CONVERSATIONS WITH SELF

Understandably these twilight years bring diminished capabilities and mobility, resulting in almost bunker-like existence.  Shrinking one's world and ken even more as days are piled under, with attention laser-focused on eternity in general, but day-to-day living in particular. 

Thus, we are not even in the midst of family life.  We are simply alone, an old man with his wife by his side eking out solitary existence.  The rest of the family now on their own with their own families and concerns. 

Moments like these when one begins to converse with one self rather than with other people. They are our Says-I-To-Me moments, with your consciousness on one side and your still-thriving mind on the other.

In these instances you quickly learn introspection and reflection if you have not already.  One begins to ask profound questions about oneself.  In the shortened drive to eternity, what are your purposes in life?  However late-term they may be, what are they and how may they be pursued and accomplished?

Though short and straightforward the question may be, no easy answers can be deduced.  Best then to just go through all the things one does and see where they lead if they make sense at all.  Brainstorming is always a good start.

In the rush to eternity, what have I been doing and for what reasons?

In no particular order then, here are the things and chores that had occupied my time as we speak.

With great preparation and financial effort, I have been able to publish a book of almost 500 pages.  So much so that a second volume is in the works.  Is my purpose as an author then?  Anyway, I am now a registered author and my book now has a unique  ISBN number  assigned to it.

During my grade school I had always had a predilection for doing sketches, starting early with imitating caricatures in comic books, newspapers, and magazines.  I can recall the first time I did it and felt proud of my sketchy work.  I had imitated the caricature of then Phil. President Elpidio Quirino whose default caricature was that of a big-nosed and heavy-set man sitting on a padded seat with one heavily bandaged foot raised on an ottoman.  The guy suffered from a bad case of gout.  I imitated that sketch and even got an admiring nod from my taciturn mother who in turn relayed such joyful discovery to relatives.  And to this day in some kind of compulsion, I continue to do sketches, this time specializing in busts of famous and notable personalities.  I probably have accumulated a collection of about 400 pieces.  Am I an illustrator then, slavishly pursuing that path till the end? In this regard, I also am both a numismatist and philately collector, accumulating about 2000 pieces of coins from various countries.  Being an avid Elvis Presley fan, I can also boast of a modest collection of memorabilia comprising mostly of books and MP3 files.

I was an employee for about 37 years, and earned my essential living being one.  Was able to raise family and provide for our retirement years.  In hindsight,  I do put value on what I did as such and am grateful for what it afforded us as a family.  Clearly it was pursued with earnest as a necessity, and not because I liked doing it.  As a matter fact, I can confess that I was only too eager and happy when employment stopped.  Now it is regarded simply as a past phase of my life.  Nothing less, nothing more.

Indeed, right after employment I wasted no time looking for the path to self-employment or entrepreneurship.  Commenced earlier even before retirement by getting license as a real estate agent.  And engaging formally in the business for at least 3 years, the initial validity period of my license as i recall.  And after that, secured another state license as personal financial analyst which served me well personally.  Then in a very serious way, the IT bug got me, and I could not help myself learning as much as I could digest about it.  So did a lot of serious self-study to secure license as a network and sysadmin technician.  Our eventual return to the old homeland cut short any attempt  of securing that license, though with regard to subject knowledge I had gone through the wringer of learning and researching.  And I considered myself as ready as I could get.

It was back to the old homeland when the entrepreneurship bug caught me.  Started with planting high-value crops on rented agricultural  land.  And eventually buying some plots with agriculture in mind.  Also went into real estate investments, with residential apartments and commercial spaces for rent. Established 2 bakery sites, and a water-refilling station.  And even tried a piggery fattening business. 

