Of Time and Tide

But mostly Tide.

I was over at Suzy's blog (thanks for following, Mizz Suzy - soon I'll have enough minions to take over Blogopolis...or at least the corner cafe) reading about a fund-raising program, and even though I am not part of the BlogHer network...what the hey...I figured I'd play along anyway.

P&G (Proctor and Gamble for folks who don't speak Initials or Abbreviations) has a nifty program going on, wherein they are selling vintage-look Tide T-shirts to help fund Loads of Hope.

I've seen blurbs about Loads of Hope before, and I must say - ingenious. When you see nature pounding the crap out of a community, laundry is the last thing you think they may need doing. Probably, you think food, water, shelter, maybe pets or evacuation...but clean clothes? Hmm...not so much.

But think about it. When you have been out in foul weather, playing or tarping the roof, or just trying to get into the house from the car, and you get inside all wet and cold and mucky...do you want to sit around in those clothes, or do you want to slip into something cozy, clean, and warm? So if families, communities, are covered in muck, wet, cold, devastated...wouldn't clean things just be a blessing? I think so. So, to the point. Click the t-shirt link or go to Suzy's and click hers (it's bigger) - if you use these specific links, you help show how useful social networking and blogging can be, and apparently there's a friendly rivalry going on between networks...and since one day I'd like to suckle at the BlogHer teat (yes, yes I did type that), I'm using their link.

And now a little Tide-back-in-time story.

A long time ago, when the world was new and working as a corner marshall (back then we called it "F&C") was still fun, we worked just about every weekend at Road Atlanta. Back then, they didn't have the cement walls, Jersey barriers, fencing, and widened track - it was raw, rough, often dusty, muddy, and filthy. Corner workers wear white in order to be more visible than the terrain, the flags, and the spectators.

Road Atlanta is in Georgia. North-ish Georgia. North-ish Georgia is famous for several things - the Mayfield visitor's center where you can get fresh-scooped ice cream cones that are the size of a cat's head for a quarter, chicken farms and the smell they perfume the early morning air with, small towns selling themselves to mediocre actresses, and red clay soil.

The old track had many, many banks which workers would run along and then slide down to reach "incidents", a fancy word for "wrecks".

I repeat - we wore white clothing, played at a greasy, grimy, dirty track, and slid down red clay embankments to reach dirty, nasty race cars that had likely spilled fluids, were possible in flames, and definitely landed in the most difficult places to reach.

When it was a dry day, the clay turned into a fine, fine dust. When cars drove off course, they would kick up a cloud that floated for ages before settling back down - only to be kicked up again by another car. We breathed that dust in, squinted through it, and knew we'd be sneezing red and scrubbing dust off our faces for days.

When it was wet, the clay got slick, sticky, and nasty. No matter where we worked a race in the world, people knew we'd been at Road Atlanta by the clay stains on our whites.

It was only a matter of time before we instituted The Tide Challenge. It was very simple - the worker who had the nastiest, most clay/dust smirched whites at the end of the weekend won a jumbo bottle of Tide. It did a fine job of getting most of the clay out, better than anything else, really...but nothing can get all of the stuff out in the wash. I won a few bottle, myself, thanks to some spectacular incidents, a few wobbly tire walls full of water and ick, and more than one really long slide down a bank.

The smell of Tide is indelibly linked in my mind to the smell of Nomex, racing fuel, clay, and the unique perfume of a road-racing course on a summer's day when the biggest worry I had was whether I could make the bus back to school and would the professor mind if there were clay stains on my homework.

Plip, Plop, Don't Stop

Plip, plop, don't stop, sweetly falling rain. The trees reach thirstily up for you - see how they strive? Like lovers reaching for their heart's desire, they stretch their arms wide and welcome your soft, shivery kisses down their length.

Plip, plop, don't stop, sweetly falling rain. The flowers shimmy under your soft caress, shake out their skirts and arrange the drops just so, diamonds and pearls catching grey light and making it shine.

Plip, plop, don't stop, sweetly falling rain. The earth, once cracked, dry, haggard, is swelling from your attentions, preparing for burgeoning growth, ready to cry out "Yes!" with a burst of color, exuberance, life. She is young, soft, pliant once more, and delights in your gentle ministrations.

Plip, plop, don't stop...

Bru-Braja

Go here. Follow the nice lady's instructions. Help a good person feel/get better.

Thank you.

Gone, Gone, Gone...

...real gone...I hope...

Mum and I are leaving the Evil Genius in T's care and heading for the coast for a few days at the end of the month.

We were going to Jekyll Island (a very photogenic island), but decided, instead, to go explore new worlds...so we're off to St. Simon's Island instead. It's as much about decompressing as it is about photographing the area...hopefully I'll get my head a little emptied of all the anger, resentment, irritation, concern, fear, and general ickiness that is cluttering it up.

I feel emotionally and spiritually bloated, stiffled, clogged...

Wednesday night I sent a begging letter of sorts to T. He's out of town...again...this time until Saturday, and I can't just chat with him about upcoming events, so I decided to send an e-mail and hope for the best.

At least we have e-mail so there's an element of potential instant-gratification in communicating, rather than waiting until he's home or hoping he'll call when he stops work for the night. He's not a travelling salesman, but I can certainly feel for all the salesmen's wives who missed their husbands for weeks on end back in the day.

Anyway.

I am hoping to be able to attend/work several events in the next few months. Some of them are weekends, and shouldn't be too difficult...but there's one really big one in May that I just learned about, and I am worried he won't want to/can't do it...and I've become very attached to the idea of going. I'll live if I can't attend, but it's a heck of an opportunity to network for my band, maybe sell some photos, tell some fortunes, make a few bucks, and decompress some more.

Hey, I can own it - I am not at all ashamed to admit that I want time away from my family to just unwind, detangle my psyche, and feed my spirit. I would be gone for nine days, though, and he would have to watch Bird alone for the bulk of (if not all of) it. I'm used to being a single parent, did it for weeks on end when he was with the racing school and had to go out of town or worked hours that kept him gone during the kid's waking hours...but T isn't used to it, at least not for more than a day at a time. Now I'm asking him for several weekends, one five day stretch, and nine days to top it all off, all within a three month stretch. Whew.

It needs nourishing, my spirit...it's been hungry for a while, and it wants a fire, drums, dancing beneath the stars, communing with my gods without a timetable, limits, or responsibilities tugging at me. It needs to feel free to soar again...it's been earthbound for so long.

Here's hoping...

A Web

I was a point of light, a mote in the great vast void, a speck floating, suspended in darkness. Alone, lonely, I spun from myself a thread - so slender, so slight, so very fragile, my thread. As I spun, I flung it outward, silver strand reaching ever farther into the deeper reaches of the nothing wherein I dwelt.

For so long did I wait, did I wonder, did I spin myself smaller and thinner, stretching beyond imagination. For so long was I alone. I sang to myself, humming as I worked, forgetting, eventually, why I spun, why I reached beyond myself, continuing because...because...because...

Then came the day...the night...the moment when my thread found another, spun from some new, distant mote like me, hanging in its darkness, humming to itself and wondering why...why...why...

The shock of our meeting was such that we fell silent, struggling to comprehend what we had touched, what it meant. Slowly, tentatively, we explored the newness, the other light, the other song. Hesitant, we began to hum again, to spin, and our notes were a harmony, a convergence of color and sound, and from one alone we were two together.

We were stronger, together.

