at ease,
checking proportions, brushes at arm’s length,
splashing moistened pigments on canvas.
This is their norm.

But oh, so new to me.
I shift my eyes from the wall
where my wife’s painting
has been judged honorable.

Desirous to better view the model,
I shift my eyes hard, hard as possible,
as a head turn, would be obvious.
Obvious to the model, the class, my wife.

But the eyes shift
does not accomplish—a look.
A look—a nonchalant glance.
You know, nonchalantly.

Wife gazes at me for appraisal of her work.
I study it now for the first, nod approvingly.
Voice has deserted the vocal cords.
She turns to leave, turns the wrong way.

Do I pirouette in the same direction?
Or accidently turn toward—
Did I mention—there’s a model?

A naked,
unencumbered by clothes,
beautiful, young lady
posing less than a fallen easel away.

I turn, having appraised and follow my wife out the door.