And now in a tad grandiose way, established a resort/retreat patterned as a farmhouse model with lodgings available and spaces and structures available also for functions and events.  And in the works will be an inn for more accommodations.  And by the way, we also had much earlier started a coffee orchard with about 2000 trees, which are now fruit-bearing.  At least two harvest seasons have been had.  We also have little fishpond, seeded with tilapia and catfish. We also plant flowers for show and for sale, too. So is entrepreneurship the purpose for this existence?  Definitely, we are in the thick of it with construction projects still ongoing.  So indeed we are into entrepreneurship.

On another front, this time using social media as tool, I have engaged in what I call my truth-telling advocacy, especially because nowadays fake news and deliberate misinformation are so prevalent in the institutions we have long regarded as trustworthy and reliable.  But have now gone to the dark side.  So I spend considerable time, disseminating and dispensing truth where I find it, and assist to make known the emerging personalities who are also committed to the same task.  And for this, I consider myself a citizen journalist, tasked with a very noble and admirable purpose worthy of effort and maybe, worth dying for.

With all these confusing choices, what reasonable deduction can one draw in reply to the initial question?

I can't say.  So maybe best to just let things slide.  Let the chips fall where they may.

But then even holy books warn that one cannot run away from oneself.  So always best to confront and resolve.

So if that be the case then let me pursue all of the above for all men.  And continue on with what are being done.

Amen.

Philippine Coinage

Philippine coinage is quite distinct from the rest, having thrived in 3 different worlds.  First from its Spanish colonial tutelage that lasted over 300 years, punctuated by 40 odd years of American rule, until 1946 when it was granted independence and had to learn to live on its own under a republic.

And oh what a ride it had been, leaving behind a treasure trove of memories and artifacts whose discoveries and collections could last lifetimes.

Beginning in the 1500’s Spain held away in the islands, and like true colonial powers then tried to suck dry the islands’ treasures and resources to pleasure the kingdom’s imperial elites and their prodigal tastes.  But like lazy imperialists, it never really tried to develop a distinct and separate identity for the archipelago, though it was named after one of its kings, King Phillip.  The Spanish currency system simply got extended to the islands, and beyond that, Spanish citizens intermingled with the rest of the population.  Making only one distinct imperial caveat.  If you were born in the mother country you were referred to as peninsulare, and insulare if born in the islands.   Anyway, the natives were thus blessed with the coinage of the realm sufficient to declare it as also their own.

At the turn of the 19^th century, the Americans came, via a one-sided war against the colonizers, and then pitted against the hapless natives, and ruled the islands with relative ease for some 40 odd years.  This time establishing a separate coinage system for the islands to give it distinct identity, though still a vassal of the new colonizer.  And wonder of wonders, the US established in the islands, the only (up to this day) mint located outside of continental US of A.  It was called the Manila mint and operated until the islands’ independence.

Then came 1946 and independence.  Since then, the republic has taken over its coinage, until the present time

In The World Of Comic Books

                                 Who Is Superman
(Please click on the link above) 

These modern self-proclaimed experts and pundits of comic books characters are confusing and in a way shooing us comic book lovers aside by making complicated and convoluted the characters and personalities of our funny pages iconic heroes.

Comic books were and should still be intended for kids and those who are children at heart at times.  Allow them free rein in their fantasy and escapist world. We regard and honor these heroes as they were originally introduced to us during their nascent times.  Invested with the kind of unequivocal clarity and cut-and-dried qualities that kids understood and adhered to.  Truth, Justice, and Honor.  Law and order.  And yes, they  are all American ways.

But these usurping writers and artists have co-opted these characters and their qualities and fleshed them out with details that depict these heroes as possessing dark and sinister persona, gravely conflicted and agonized, and at times even misguided in the superhuman pursuit of their noblest aims.

Please leave them as they were.  But yes, do keep improving the artwork, artwork that glorifies the beauty and goodness of their characters and again the beauty and perfection of their physical beings.   With dark and foreboding artwork we now find in pages of their works, one may be prompted to assume that many readers/viewers are harboring ideas that our heroes are now villains because of how they are drawn.

Comic books are works of fiction.  Leave dark facts and unseemly realities to works of non-fiction.