We began to spin, to reach, in other directions. The other found more, and so did I, and every new thread meant new connection, new understanding, a growing song. Every touch, every joining, made us more than ourselves, brought us vision beyond our small scope, broadened us, until we could not be contained in our small darknesses but burst forth, spreading far and wide, a great net of light and being, gossamer fine, adamantine strong, blazing in our quiet way, where anyone may walk without fear, knowing they cannot fall unless they leap, and we are above, below, around, and we will catch them when they call for us.

We are a web spun of great blazing suns and tiny specks that have never met, never seen, but we have listened, we have sung, and we have touched and joined and changed and grown into a great prismatic cacophony, knowing we exist because we reflect each other, because we can hear that faint singing down the line, the ethereal combination of vision and song that is the other and ourselves.

I am a point of light, a mote in the great vast void, a speck floating, suspended in darkness, but I am only as alone as I wish to be, for I spun, stretched, reached beyond my small space, into the deeper reaches of the nothing wherein I dwelt...

...and found you.

A Watched Pot...

...never boils.

Or does it?

A short while back, I was cooking dinner, which involved boiling some water. I noticed the tiny air bubbles on the bottom of the pot, and stared. Fascinated. At bubbles in a pot.

I watched from first heat to rolling boil, and it was...well, absorbing. I wish I had a camera that could photograph the varying stages of the water and the bubbles, how they started off tiny silver beads, evolved to pearls of air, rolled together, combined again and again, making textures and designs on the bottom of the pan until they rose up to the surface, more taking their place below.

Eventually, they were large enough, rapid enough, powerful enough to become a low, steady boil, and I got on with dinner - but for a few minutes, time was suspended while I watched a pot come to a...well...boil.

Better Late Than Never?

You may have noticed that I'm posting late these days. I'm trying to remedy that, but don't hold your breath - getting onto Dino the Desktop Dinosaur isn't easy when the Evil Genius wants to play. I know, I know, he's six, I'm...significantly older, and nominally the adult here, but if you have kids, you get it...and if you don't have kids, the point's moot, isn't it?

Anyway.

I was cranky all morning, what with laundry, computer woes, not enough sleep, and a serious jones for Lindt Lindor Truffled (milk chocolate) when there are none about, but the afternoon was just lovely.

I took a nap and Bird left me alone, managing to feed himself, entertain himself, and generally keep himself happy while I sawed logs.

We spent a fair chunk of the evening outside, enjoying our spring weather, walking about the neighborhood and playing in the yard. We watched the moon rise up behind the house, beyond the woods, through some clouds. We saw some bats flitting about, seeking out early mosquitoes and practicing their aerobatics (hah! aeroBATics!). Our neighbor came over and pitched a few balls for Bird, and we chatted amiably about nothing much at all.

We didn't come inside until it was full dark, the moon was over the trees, and we were quite hungry.

All in all, a boring-to-write-about but fairly satisfying day. I ain't complaining.

Net Fun (Thoughfetti Version)

T sent me this. I thought how interesting, and I should put this on my blog so here it is for your fun and edification.

What's a Trillion among friends?
~~~~~

I may need these chairs to live.
~~~~~

I heart this comic. No kidding, I read the entire archive in two days. I would have done it in one but I had to stop to feed the Evil Genius and occasionally get the blood circulating out of my ass and into my extremities.
~~~~~

I drive past this place on my way to my Hair Genius' place. There really are goats on their roof. And a rooster. And some bunnies. It is so delightfully backwoods awesome!
~~~~~

Zen doodling fun, but I warn you - it's strangely addicting.
~~~~~

This site is beautiful...electronic flowers blooming in gardens of information. Go. Play.
~~~~~

This post brought to you in honor of Bob the Wonder Computer, who may need a brain transplant. It's looking grim. Sigh. Sniff. Whimper.

Follow the pretty blue blog
Follow the pretty blue blog
Follow, follow, follow, follow,
Follow the pretty blue blog...

Heheheh...there are Munchkins dancing in my head, singing merrily away in ninety part harmony.

I added the "follow" widget a short while back and am delighted to see a few of you have graced me with your presence. Being a greedy so-and-so, though, I want more! More, more, more!!

Ahem.

In all seriousness, if you haven't toggled the follow button and feel so inclined, I would do a happy little dance to find you've joined the crowd and made it...er...more crowded!

No, I won't videotape the dance - trust me, you don't need to see that.

Meanwhile, I am off to the gallery today to put together a piece for the latest theme show. Whee...my life is so freakin' fascinatin', isn't it??

La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la...

What is the sound of a blogger not blogging?

La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la-ah-ah-ahchoo!

I'm feeling especially grumpy today, so I'm cleaning the Evil Genius' room...because that's how one gets happy, right? Cleaning up somebody else's mess? I mean...I'm always so freakin' cheerful about picking random clothing up off the floor, aren't I? And clearly I have paroxysms of delight when I locate dirty cups, dishes, or flatware...the nastier, the better, and if it's weeks old and crusty, sticky, or covered with alien civilizations, even better! Bonus point if it waves at me, uses sign language, speaks, or employs semaphores to communicate.

Bird is helping, for a change - although it's difficult to find things he can "help" with at this stage, since just about everything's on the floor (including my butt - I use the scootch-n-clean method), there's really nowhere for him to walk, stand, or sit. I finally got his bed cleared off, and I sent the little guy in to lob all his stuffed animals up there - that should make a fair chunk of space for us to work with.

I had to stop and take a break; I was overwhelmed by a rampaging dust rhino when I upset the Lego pile it was nesting on. Dust critters are fierce when they're protecting their young! It chased me right out of the room, and I decided to fall back, regroup, and fortify myself with some blog time and a fudgesicle. With any luck, the dust Velociraptor will have finished off the rhino and the vorpal dust-bunnies before I dive back into the fray. Bless him, the boy is still in there, doing battle with the cat-hair Jabberwoky. I believe he's using a spent glow stick for his blade, and hark! Is that the distinct sound of a snicker-snack coming from his room?? Callooh! Callay!

We'll get the bandersnatch later...I'm pretty sure they're allergic to Windex.

Meanwhile, I am still holding out hope (slender, slender hope) that Bob the Wonder Computer will be fixed today and I'll be back to my bloggy self tomorrow.

Until then, I'm off to hunt endangered dust beasties to extinction...if they don't kill me first.

It's What I Have to Give

Last night I did something of which my father would thoroughly disapprove. It was so much fun, I intend to keep right on doing it, too. Sorry, Daddy...but not that sorry.

I am, you may have noticed, somewhat fond of writing (primarily fiction, but also poetry and prose when the mood strikes)(and my blog, of course, which is as honest as can be because why would I lie about this stuff??). I have even fancied myself a Writer (of sorts), and offered my services as a freelance writer to assorted folks. I often write for friends who need resumes tweaked (if you think those aren't fiction, you're doing them wrong) or website content, or blurbs, outlines, and whatnot written about their various businesses, hobbies, whatever. In those cases, emphasize the "free" in freelance.

I don't mind, though - it helps keep me sharp, and I love my friends and family, even when they are cranky with me because I give my time away (unless I'm giving it to them).

So last night, I hung out at Borders near the Mall of Georgia (Dear Borders Corporate Offices, please don't ever close my Borders near the mall, because then I wouldn't have anywhere to contain the crazy...er...write my stories and drink tea, I mean. Thank you.) with BeBop. You'd have to meet BeBop to understand the scope of the woman. She's a whirlwind with a huge laugh. She's relentless, with a grin. She's...she's a force of nature she is!