My Story

Numismatics, or Coin Collecting

July 31, 2017

 Coins are the footprints of history….

 

 

Picked up my first coin collectible in high school in the 50’s, when I literally picked up a shiny US silver quarter which I found lying on the ground close to the cashier’s office of the school.

That initiated a nascent interest and devotion for the activity of collecting not only metal coins but also paper currencies of any and all countries in the world.  And in my personal case, the infectious drive to collect extended to most anything that caught my fancy, like ball pens, baseball caps, pencils, even assorted wrenches. BTW, that orphaned coin is still in my possession.

I cannot be described as having the kind of driven or addictive interests many collectors exhibit, but simply as being egged on by the kind of random and unplanned spark of interest one could generate going about one’s everyday living of life, by simply allowing oneself to get taken in by serendipitous opportunities that enrich the hobby.

And as fate would have it, I got employed in the local banking system, which provided fertile grounds for me to pursue my avocation.  And when the family migrated to the US, the wife for her turn got employed by a bank and spent almost a quarter of a century under its tutelage.  Opening more productive opportunities to broaden and make richer the collection that was slowly approaching critical mass.

Now, many years later, I can take stock of what I have gathered as accounted by the least efforts expended, and even with scant resources set aside for its purposes.

I may now own over a thousand pieces of coins from different parts of the globe filling in about two dozen folders, and with some loose special ones lying around.  All of them mounted and inserted into folders. And another separate folder for the paper currencies that are part of the hoard. Heavy and substantial enough, that one would be hard-put to carry all of them singly if they were all loaded into one big suitcase.

Thus at this more relaxed stage and at a time when one feels the time ripe, I am setting aside more time to sort, assess, and do research on the assorted items in my possession.

It would be safe to assume that the collection has over the years accumulated substantial values in dollar amounts.

At a rather leisurely pace and time, I am slowly getting ideas of the probable and possible values these coins may have on the markets, from the low ends to the highest possible.

In US Numismatics, the silver Morgan dollar is the darling of many, the Holy Grail for some, idolized and desired for its beauty, design, size and silver content.  Similarly then, the over two dozen pieces I have enjoy a special place and regard.

But so do the many others from different parts of the globe, and spanning many mintage years of their existence. And for many due to their age, demonetization has caught up with them.  And thus those who continue to hold on to them, consider their numismatic values instead, or the melt value of the metals they are made up

In many European countries especially those who have since joined with EU, their old currencies have been all replaced with the EU coinage and currency making the former all demonetized and out of circulation.  

 

 

 

 

An Enduring Interest In Motorbikes

Over time I have had more than a passing interest in motorbikes. And to this day, I continue to look with interest and nostalgia every time I see a motorbike whizzes by. For some inexplicable reasons my interest is always piqued whenever I see a bike. Reasons ranging from the machine itself to the joys and thrills of riding a motorbike can all be factored in to explain the durability of this interest. 

 I purchased my first motorbike right after I had had a year of gainful employment on my very first real job. Granted it was second-hand and bought from a classmate in high school, still it was a jewel of a purchase, the transaction completely financed by savings from that first job. It was a 1965 Honda 250cc SS, the only one of its kind in the entire city. And it gave such a sense of power driving it around town with the two diffusers from the two exhaust pipes removed. With engines revving up like the rat-tat-tat of machine guns, it gave new meaning to the saying that riding a bike makes one feel the power between one’s legs. 

 This love affair lasted for almost two years. In that same milieu I was fortunate to have had other bikes at my disposal, all the result of my father deciding I was the one who should have them. One was a Honda 90cc and the other was also a Honda 90cc but a Trail model. Both were eventually harnessed to pull what is locally called, the motorela, a means of public transport quite common in the Philippines. It is a unique invention consisting of a bike fitted with a cab where passengers can sit comfortably and be protected from the elements. 