Bebop created a charity - Troop BeBop, USA - which she runs full tilt, non-stop, with what I've come to believe is her characteristic drive and enthusiasm. She's supposed to be retired, but I figure she'll retire when we don't have any more troops to support...so, like, never. Her charity, you see, is designed to provide phone cards and personal care items to our overseas troops - men and women who can't just pop out to the Evil Empire to fetch soap, tampons, socks, and Slim Jims whenever they feel the need. She primarily raises these funds through coffee drives (Thank you, Mall of Georgia Borders - one more reason I adore you), rallies, and benefit concerts.

I may have also mentioned here and there that I am usually a hair past broke on a regular basis. Much as I would dearly love to donate a thousand phone cards to the troops, and socks, and bubbles, and tickets home, and world peace...I don't have those things, nor have I the dosh to buy the ones that are for sale. Heck, I don't even really have the funds to fix T's poor Jimmy so he can drive it again (and I'd really like him to be able to drive it again, because he keeps changing my radio stations in the van, and that's grounds for homicide, isn't it??). Dang.

What I have got are words. So many words. Hundreds, thousands, million of words, building upon each other into edifices of thought, feeling, communication. Dictionopolis has nothing on me. Taken individually, words don't mean much to the world, anymore. Just look at text-speech and you'll know what I mean. Used properly, though, they build bridges, bludgeons, and blessings, they bemuse, bewilder, and bedazzle.

Last week, we were discussing...something. She mentioned that her website's a mess (it isn't, really - it's a beautiful reflection of the vital, vibrant woman who built it with love, compassion, verve, and no idea how to design a website) and I mentioned that I've been dipping my toes in the freelance waters. She mourned the fact that she doesn't have funds to pay a writer or site designer (because every donation goes to the troops, all of her administrative costs come out of her pocket).

So I did the thing my father hates (but, really, I don't care) and gave away my time and such skills I possess to help BeBop out with a little bit of writing. It's a start. She's looking for donors and working on some sponsorships and things I don't feel comfortable revealing because they are hers - I'm just the writer, she's the doer - and she needed some begging letters written.

Initially, I offered to help write content for her site - notices about upcoming events, schedules, things of that nature. I could, if pressed, learn how to write a proper press release, too. Last night, she offered me the opportunity to help her craft some special letters asking for sponsorship. I wrote, we tweaked, and she was a happy woman. I believe we have begun what could become a fine working relationship, two people content with what they're doing to help service men and women remember why they're over there - wherever "over there" is - picking sand out of their...toes...sweating, freezing, aching, missing their families, and generally questioning their sanity on a regular basis while doing jobs most of us cannot fathom.

I haven't gotten to her site content, yet, but I will. Meanwhile, yesterday went from blue (I was having a rough day) to red, white, and blue, and I felt (for the first time in a very long time) that my words made a positive difference to someone. I believe that this is going to be a delightful (and, I hope, continuing) collaboration, and I'm happy to have something to contribute, a way to thank the people putting it all on the line so I can sit at Borders and write whatever I wish without fear of censure or worse from the folks I may be writing about.

Thanks, BeBop!

Virtual Leapfrog

I've pulled a muscle or pinched a nerve in my neck. Pooh. It hurts to turn my head or raise my arm too high. Bleh.

I'm going to the gallery anyway. So there.

Meanwhile, here's a link to my friend Kit's blog (yes, I know that's not grammatically correct) - she has a recipe up for chicken soup that looks loverly. It's a wee different from mine, but that's cool - I like seeing how we all do things differently.

I figure, what with this pernicious plague still hounding folks, a nice curative recipe would be a good thing - and wasn't Kit nice to do all the work for me? Thanks, Kit!!

Six

Susan posted this on her blog, and I am drawing a blank, sooo...guess what?? I am ganking a Meme from someone else to fill space here while my brain slowly melts out my ears and I sit here in a funk - although not funky. because I spent money I can't spare on a few bars of my favorite soap. Right, on with this nonsense!

Six Things That Never Fail to Make Me Smile

1. My son, especially when he laughs his free, easy, belly-laugh.

2. Goofy, screwball romances - especially in a nice, hot, scented bath with candles, music, and a locked door so no one can wander in and start nattering at me when all I want is a few minute's peace. Ahem.

3. Mike Rowe - oh, especially that episode where he was in Hawaii and took a bath in that little stream...yowza! (Mike, I'm totally not a stalker or a freak, I swear. I'm harmless. mostly.)(Yeah, 'cause he really reads this blog)

4. Singing a particular section of Dreaming/Om (a song I wrote and perform with my band) during which I feel powerful, connected, and deeply sexy - not things I normally feel.

5. My new umbrella - the one that Kerri found and just knew would be the perfect replacement for the one I lost (and mourned - yes,mourned) last year. Pics later.

6. I'd copy Susan's number six here, but...blush...

Drill, Kill, and Fill

We're off to the dentist's this morning for Bird's root canal/crowning. They're going to pull his weird little front tooth, too - it's hanging on by a very stubborn thread, and the other teeth are all out of whack because of it. Poor kid's going to need braces, anyway, but why exacerbate things??

Wish me luck - I now have to go wake him, get him dressed, and load him into the car, all while making sure he neither eats nor drinks anything because they're knocking him out for this procedure - even thought the dentist said he was the coolest, most relaxed kid he'd seen in the chair. He's a good kid, knows what the dentist is all about, and prone to be more curious than apprehensive about what's going on...but the TV on the ceiling playing Toy Story 2 probably helped a little, too...but it'll be easier all around if he sleeps through this one. Think they'll have something to take the edge off for Daddy? I think he's more nervous than the kid.

I may have to resort to bribery to assuage his ire at no breakfast, no drinks, and no snacks in the car...although we have established that one does not eat before one goes to the dentist...so maybe he won't bee too pissed.

Who am I kidding? I bet he'll be irritated just on principle.

Crash, Bang, Boom

Mostly crash.

Somehow, in the middle of loading photos onto Bob the Wonder Computer yesterday afternoon, something went horribly wrong with Bob's internal mysteries. He froze up, and I had to unplug and remove his battery to shut him down. When I restarted him, he was sluggish and half my programs won't open. His connection to the Internet is tenuous at best, and even after cleaning his cache (you know some one's a friend when they'll clean your cache) and defragging (which is nothing like the decompressing I do for myself, but often has the same benefits)(but with less alcohol), he's slow, hesitant to open programs or files, and is shy of the Internet.

So.

I am using Dino, the desktop brute, which is one step more evolved than knocking two rocks together to communicate. Dino doesn't have any of my pictures or Word files on it, barely has my preferred Internet interface, and occasionally freezes while it ponders the deeper meaning of 101001100101010011100.

Sigh.

I went through this last year, and our roommate's brother fixed it...but he has since lost his ever-lovin' mind and I'm not sure how I feel about entrusting my beloved Bob to a madman. Although, come to think of it...I'm mad, and Bob does fine for me. Meanwhile, I am doing the few things I know to do to help Bob feel better - I'm purging files, defragging, crunching extraneous cookies, and generally trying to give him more internal room to work - he only has 23% capacity left, and I think he's feeling crowded in there.

If I don't comment as often as usual on your blog, or post every day here, it's because I am trying to get Bob better and also fighting the Evil Genius for time on Dino. Wish me luck!

Der Schnee, Der Schneeeeee!!!

Or, you know, snow.

It's snowing here in Georgia. To think just last week we were outside in shorts, mourning the fact that we never got any snow this Winter. Hah!!

Right now, it's mostly slush falling, a mix of sleet, snow, and freezing rain...but my friends South of me swear it's coming down in big, fluffy flakes, a real Winter wonderland, so I'm hoping we get that, too. Bird really wants to go play in some snow...

In honor of our erstwhile snow day, I am baking banana bread, brewing some organic, fair trade coffee, and hanging with my family. Later, I'm going to take some of the bread over to the neighbors.

The house is cleaner that it's been in a long while, because I thought I had band rehearsal today...but the band had other ideas - no one wants to be stuck here overnight if it freezes (and it probably will, because if it doesn't freeze, we won't lose power, and I think it's a local ordinance that when it snows or sleets or freezes, we have to lose power) so we're going to try to get together tomorrow. It smells lovely - baked goods are better than potpourri, hands down.

Shh, don't look now - but I think I just saw some really, truly, big fat snowy flakes falling past the window.

Yay!

All Good Things Come to an End

The gallery show ends today. We had a few folks pass through, but it was a slow month all around, even for the gallery. I don't know what, if anything, we sold, won't know until later next month when they'll send a check and (hopefully) a list of what we sold...or when we do an inventory, if we can be bothered. I know one person wanted to talk to K about designing a logo for him...hopefully that will come to fruition.


Meanwhile, I am spending today at the gallery with S, taking down the show and cleaning out the room for the next artist. If I can figure out how, I'll be putting the framed and matted pieces up on my Etsy site later this month. I know you're just holding your breath...


I am considering trying to mount a full showing later this year or sometime next year, filling the room in its entirety with my work (maybe a few really big pieces, if I can manage to get them printed), but it depends on our finances and whether I can manage to put together more framed art. Ah, well...one may dream...

Still (Horse) Crazy, After All These Years

When I was a kid, I was horse mad. It's the rare girl who isn't horse mad, actually - it seems we're hard wired to love the beasts on sight, even when they bite, kick, throw us, or step on our feet and lean. We love them despite the smell and the copious amounts of fecal matter we have to shovel up when they leave it lying around, and despite them blowing snot on us, farting shamelessly, and the insane amount of hay, grain, and water we have to give them to keep body and soul together...not to mention the apples, carrots, bread, sugar cubes, and corn husks and cobs they crave for snacks. Hmm...maybe it's nature's way of getting us ready for guys. I kid, I kid! Mostly...

Some girls never grow out of their horse crazy phase. I'm one of those. I love them with a madness that is immeasurable, and one of the things I miss most from my not-fat-not-always-broke days is riding. I learned English but switched to Western when I discovered the joys of the trail ride - I was always tall (topping out at five foot, ten inches), and riding for miles with my knees in my teeth wasn't much fun. I liked the free and easy feel of Western riding, the more substantial saddle, the feeling of security that I had when I could drop my heels down and feel myself rooted in that saddle. Jumping in a western saddle was right out, but my cousin C was the jumper, the better horsewoman all around, not me. I was terrified of real jumping, never going much higher than the cavaletties (sp??) that my instructor insisted I try on a regular basis. I just like riding along at an amble, communing with nature and the horse and generally achieving a sort of equine-enhanced Zen state.

The two worst almost-falls I ever had were on trail rides, and I came out of both incidents better off than the horse did. That was thanks to my English training, when it was really important to know how to come out of a saddle - those stirrups are short, one's balance is all off-kilter, and it's all so...insecure. I was glad enough for the training, though, because I could turn a bad fall into a controlled dismount even when the horse was suddenly subject to a gravity-well and untied shoelaces, or fairies, or whatever made them jump, stumble, and fall.

I miss all of that, even the shovelling of shit and the occasional buck, rear, shy, or fall. I miss the smell of horse, leather, saddle soap, barn, and sweat. I miss the creak of the leather, the sigh and snort of the animal, and the slow, gentle sough of my legs being rubbed raw because I wore absolutely the wrong pants for a trail ride. Oops.

I've been told I can ride, even now, because horses can carry a lot of weight...but honestly? I can just see the horses rolling their eyes and trying to fake a limp when they see me come walking into the stable. I can't make some poor critter haul my fifty-acre...umm...make that forty-eight acre...ass around a ring, let alone on a trail. I'll wait. It's one of the...ahem...carrots I am holding out to myself to continue losing weight.

What made me think of all this? Several things, actually, a kind of serendipity or synchronicity, if you will - I just finished reading a book about a woman who runs away from her husband to live on a horse farm, where she trains for Dressage (among other adventures), an article in National Geographic from a month or so ago, about Mustangs and the BLM's herd management techniques, and the horse trailer I followed for a few miles last night that had the bumper-sticker reading "My horse is smarter than you honor student" on the rear door.

I watched as little girls craned their necks to see the horses in the trailer, straining to catch a glimpse as they rode in the back seat of their parent's cars, following with their eyes for as long as they could before they had to turn back around or were out of sight. I actually slowed down so I wouldn't block one girl's view, a gesture of Universal Sisterhood in All Things Equine.

I just remembered one of life's great cruelties - I loved horses but was an adequate rider at best. Big Brother was indifferent to the animals, and he could have ridden for the Olympics, he was that good. Sigh. Life can be so unfair.

Horsin' Around - some horsey links to feed the madness:

Unwanted Horse Coalition - they do good work.

The Pinto Horse Association - because I learned to ride on the orneriest Pinto on the planet, and I loved her.

Horse Types of the World - an invaluable site if you can't tell a Paint from a Palomino. I have used this site extensively while researching for stories. If I ever make a million, I'll thank them with presidential portraits in green, but for now, a link on my blog will have to do.

An finally, a link to the online version of the National Geographic story about Mustangs. I admit, I got a bit weepy when I read the anecdote that began the article...sniff...

Anthropomorphizing Cats

Every morning, before I make my own breakfast, I feed the outdoor kitties. If I forget, or am running late, or have to get moving and go out, I feed them later, but they let me know about it - they linger in the driveway, under cars, on the steps, meowing at me. They've become quite vocal.

I watch them out the windows, when they walk about my part of the neighborhood. They make a little parade, sometimes the three young ones following Ginger Tom, sometimes following Little Mother, sometimes all of them together, promenading along. Their tails wave to and fro, they hold their heads up high - it's quite a sight.

I wonder, sometimes, how aware they are of their relationship to each other. Ginger Tom is definitely the papa of the young ones, and he may be the papa of the new batch Little Mother is carrying now. They way he lead them about when they were younger, it certainly looked like he knew they were his. The same with Little Mother - she led her little brood from place to place, and I know she was aware they were hers.

These days, Little Mother is as prone to growl and swat the young ones on the head if they try to eat before her. I think she's telling them "Hey, give me some respect!"

This morning, as soon as I stepped onto the front stoop, Little Bit and Ginger Tom ran up to greet me. Ginger Tom has humans who keep him, and he'll let me pet him. Little Bit is feral, and skittish, but she'll come quite close if I keep still. This morning, I held some bits of food in my hand, and she inched nearer, meowing and...purring! I know they purr when nervous as well as when happy, a sort of placatory sound.

She walked beneath my arm as I was petting Ginger Tom, a ghost of a touch brushing against me. I figured why not and reached out to her, and...she let me pet her! Only the slightest caress, the briefest contact - but I pet her! She ran a few steps away and looked confused, but she came back to me and tolerated another ephemeral touch before she decided she'd had enough, danced away, and sat meowing until I poured food into the bowl. She seems relieved when I came back indoors.

I'm hoping she'll let me pet her again, perhaps one day even sit with her for a while. Hope springs eternal.

Hoping for Justice

My friend L is in Florida right now, waiting for a trial to end, hoping for justice for her daughter.