 And additionally I also had use of a smallish Honda P50 50cc, a very fragile model configured in such a way where the entire engine was part of the rear-wheel assembly. It had pedals like those of a bicycle which required their use to start the engine. It was such an unsteady and slow vehicle, it almost seemed like riding a bicycle. 

 Then later on I had another Honda, a 125cc twin-cylinder road bike colored red. It was good enough for our little family to serve as substitute vehicle for short trips. Though by then four-wheeled vehicles had become the preferred mode of transport for our family. 

 This year with the influx of Made-in-China motorbikes into the local community, the bug bit again and I found myself acquiring one that most resembled the bike I had loved the best. This time it is a Dayun 125cc bike tagged as a cruiser. Since most bikes nowadays have only one cylinder, including ones as big as 250ccs, this one indeed has only one cylinder, but with one caveat, it has two exhaust pipes. The images here are the exact models and colors of the ones I had owned secured from the Internet, except for the newest acquisition which is actually featured here.

A Pictorial Chronology of Two Mayas : From Birth to Adulthood

Last June it was shade of serependity when I had the rare distinction of intruding into a maya’s nest deceptively hidden in one potted bush lodged in our building’s roof deck.

One bright morning, I almost stepped on a small wriggly mass of pinkish flesh on the slowly heating concrete floor of the deck, being devoured by a frenzied horde of small black ants. Stooping closer I could make out the crude outlines of an organism whose internal organs were visible from its diaphanous outer flesh. It was a newly hatched bird that much I knew. Picking it up and shooing with my fingers the busy clinging ants, I settled it on a small cup cushioned with a folded paper napkin and positioned the makeshift nest on top and in the safety of the observation deck I had constructed. Hoping the mother would return and minister to her young.

Click to read more.

Street Names As Memorials

Life is replete with humanity’s overt manifestations of its innate longings, or maybe dread, to honor and perpetuate it heroes, its renowned forebears, or simply its dead. For example, statues are cast and installed in publicly prominent places precisely to make known and remind the viewers or passersby of the dead and gone real person behind the stiff and drab image sitting or standing out there in the rain and exposed to all other elements. Gilded books are written laboriously tracing the extraordinary lives of people and/or relatives admired and expressing desires to emulate. Buildings, places, even nature, etc. are not spared from our ardent aspirations to perpetuate and propagate the chosen names of those consigned to our eternity.

And quite common in most places we have been to, whether of considerable renown or not, is the practice of naming streets after those admired personages. The ubiquitous signage makes for one sure route to give more mileage (in a manner of speaking) to that person’s honor and name. After all, street signs are installed in most intersections and/or long stretches of roads for easier negotiation or faster access to destinations.

Let it be said though that at times street names are grudgingly given for more mundane and practicable reasons, like because the named person used to own the real estate traversed by the roadway or maybe in a generous gesture donated the real estate for the roadway. At times certain places are known by a person’s name, simply because that person whether renowned or not was domiciled in the area, or again maybe because people know he used to own property in the vicinity.

But clumsy distinctions aside, the street names given can be a good glimpse into a bit of local historical narrative of a place or locality, like as if history has crept into a place’s consciousness through the dead-giveaway uniqueness of its street names.

A little tour around town or even a more studied look at the street names of places we travel through our workaday lives can be revealing of both the past and the possible reasons for the nomenclature.

Thus, the street name of the place where we live is Paz Neri San Jose situated at RER Drive Subdivision, which is bounded on the east by the Rodulfo N. Pelaez Avenue. The sprawling compound of Liceo de Cagayan University lies on the other side of the said avenue, stretching maybe a half-kilometer wide. Why? Because the family of the late Rodulfo Neri Pelaez owns the university and the subdivision was once part of their landholdings. And our street being one of the main streets of the subdivision is named after his beloved mother, Paz Neri San Jose. Why RER? – the subdivision was named after the first letter of the first names of both parents and daughter.