There's a lot of back story to this, more than I feel I can or should share, but in a nutshell: L's daughter P was in her father's custody. Her father abused her. She reported the abuse to the authorities and her mother two years ago, and they've been going through the legal system since. P is a minor, in her teens now. The man in question is facing a minimum of three counts of abuse, with the possibility of up to ninety years in prison if found guilty on all counts.

Two years ago, L wasn't sure if she believed her daughter. What if the girl was simply expressing teen rebellion, angry at her father and striking out? Today, she is utterly convinced the girl was and is telling the truth - the evidence is overwhelming. She has been there throughout the trial, listening to the testimony of strangers as they dissect her daughter's life, her abuse, and the short and long term trauma such abuse engenders. With one exception, she has heard what everyone had to say about the man with whom she left her daughter, believing the child safe, as a child should be with her father.

The one exception? P didn't want her mother in the room when she testified. Dear goddess, how terrible that must have been - to know you must speak of things you mother shouldn't hear, to be strong enough to say you won't let her hear them, and to be L waiting, waiting, waiting, knowing that your child is telling strangers things no one should ever have to tell.

Today, they are giving closing arguments. After this, P, L, and everyone who loves them, will be hoping for justice. None of us doubts that the man did what he's accused of, what the evidence proves. None of us has any illusions that justice is a sure thing. All we can do is wait and hope.

Hope springs eternal...

What Say You?

Photo courtesy of V. Shoemaker (thanks, V!!)

What the...?

OK, no more chocolate chip, walnut, cherry cookies before bed - aside from the fact that they go straight to my arse, apparently they cause odd dreams. No really...it had to be the cookie, and nothing to do with the fact that I am queen of the weird or something. Oh, please tell me it was the cookie...

I feel the need to preface this by saying that I may have a modicum of geekery in me - I love my titanuim spork and travel chopsticks (made, in part, of recycled Japanese baseball bats), and when I was younger I very much wanted to be the voice of the Computer on Star Trek. I didn't want any other part of me on the show, but I always wished I could be that voice. I watched Star Trek often, have a Tribble of my very own (it guards the couch from invaders), and adored TNG when it came on, even if I had strong opinions about how they developed the psychic abilities of Troi and was pissed they killed off Yar (because, damn!).

I dreamed that I was having a conversation with Wil Wheaton and another fellow who shall be labelled "Wil's Friend" or "WF" for short, sort of online and sort of in real person, but mostly online. C'mon, it was a dream, cut my wrinkly brain a break, OK?

So anyway, Mr. Wheaton and WF were talking about some kind of computer geekery that was way over my head, even my dream head (which is usually much smarter than my real head...at least in my dreams), and Mr. Wheaton was building little Lego streetlamps that actually lit up. He was building them for another friend who was not present, and I must say they were clever little things.

Anyway, they were talking about something computery and I asked them what the difference between one thing and another was, and they got very animated and did...something...and next thing I know Mr. Wheaton had seized root and was noodling with Bob.

Umm...OK that sounds a little dirty. Lemme explain. "Seize root", for them as what don't speak geek (and believe me, I don't usually) means "take control of, remotely". I'm sorry to disappoint the Google pervs. Bob, for the uninitiated, is my computer. Feel better, now?

Anyway, he started noodling with Bob, and suddenly my computer was doing things faster than you could say...umm...whatever you say when things go really, really fast. It was cool. I was inside an artery of information, letters and numbers making up the artery walls, glowing green, crimson, blue, some bright, some dim. The walls of the artery were pulsing, and Wil (I feel I should call him Wil, now he's gotten personal with Bob and all) was telling me about how the artery was clogged with information and it needed cleaning out.

Did I mention it was all glowy and pretty? It was. And then the program I'd been running on Bob shut down, the artery collapsed, and...well, I woke up, dang it. I was really keen to see Wil finish the little street lamps and find out how he cleaned out Bob's arteries and made them all glowy and bright again. Sigh.

Sorry, Mr. Wheaton...I didn't mean to include you in the madness. I blame the cookie.

It was an awfully good cookie, though...

Thoughtfetti

Last night I was munching on some leftover conversation hearts - you know, those candies that range from chalk to granite in texture and flavor, with the occasional plastic fruit taste for fun? Anyway, I was eating a handful of those and I got a message that made me pause my consumption for a good laugh - because choking on a conversation heart? not how I envision my demise.

It said "E-Z 2 Plez", which, if my L33T speak isn't entirely off-base, translates into "Easy to please".

Hah! Hahahahahahahah!!!

I'm going to start my own line of snarky hearts that say things like "Pain in my Azz" and "Hi-Maintenance" and "Psycho" and "I Stalk U". Whadaya think?
~~~~~

It's chilly and windy out, a perfect day to have the in-laws over for pancakes and bacon. They're working safety over at the track this weekend, and I like to invite them for breakfast on Sunday - they have a two-hour break on Sunday morning when cars can't run, a local ordinance put into place many years ago because of the churches in the ares. I guess God and auto racing don't go together.
~~~~~

I love bacon and syrup. Yes, I do. This is why I have a (shrinking, slowly shrinking) fifty-acre ass. If I was in Seattle, I would go to Voo-Doo doughnuts and, after giving them a ration about the Voo-Doo thing, buy maple-bacon doughnuts and die happy.
~~~~~

Does anyone else get a kick out of watching the Barett-Jackson auction and thinking of what they'd do with the money besides buy used cars? OK, OK, so they're classic cars and they're beautiful and I'd love to own at least half of them...but I'd rather have land and my dream house first.
~~~~~
I have band practice at my house today and tomorrow. I cleaned my house yesterday so folks would have somewhere to sit and not have crunchy feet...but you wouldn't know that to look at it now. How does one small boy make that much mess?? Maybe they won't notice...

Bird Talk

Hey, it's me, Bird. Sometimes Mommy calls me The Evil Genius, except she make the "t" little, which is wrong because it's part of a title or name or something, and shouldn't it be big? Sometimes Mommy is just silly like that - she doesn't always follow the rules. I like it when we don't follow the rules together.

Mommy isn't feeling well right now, and she didn't feel like writing a blog today, so I decided I would do it for her. I'm not supposed to be on the Internet by myself, but she's in the kitchen cooking and cleaning and making a frowny face, so I'm not really alone...not really. Usually when I am online, I play games, but she writes every day for the blog and I didn't want her to have an empty day.

Mommy's heart hurts...not in a doctor kind of way, in a sad kind of way, and it's making her feel bad. She always tells me when she's sad, it isn't my fault, and the place in her heart where I am is happy, but sometimes it's very quiet and the sad part is loud, and she just has to let it play like a big brass band until it runs out of steam. I didn't know bands played with steam. I'd like to see that. I wonder how they make it...maybe they have a big kettle under the stage, only wouldn't that be hot? And drums don't like steam or damp, because then they go dull and thumpy and sound bad. Sometimes I don't understand Mommy.

She says I should follow my dreams and I can be whatever I strive to be when I grow up. Sometimes, she says she wishes she had listened to her heart before it was too late and she got too old and tired.

She's tired all the time...she says it's because her spirit is worn down. I think it's because she had a birthday, and she doesn't like them - she says they just remind her she's getting older and that's all she's doing. How can you not like birthdays? Last year, I had mine at Chuck-E-Cheese, and it was so much fun! This year it was at home, but some of my friends came and we played with all my toys and ran around and had strawberries and cake, but Mommy didn't do any of that for her birthday. She did dishes and had a res reese resepshun reception at the gallery, and I got to play at the park next door and run down to the lake and make Daddy run back up three-million steps because when we got to the bottom I had to go potty, and the potty was up at the top. Daddy said his heart was exploding, but I didn't see any smoke.

I'm going to help mommy make cookies, because she always laughs when I help her because sometimes the flour goes all over and sometimes I get dough on me and we always lick the spoons together. Daddy like cookies when they come out of the oven, but Mommy won't let me eat them until they cool off because she says the chocolate chips are like little chocolate lava bombs and she doesn't want me to burn my tongue. Wouldn't it be funny of there was a chocolate volcano? But messy, too, and we'd always have to wash our faces and hands, so maybe it wouldn't be so much fun. Making cookies is fun, though.

Oh, I have to go now because I see the owl in the tree and I want to show Mommy because she likes him! Bye-bye.

It's How I Roll, Yo

Every night now and then, we run out of traditional dinner fare at Casa de Crazy. On those regular rare occasions, I may have to improvise a meal.

Often, that means scrambled eggs and toast, or some kind of fritata-from-the-leftovers, or a quick dial-up to one of the two places that will deliver food to our door for a mortgage payment nominal fee.

On rarer occasions, I'll have some crescent-rolls-in-a-tube on hand, and I have some fun rolling random ingredients up in them.

A few nights ago, I found myself wondering what I could have for dinner that didn't involve dialing the phone. T was out if town, the Evil Genius supped on a sumptuous feast of leftover pizza (cold,natch) and milk, and I didn't feel like messing up a whole lot of pots and pans for dinner for one.

I remembered the crescent rolls. And the peperoni. And the chopped peppers, and the onion, and the chunk o' cheddar cheese. Woo-hoo, dinner was on! On half the crescents I layered pepperoni, cheese, peppers and onions, rolled 'em up, and pinched the edges closed to help fend off leakage. On the other half of the rolls I spread a bit of orange marmalade, sprinkled a few chocolate chips (Ghiradelli 60% cacao, no less) and some dried cherries. Rolled 'em up, pinched the edges, and baked the lot at 350 for 18 minutes.

I'll be walking them off for a month, but it was totally worth it!

So...how do you roll??

Mother of the Year I Ain't

Yesterday I took the Evil Genius to the dentist - he has a few stubborn baby teeth that are mucking up the distribution of his grown-up teeth, and last checkup they found a cavity which they wanted to fill (it's a baby tooth, but it's a molar and will be there for a while, so it needs filling).

A cavity.

In my six-year-old's tooth.

You know whose fault that is - not his, that's whose. It's the fault of the mother who didn't make sure his teeth were brushed every night, even when someone else said they'd take care of it.

So now he has a filling, but that wasn't enough. Nope. The dentist informed me that the cavity was massive - his word, too - and right at the nerve, so my SIX YEAR OLD CHILD needs a crown. A crown!! And a root canal!! At six!!!!!!!!!

I drove home feeling like a shitheel, even though my cheerful little guy didn't care a whit and wanted to know if he could have a biscuit for breakfast (no, he couldn't, since it was lunch time and anyway, he still had a numb mouth and couldn't have solid food until he could feel his face again. He got milk and some cheddar bunnies instead.)(Yes, cheddar bunnies are solid food, but you try telling a kid that cute and hungry he can't eat.)(Didn't think so)

Today we are off to the pediatric dentist, who will possibly drill, kill, and fill while I quietly sit in the corner and lambaste myself with recriminations and self-loathing...because my six-year-old will now have a dead tooth and a stainless steel crown.

I'm the anti-mother-of-the-year, is what I am.

Crab Dip A Go-Go

OK, so maybe not a go-go...I'm not entirely sure I know what that means, although it sure is fun to say...but I did make it to go, so does that count? I made this dip for Sunday's reception at the gallery, because what says "Buy my art!!" like crab dip? Also, I noodled with the idea of feeding people this dip and then remarking that folks would get a free breath mint with every photo they bought. Classy, huh? I didn't do that, though. I forgot the mints.

The cast:

14 oz. crab meat

8 oz. package cream cheese

1 cup mayonnaise

1/2 cup sour cream

1/2 teaspoon Old Bay seasoning

1 tablespoon Worcestershire

1/4 teaspoon Tabasco sauce

3 cloves garlic, pressed

Cayenne pepper - a dash will do

Salt to taste

Aaaand...action!

Soften cream cheese .

Mmm...doesn't that look...well...just awful? Yeah, it doesn't get any prettier...but this isn't about pretty, it's about tasty!

Combine with mayonnaise and sour cream.

For heaven's sake, don't let it sit there looking like this - mix it, quick!

Add Tabasco, Worcestershire, cayenne, salt, garlic and Old Bay seasoning.

I chopped my garlic because I don't have a squeezer-crusher thingy...and anyway, I like chunks o' garlic...don't you?

Stir in crab meat. Taste and adjust seasoning. I ended up using about 16 ounces of crab, an extra clove of garlic (no fear of vampire fish, here), and a few extra shakes of cayenne and Tabasco, because I like the little bit of after burn they provide.

I know it doesn't look very impressive...but looks can be deceiving.

This is a very basic dip - for variation in texture and flavor, add chopped bell peppers or sliced green onions just before serving.

Make a few hours (or better yet, a day) ahead of time and chill thoroughly before serving.

Serve with crackers, Melba toast, or anything suitable for dipping.

Crow Heart

crows are history keepers
not historians,
keepers
different
they don't wonder
study
guess
crows know
they were there
and they know
one to another, they tell
one crow
to a murder
they relay battles
won and lost
crows never forget
if you know how to listen
they will tell you, too

I think my heart is a crow.

Doing the Bump(er)

Do not meddle in the affairs of cats, for they are subtle and will pee on you while you sleep.

I'm looking forward to regretting this.

I'd love to trade caller ID for caller IQ.

I don't want buns of steel - I want buns of cinnamon.

I'd like to verb your noun.

Closer to Home

All photographs were taken with a Kodak Easy Share cx7525 camera and are unretouched. Except for cropping, the pictures have not been manipulated in any way.

We come to the end of the virtual show. Thanks for sticking with me through all of it! Today, I am officially one year older than I was yesterday. I'm at the gallery, helping host a reception for our show and for a second show the gallery is holding, and trying to ignore the fact that another year has flown past and I haven't published, still have a humongous arse, and am feeling rather lumpy and useless right now. Oh, well.

Meanwhile, here's the last of the virtual show - the real one will hang until the end of the month.

All photographs were taken with a Kodak Easy Share cx7525 camera and are unretouched. Except for cropping, the pictures have not been manipulated in any way.

~~~~~

Turtle

Turtle

Hello friend
How do you do?
It’s a curious sort of day
When there’s a turtle in the wheelbarrow
How did he get there?
He can’t have flown
Could he?

We have quite a bit of yard, more than people who are not gardeners need. We can’t keep up with it, really – one Summer, the grass grew so high we called the back yard our own Serengeti and looked for the giraffes that must surely come along at any moment. One of our neighbors felt sorry for us, took pity on our son (and his desire to play in the yard) and stealth-mowed it for us one afternoon when we were away. Finally, we hired a lawn service, an extravagance indeed. They were very thorough, and much to my delight, observant – they found this turtle in the grass near the woods and moved him before he became something entirely less engaging via a good mowing. My son was fascinated – little boys and turtles, peas and carrots. To keep him safe, the gentleman who found him placed him in our sad, rusty, entirely ill-used wheelbarrow. Once the lawn service was gone, we released our new friend. I suppose he’s still about, but he’s careful to avoid places where he may run into my son and my son’s curiosity.
~~~~~Dangerous Lady

Dangerous Lady

She is quiet
Just fed
Perhaps napping
I cannot tell
She is less a danger to me
Than her web can be
Stretched across the stairs
Found by my face in the night
A gossamer reminder
That I share my home with many