Trying to skirt the usual heavy traffic around the Carmen Market area during commute periods, I chanced upon a rather obscure side street named Matilde Neri that stretches westward. Again an old resident can readily tell why. Matilde Menciano Neri was the widow of Faustino S. J. Neri, and her family used to own large tracts of land around the Carmen Market area.

And right smacked in the center of the old poblacion anchored by its premier plaza, Divisoria, is the street named Tirso R. Neri stretching from one end of the plaza to the other and defining its northern boundaries. Tirso Neri made a name for himself locally in both peace and war times, serving creditably in government and doing other exemplary work. Thus, it seems appropriate to name an equally important street after him.

There should be more, even if only for the visual benefit and easy entertainment of members of the extended Neri clan. Just give me time to reach those places. Or better still, bring them to my lazy attention and I shall schedule the legwork. Our subdivision is a veritable gold mine, since most streets are named after Neri ancestors.

Oh, by the way, I do have a street named after me, announced by two lonely rusty signs that have fallen into quite ugly disrepair as to be almost unreadable.

Actually, it was intended for my father. Being named after him has at least one spurious benefit, I guess.

Man Years Vs Dog Years

Part of conventional wisdom instructs us that one year of any dog’s life is worth seven in man (homo sapiens) and over time we have come to accept that as accepted truth. Well, not so. Even Snopes.Com has weighed in to correct our wrong notions about this truism.

A couple of clear but general benchmarks for earnest dog lovers. Generally, small breed dogs live longer than big breed dogs. Per current history, longer living dogs can live to be over 20 years (record shows one living for 27 years).

Like us, abuse-prone creatures, the life span of dogs also depends on a host of factors. Genetics, environment, life style, and for dogs, even the type of breeds, etc.

And with dogs too, there is the at times forgotten angle to their life spans, that some dogs age slower than other dogs of different breeds. Meaning, two dogs born on the same day may grow, or “mature” differently. Thus, one may be said to be older than the other, though born at the same time.

To be realistic then, many would agree that a typical dog year is more like five years of human life.

Hey, no problem here. So you, Princess, are now two and one-half years old having been born about 6 months ago.

Another six months and you will be considered full-grown or mature. Enjoy the rest of your childhood!

For more on Princess, click here and here.

More From The Ancient Department

Ronson lighters were the Roll Royce of their times, when smoking of cigarettes was considered "cool" for both men and women. Well-crafted, dependable, and a bit pricey, especially compared to matches.

And to extend one's "coolness" to the bathroom, Ronson also made electric shaver products, fit for the coolest of smokers and a gift fitting for the gentleman who had everything.

This yeoman's facial hair remover was in the hands of most adult males in the mornings. Sturdy, convenient, and durable. Replacement for replaceable blades was easy to secure.

Another sturdy product of youth. A heavy cast-iron hulk of a two-hole puncher, weighing at least three pounds. Could double up as weapon against pesky officemates.

For the consummate devotee of orderly and neat office paper files, a small paper cutter able to fit easily on any table top.

Pet Shop: Hobby or Business?

The pet shop has definitely garnered a firm foothold in the economic landscape of the old hometown. While their number may not approximate those of the lechon-manok eating places or the must have one in each corner bakeries, the pet shop certainly can be seen and counted among the visible players in the malls and some of the heavily-trafficked commercial areas of the city.

While people from other places may wonder why my sudden interest and/or surprise in the pet shop as a business, let it be said that when I left the old homeland about 29 years ago, the number of pet shops in the city was an absolute nil. You wanted dogs or cats, you simply asked your friends or our relatives who had them. Birds or fowl as pets? Again you asked your hunter friends. Okay, so some solitary guy may position himself conspicuously in the market and sell a monkey or two or some birds, or even dogs. But not as an established business, in permanent locations, and providing the whole panoply of things needed to acquire and maintain pets.

Click to read more.

Instead of Hills and Rivers

Instead of taking pictures of hardly-changing hills and rivers of the old homeland as part of a nostalgic trip as suggested by one equally forlorn friend, I opt instead to write about things that have changed since we left in what seems as a generation ago.