These spiders have long fascinated me. I don’t know their proper name, but am hardly bothered by my ignorance – I call them Writing Spiders and am content with that moniker. This one had spun her web in a bush at Ft. Yargo State park, and was as long as my thumb. I wonder what stories her weaving tells? Some universal mysteries are best left to themselves, I suppose.
~~~~~Harbinger

Harbinger

One
Little
Yellow
Flower
Became a burst
Of fireworks
But first
It was
One
Little
Yellow
Flower

Braselton, Ga - The forsythia is anxious to be the first to announce spring. It doesn’t seem to mind that sometimes it is too soon, that it will probably be dusted with snow or glazed with ice or suffer wind, rain, and chill – it has felt the hints of spring in its roots and it will shout for all to see, Spring! Spring! Spring!
~~~~~Ascension

Ascension

Upwardly mobile
In an achingly slow fashion
The snail was wise enough
To avoid the poison ivy
Where it was wise
I was merely lucky

In Oakwood, Georgia, just beside the highway, is Elachee Nature Center. They have miles of walking trails that are open to the public, the science center to members. We have a membership, but spend more time on the trails than inside. The trails offer trees, ferns, bushes, flowers, fungi, birds, animal tracks, frogs, lizards…and snails. We decided to take a hike one day that turned into a six mile jaunt through woods, over creeks, up and down hills, and quite possibly through time and fairy realms, too. Who knows? This snail may have been someone’s steed…
~~~~~Froggy Friend

Froggy friend

Oh, hello
It’s lovely and damp here
And I enjoy the trickle
From the hose that is cross-threaded
Will you be my friend?
I’ll sing for you…

Braselton, Ga - Imagine my surprise when I met this fellow one morning! It was before the watering ban, and I would get up early to water the Iris, Morning Glories, Rowan Trees, and the Hosta that I call the Muppet plant because it is large, shaggy, and friendly. The frog hung about for some days before finding less paparazzi-infested places to linger.
~~~~~Blue Glory

Blue Glory

In the morning
They burst
From coiled-tight
Spiral tubes
To brilliant blue trumpets
Sometimes wet with dew
Or collected rain

Braselton, Ga - Some years ago I planted these Morning Glories beside my front stoop, hoping they would climb the trellis I gave them and onto the railing one story above. They did not disappoint. There were two shades of blue, this one and a lighter one. This one has come back on its own, year after year – the lighter one is rare, a prize, and it’s a treasure hunt to find its seeds to save and pant next year. When their heart-shaped leaves begin to unfurl each spring, the waiting game begins – which one will it be? Purple? Medium blue? Light blue? Or some other one the birds have brought me as thanks for the seed...? Morning glories make me smile, they are such happy flowers.

Happy V Day

Dear Reader,

Happy V-Day, y'all.

Lobstah

It's time for our annual lobstah dinner for displaced, relocated, and transplanted northerners here in Georgia - meaning me, Mum, our friend S, the Evil Genius (who is, after all, half Yankee) and T because he is honorary half-northern by marriage to me (and if that's not worth a damn lobster once a year or so, then nothing is).

Lobsters, corn, steamers when we can get them (none this year, alas), melted butter, salad, and some sort of desert if we can cram it down our gullets. Let the games begin!

Read about last year's fun here.

Out and About

All photographs were taken with a Kodak Easy Share cx7525 camera and are unretouched. Except for cropping, the pictures have not been manipulated in any way.

Back to the virtual show...on the homestretch, now...the last post in this series will drop on Sunday.

~~~~~


Yellow Roof

Yellow Roof

I fancied there was someone there
Hiding under the yellow roof
Of his mushroom house
Some Gnome or Fay creature
Biding his time until I looked away
And he was gone in a mote of light

Clarkesville, Ga, Dragon’s Rest wood - For someone who dislikes dining on mushrooms, I sure do photograph them a lot. White, red, green, grey, and yellow, when I spot them I’m like a child who has noticed half-buried treasure – I can’t wait to take their picture. It is possible I’m hoping that the photograph will show more than a fungus…that maybe this time, I will see a face peeking from behind the stem. This bright yellow surprise was half-hidden in my mother’s woods, waiting for me to notice and wonder if anyone was home.
~~~~~
The Road Taken


The Road Taken

So many people regret
The road not taken
Wondering “What if…?”
When the day is grey
And the path long
But I…I wonder
About the road taken
What is ahead,
Around the bend,
Beyond the clouds?

Clarkesville, Ga - My Mum and I were en route to the GHCA one Autumn morning when I snapped this picture. It had been raining, but the sun was working to shine through the clouds. It was a good day to be creative…or to sit by a fire with a cup of tea, some cookies, and a good book. I stared out the windows and was awestruck by the road, the trees, the clouds…happy to be there, in the moment.
~~~~~
Suwanee Fountain


Suwanee Fountain

Somehow the light knew
What I wanted
And it obliged

That day, that Summer day in Suwanee Ga, I was so angry. My mouth was pursed, my eyes squinched and mean, my temper short. It was a very bad day to be out in the world, let alone with four little boys of varying ages and dispositions, but my son needed to play with his friends, to be out of the house and moving about, and I needed to be with my friends, too. I squashed that anger down, down, deep down, and played with the boys, all the boys, wrestling them in the grass when they tired of the fountain’s play, and chasing them around the park, squeals of laughter and giddy giggles following after us, streamers of joy. The day changed, the light changed, and for one timeless moment everything was lit within, without, all about. The fountain flowed mercury-silver, time hung all uncertain between minutes, and I forgot that I was angry for a little while.
~~~~~
Smiling Sun


Smiling Sun

He may be faded
Weathered
A bit cracked and creaky
But this old man’s smile
Welcomes all comers
With equal warmth

This wooden sculpture hangs on my mother’s house, almost blending in with the wall. I made her a card of this photo, which she sent as a greeting to a friend in Afghanistan, a reminder of home and friends and the time he’s spent hunting in the woods nearby. Even in the desert, the sun – this sun – is a friend.

Search Me

Let's take another break from all that artsy-fartsy stuff. I figure the one reader I have remaining at this point might appreciate a brief pause in the photo-onslaught. I checked out my search stats and found some fascinating terms that led people to my little patch of Blogopolis, and as usual, I feel the need to share the weirdness.
~~~~~

smell of spunk - Ah, yes, the latest perfume in the Martha Stewart line at K-Mart...

pictures of animals that sleep the longest - My cats could certainly be in the running for this one...

how to carrot in sweet water - Umm...is this some kind of euphemism?? Because I'm a little slow on the uptake with those...just sayin'...

clam hogs of new england with mike rowe - I have no idea what that is, but if it involves Mike Rowe, I'm game!

magnetic storm windows chicago - I didn't know they had an album by that name...

Blow Me

Gusting winds, glowering sky, rain in fits and starts, and the possibility of tornadoes.

I don't care, I was here first.

And I'm still going to the gallery in the morning. But first - I'm for a walk in the wild weather. See you in Oz!

Playful Polymer

A few more of S's delightful pieces!

The next three are pins...

Bird of Fantasy

Little Compton, RI

All photographs were taken with a Kodak Easy Share cx7525 camera and are unretouched. Except for cropping, the pictures have not been manipulated in any way.

Tiger Heart

Tiger Heart

In the tall grass
Ignoring the poison ivy
Thrusting boldly
From the surrounding greenery
A blaze of orange
Proud
Wild
And a little fierce

These happy flowers were growing alongside Round Pond Road in Little Compton, RI – a few here, a few there, unmindful of the profusion of poison ivy and roadside grasses that seemed determined to keep the Tiger Lilies contained. I adore bold, sassy flowers, blooms that thrive in the unlikeliest of places and share their cheerful disposition with passers-by.
~~~~~Echinacea Harvester