During our days we never imagined that having or getting dogs would be initiated through a business, a thriving business at that. When we wanted dogs we simply waited for friends' or relatives' dogs to have litters, then we asked for one or two. And our concept of having dogs as pets then was generally as watchdogs, or as "askals" letting them loose in the neighborhood. Watchdogs forever alert but really ignored to the side, or as “askals” go, like an orphaned kid who may come home for need of scraps or whatever.

Now pet shops are clearly visible around here, in the malls and elsewhere. Where birds, cats, dogs, fish, or whatever live animal will catch the onlookers’ fancies. And trailing them are the accoutrements necessary for their care and maintenance – cages, carriers, feeds, vitamins, glass tanks, etc.

Since I wanted a dog in the house, simply as one barking dog who will alert the occupants of any intruder or what, I looked for one and found this.

Reasons for choice? One of course was the looks. This is a mix, or a mongrel, of a Shih-Tzu and Terrier. Simply Terrier I was told. The better reason? It was cheap at 4,000 pesos, especially compared to a pure breed pup that was selling at 22,000 pesos. On earlier searching expeditions, I found out that these dogs do not sell cheaper than 6-7 thousand pesos locally. Thus, 4K was a good bargain.

Thus she will now be called Princess, in response to my daughter who has a Maltese named Prince.

More Quick Takes From This Slow Long Journey: A Potpourri

More rummaging through old stuff left behind brought on another discovery, tucked among old medical films was this sketch done by yours truly prior to marriage with the subject.








Now compare with this one done for my late mother by a more professional artist.

A world of difference making me grudgingly more humbled, but, you got it right, I still prefer the first one because it came from my own inexperienced hands.

Walked to a location in town to purchase some paint materials and had to walk through the premier park of the city, segmented and girded like city blocks into several sections. Took these pictures on the easternmost section of Divisoria Park, called Magsaysay Park, primarily because the huge, imposing, and bronzed statue of the late president stands elevated a few meters for all to see and crane their necks.

At mid-eight o’clock in the morning, it was quite revealing to witness that the nocturnal residents of the plaza have not really been done with their night’s rest, many still stretched out in and close to the statue, oblivious or literally dead to the scurry of activities of people waiting for their rides or other friends, of noisy public vehicles with diesel engines screeching and clunking while negotiating the labyrinthine perimeter of the entire plaza impatiently honking and weaving as they mindlessly head toward their separate destinations with their human cargoes. Of course, those denizens were even dead to the ubiquitous white-heat sunlight that was beginning to heat up and induce sweat in the many passersby, and with a stern warning not to be disregarded or taken for granted.

Though as shown in one picture, a close cluster of them had already done with night sleep and were now bantering around, thinking most probably about things they intend to do today, whatever it is they do on a daily basis.

Since I could not very well take their pictures at close range, I had to move away and shoot from a distance unobtrusively and unnoticed.

Of Pens, Pencils, and Markers

Writing has been with man most probably as early as when he learned to walk on two feet. It may have simply started as clumsy etchings on the sand or any soft surface using sticks or fingers, but we know how thoroughly inclined man is now with regard to scribbling. So engrossed or dedicated as to find time and resource for it even when doing something very personal. Maybe like relieving oneself? Many cannot help playing with their hands clasping whatever is available writing on walls and wherever pen, pencil, paint, or marker can reach and take hold. The many public bathrooms are wordy and graphic testimonies to this proclivity.

And writing implements have gone through a lot of evolution even with just our modern times, from the ink-dipped quills, to the more lasting and convenient fountain pens, to cheaper graphite pencils, and now, the explosion of the utilitarian ballpoint pens made famous and popular initially by the popular French brand BIC. Ball pens are now so cheap and common, they can be found literally everywhere. On the moon, too? Oh, Yeah! “Neil Armstrong and crew would have been trapped there had Buzz not improvised by jamming a ball point pen into the switch's hole to activate liftoff.”

Click to read more.

Of Hats And Caps

In this sainted land of overarching consumerism and an unrelenting era of abundance, it is not difficult to understand why people unwittingly become collectors of stuff. Thus, even if bereft of any crazed proclivities an Imelda Marcos would find casual and natural, items fall into one’s lap in great heap-full quantifies especially consumer items that come in differing styles, colors, designs, shapes, etc. And reaching sufficient critical mass, they rightly then could be adjudged as collections. Whether they are shoes, cars, hats, cosmetics, accessories, toys, sports items, matchbooks, etc.

Since a lot of ladies, and I suppose men, too, are fond of personal accessories, we hear how good fortunes are spent on them not only for daily usage but also as prized “collections”. Thus collections of expensive and exquisite perfumes, exorbitantly prized hand-made designer handbags, different shades of lipsticks, etc. do not anymore raise many eyebrows. And imagine what good-sized fortunes are spent to collect either antique or just plain expensive cars? We read that the initial design of Bill Gates’ mansion had a garage that could accommodate 89-100 cars and that was just the initial design in a now completed house that had to undergo so many changes and additions that if they were cosmetic facelifts you would not recognize the finished product.

Click to read more.

What Is Art, again?

Maybe the above question is something we ought to ask often if only to highlight the attendant difficulties and uneasy confusion people encounter when trying to define what art is. The oft-quoted cliché that beauty is in the eye of the beholder could apply also in judging what art is, whether serious, pop, or whatever.

This untended difficulty reared its head during the last entry on my poster collection of Norman P. Rockwell works. Many critics had panned Rockwell’s works by denying him the honor of considering his work as serious art; instead that he was simply an illustrator however gifted he was as such.

And I always have a problem with such restrictive delineation because my mind has not really been able to grasp the exact parameters of what serious art really is. Should one rely strictly on the judgments of the art critics? But don’t they disagree amongst themselves? And many would go further and decry the lack of objectivity or relevance in many admired critics.

Anyway, I am not making this orphaned confusion my personal problem, because I simply follow my gut feelings and try to work up inspiring vibes about the works that appeal to what I could consider my sense of what is beautiful, tasteful, or extraordinary.

Click to read more.

Poster Collection: Norman P. Rockwell

Posters of different sizes and for different subjects have also been a popular pastime for many enthusiasts. Those enamored with films go for the very catchy, colorful, and artful movie posters that are seen in movie theatres and malls and which surely easily draw the captive attention of the onlookers. While others more into hero adulation may go for sports posters whether of racing cars and their drivers, professional sportsmen, etc. In short, there are posters and posters for most popular fancies and passions.
As for me, I was fortunate enough to have acquired over time a precious number of them (about 76) all about one subject, poster prints of the the paintings/illustrations of the late artist, Norman P. Rockwell, a very popular symbol of things Americana.

Click to read more.

An Uncommon Find

Rummaging through some stored boxes which came from the previous residence, I chanced upon this rather uncommon find, which at first glance looked nothing more than a pendant made of silver.

Upon closer scrutiny, we find that it is the remains of what used to be a Liberty Walking Half-Dollar (minted circa 1916-1947).

To read more.

Old Olympic Games Postcards

Because the Olympic Games to be held in Beijing, China, are gearing up just around the corner, it is about time to start thinking things about the games.

The games have had a long history, stretching from ancient to modern times, the last one held less than two years ago in 2006. Starting in 1992, the games were divided into the Summer and the Winter Olympics, though still held every four years but scheduled in such a way that every two years, we have a version of the games. Thus, the last Summer Olympics was held in Athens in 2004 and the last Winter Olympics in 2006 in Turin.

In the 80’s to commemorate the games the International Olympic Committee based in Lausanne, Switzerland, begun printing postcards which showed miniaturized versions of the official posters of the different games. Now the IOC was formally established in 1894 and had is first Summer Olympics in 1896.

To read more.