Echinacea Harvester

Little cousin
Flying sister
What kept you so long upon
This blossom?
Surely it was some marvelous scent
Or flavor
That captivated you so thoroughly
That I could photograph you
With impunity

I think everyone who sets out to photograph nature, to capture her in bits and pieces, little vignettes, has one of these shots – I’ve seen so many of them, they could fill a book. A bee on an Echinacea flower is about as Summery as it gets. Bees are a blessing, and their recent decline has been worrying. I was glad to see this one, so intent upon her flower that she never paid me any mind at all.
~~~~~Seaside Rose and Lady


Seaside Rose and Lady

Warm and pink-scented
With a touch of the sea
The breeze made her hiding place
Bob and sway
But she didn’t mind the motion
It was more the tourists
Interlopers
Who gave her pause

I used to walk along Round Pond Road when I was younger, all the way down to the sea. Little Compton is a small town in a small state, and for a girl in her teens, confused about the world and why people behaved as they did, there was something wonderful about the rosehips, so beautiful, so ordinary, growing along the road. I walked with friends, with my father’s mother, and alone, and just seeing this image beings me right back to the road, to the pebbles and stones under my feet, the hushing of the little waves rolling along the not-too-distant shore, the smell of sun on stone, sun on sand, sun on my skin, sun on the plants and the seaweed and the sea. I wanted a picture of one of the flowers, almost all of them faded or turned into the tomato-like rosehips. Not until I was home, looking through the photos, did I spy the lady, demure in her flower-bower. To this day, she brings a smile to my lips.

Oz Burning

Australia is aflame, and has been for days.



I hope my friends there are safe. I hope strangers there are safe. I know people are suffering, and I hope it stops soon.

Jekyll (no Hyde)

All photographs were taken with a Kodak Easy Share cx7525 camera and are unretouched. Except for cropping, the pictures have not been manipulated in any way.

Kaleri Resurrection Fern

Kaleri Resurrection Fern

Bump, bump, bumpy
Cicatrized
They cling to trees
Nestle in roots
Tiny brown clumps
Of life-to-be
Until rain comes
Wakes the green
Uncurling
Born anew

A few years after my son was born, I took a trip to Jekyll Island, Ga. I had been before and fallen in love with the trees there, with the beaches and wooden walkways, and the old bookstore that smelled of dust and time, as bookstores should. I went because I needed a break, a collection of moments that didn’t include nappies, snacks, temper-tantrums, cooking, dishes, laundry, the endless litany of house-keepery and mothering. I spent three days on Jekyll, walking and photographing anything that didn’t move away fast enough. Trees are remarkable un-movish. There were ferns in the trees, some brown and crumbly and some thriving. Someone told me they were resurrection ferns, seeming dead until warmth and rain woke them from their winter slumber. I called them Kaleri Ferns because the bumps (fern spores) reminded me of the scars on the Kaleri, an African tribe that decorates their bodies with scar patterns to look like crocodiles or other fierce creatures.

~~~~~

Beautiful Roof

But the View...

Out or In?

Step Into My Parlor

Beautiful Roof; But the View…; Out or In?; Step Into My Parlor

Old house
Once proud
Wealthy
Was a plantation
When such things were common
Built of tabby
(not the cat, the material)
Still weathering storms
Despite no roof,
No windows
No doors
No people to shelter any more

Jekyll Island, Ga - Oh, what to do when the skies are such a blue, and clear, clear, clear? Photograph the remains of the Horton House on Jekyll, of course! The house is built of tabby, a material comprised of shells, sand, lime, and water. Lately, the house has been restored, and so the walls have a two-tone look to them. I’ve never come across another tabby house. It is wonderful stuff, textured, groovy, colorful. I found the spider hole by accident, or perhaps cosmic design, and was delighted…what a beautiful home she has!

More of K

Again with the dark, blurry photos...I think my camera is possessed!

Gaia's Garden, Winter - acrylic on canvas


Gaia's Garden, Dusk - acrylic on canvas

K's favorite piece in the show - I am going back to the gallery to try and get a better picture because this is such a lovely piece...
Water color

Crone Tree - acrylic on canvas

A Celtic knotwork piece...watercolor

This one's in one of her coloring books, too, and I've had a lot of fun with it...watercolor

Moon Goddess - acrylic on canvas (that's silver, not white)

The Galery Show, Grave Matters

All photographs were taken with a Kodak Easy Share cx7525 camera and are unretouched. Except for cropping, the pictures have not been manipulated in any way.

Is it wrong that I'm posting the cemetery pictures on T's Birthday? Nothing personal, hun.

~~~~~

Soldier's Rest

Soldier’s Rest

Oh, how weary I am become
How sore of foot, of heart
And longing for a place to rest my head
I seek peaceful ground
Hallowed not by the blood of my fellows
Not by loss, pain, sorrow, fear, glory
But rather blessed by the shade of grand trees
The hymn of the gentle wind
A bit of earth to call my own
For all eternity

In Clarkesville, Ga, behind the main drag and somewhat easy to miss, is a forlorn little graveyard. I imagine at one time it was quite fine, with headstones, footstones all erect and easily read. Family plots were walled in, fenced, tidy. Today, the stones are tumbled, toppled, gone entirely, sometimes nothing more than a declivity to mark where someone rests. The fences rust, bend, creak, break, and make way for the trees that began as lovingly planted saplings but now reach high and wide for the sun and sky. The few stones still standing are not easy to read. The place has been largely forgotten – but not entirely. If you go on certain days (determined by a judicious application of chaos to the calendar), you may meet an odd little man. He is affable, chatty, liable to follow you as you traipse around the graves, telling you tales of hauntings and how he was called to tidy the place up a bit, to haul away trash and neaten the jumbled stones and put a little spit and polish where it will do some good. If you listen, he will tell you how many bags of trash he’s hauled, how many hours, days he’s worked. He has pictures of his ghostly sightings and will tell you about the people beneath your feet. It was not he who put the flags and metal markers on the graves, but he will make sure they look sharp. There’s a wealth of history where the dead sleep…
~~~~~

Floating Window

Floating Window

Outside the sun
Blasted downward
A fury of rays
Within the coolth
Of the quiet crypt
Floated the light
Filtered through glass
A vision in the dark

Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta, Ga, is worth a visit whether you fancy being among the departed or no. The crypts, the mausoleums, are as fine as any house, sometimes nicer. I went in the Autumn, but the day was as hot as any in the Summer. I was grateful that long-ago people planted trees as memorials, planted gardens for plots, placed benches for longer visits – the shade was a benediction. The crypt doors were often open, the public kept out with iron grills but the interior still visible. Through one doorway, I saw this window, seeming to float in the darkness. I had to shoot it through the grillwork, an opening of perhaps an inch square, and didn’t know until I got home what I might have…the light was too harsh for me to see my view screen!
~~~~~
Bark Rose

Bark Rose

I know what you see
You’re not alone
Everyone tells me
What it looks like
A bark rose

I find cemeteries to be lovely places, especially the old ones. Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta is as much a garden as a place for the dead to rest their weary bones. This tree grows on a wall, back near the MARTA tracks beside a walkway. The first thing I thought when I saw it was “Oh, a bark rose…”, which is not at all what other folks have said when they've seen the picture. Still…I see a rose. I suppose it’s all in the eye of the beholder…