A Pumpkin Tale Part 9: After The Harvest

October 10th

Pumpkins
Pumpkins tugging at their vines,
Pumpkins growing round and green.
Pumpkins hiding in the leaves,
Pumpkins shyly, smooth and clean.
Pumpkins shining in the rain,
Pumpkins plumping in the sun.
Pumpkins blushing underneath,
Turning orange, one by one.
~ Heather Mitchell Amey

(If you've missed the first seven installments, you might want to read them first, here: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 and Chapter 8.)

What now, you say to yourself...

.....what else could the lady possibly do with these pumpkins? What did the lady do after she harvested the very last pumpkin?

First, she went to the internet and found this site about harvesting pumpkins as well as one called the Pumpkin Nook. Both have a lot of good ideas and information. Guess what? The lady found out that her idea to use a bubble incubator approach was real! The lady had carefully cut the pumpkins off the withered vines, making sure to leave a long stem. She did not carry the pumpkins by the stem but cradled them gently in her arms... and they were heavy.

She wiped off any loose dirt covering the pumpkins. A warm bath was drawn with a 10% chlorine bleach solution and the pumpkins were bathed with a soft cloth, one by one. After rinsing, they were dried and their skins buffed to a shiny glow. Then they were weighed.... Yes, I think this would be the perfect place to put the final tally.


November 1st

Our grand total is nine; nine wonderful fairytale pumpkins. How big? The smallest pumpkin weighed in at four pounds. We have four weighing in at seven pounds each; one ten pounder; two wonderfully shaped at seventeen pounds each and one heavyweight pumpkin coming in at twenty-one pounds. A grand total of 97 pounds worth of wonderful pumpkin.


November 25th

The pumpkins are now curing; that is, they are sitting on soft cushions in the sunroom. The humidity is controlled with a dehumidifier and they get sun most of the day. The lady turns them every other day. Contrary to what some sites told her, the earlier pumpkins have turned fully orange over time. She is hopeful that these last four will also mature over time as well.

What's next for the fairytale pumpkins?

... Now we will explore the "inner" pumpkin and some of the tasty treats in store.

(Only a few more chapters in our story... will we have a happy ending?) (end of post)

Ready For Tea!

China cup. (Click picture for larger view)

"We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out." ~ Ray Bradbury

A delicate china cup sits on the marble coffee table, waiting for tea time. Hot tea with a touch of lemon; good for what ails you. The best tea is blended locally in Chicago; served and sold at Russian Tea Time. If you're in Chicago try it, you won't be disappointed. Russian Tea Time is across the street from the Art Institute Museum of Chicago, around the corner from the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, two blocks north of the Auditorium Theater and two blocks south of Millennium Park. Enjoy!

Submission for Thursday Challenge topic "cup". (end of post)

A Noble Hero of Epic Proportions!?

Stephen, always the "ham", in the mountains around Bayreuth, Germany.
Picture by Diane S. (Click picture for larger view)

"Tenors are noble, pure and heroic and get the soprano, if she has not tragically expired before the final curtain. But baritones are born villains in opera. Always the heavy and never the hero." ~ Leonard Warren (American operatic baritone. 1911-1960)

"If one has not heard Wagner at Bayreuth, one has heard nothing! Take lots of handkerchiefs because you will cry a great deal! Also take a sedative because you will be exalted to the point of delirium!" ~ Gabriel Fauré (1845-1924)

Diane was yelling for him to come down but, ever the dramatic, Stephen struck this pose instead. While I stayed at their apartment in New York, Diane and her husband Alec visited my brother in Germany. After his first performance in Wagner's Ring Cycle, they took to the countryside, visiting villages and mountains... a photographer's dream. Of course our mother will be having heart palpitations when she sees this.

Currently he is in Tokyo playing Florestan in Beethoven's Fidelio. His premier is tonight or yesterday or tomorrow. He said it was "tomorrow"; but in Tokyo, our "today" is his "yesterday" so his "tomorrow" might be our "day after tomorrow", or not. At any rate, there are four performances and then he is back to Vienna for a couple of days and then off to Munich where he will play Erik in Wagner's Der fliegende Holländer. So no Christmas visit this year, we will have Christmas in April.

While I haven't seen all his operas, I have seen Fidelio and it is actually one of the few roles he sings where the character is alive at the end and with a happy ending to boot. (He gets the soprano, she makes it out alive as well!) So, good luck little (younger) brother; "break a leg"!! But not literally!

(end of post)

Potica Bread Revisited

Potica Bread. It's that time again!

"If thou tasteth a crust of bread, thou tasteth all the stars and all the heavens." ~ Robert Browning (1812-1889) English poet

Almost every day I see a site visit from someone searching for "Potica Bread". In the last two weeks the number of "seekers" has increased dramatically; yesterday there were fifteen. It is the season for this fabulous sweet bread, at least in our home. Part of our Christmas tradition for over 25 years now, we have warmed potica bread, bacon and eggs and hot coffee every Christmas morning, before opening packages. A wrapped and ribboned spiral is often given as a special gift to neighbors and friends and very soon the smell of baking bread will fill the house and the taste of cinnamon and brown sugar will mix together in this heavenly treat.

To this end I am including a link to the original recipe I posted last year. I hope this will make it easier to find for anyone who would like to try a loaf. Perhaps it will become a part of your family tradition as well.

(end of post)

Miss Clover: A Little Dignity Please

Clover has definitely lost her dignity. (Click picture for larger view)

"Be mild with the mild, shrewd with the crafty, confiding to the honest.... But in all this, never be unmindful of your own dignity." ~ John Brown

It is too late!!! Miss Clover must not have realized a camera was in such close proximity. She was sunning in her box from Costco while unceremoniously biting her toenails. How many times have I told you NOT to bite your toenails? On top of this she just HAD to scratch behind her ear! Clover, put your leg down! Not only is your tummy showing, but this is extremely unladylike! Your mother, Suzie, would be most dismayed!! After all, you are a CRITS (Cat Raised In The South); you must remember to maintain decorum! Oh, dear me! When Miss Clover sees this, I'm sure she will be mortified!

I doubt she will ever forgive me for letting this picture get out for Tummy Tuesday over at catstuff. There is also a brand new place for kitties and their human charges to visit at gattina's called Cats on Tuesday.

(end of post)

Brooklyn Brownstones

Brooklyn brownstones have been beautifully restored.
(Click picture for larger view)

"People's personalities, like buildings, have various facades, some pleasant to view, some not." ~ François, Duc De La Rochefoucauld (1613-1680)

The area around Prospect Park has not always been either a safe or beautiful neighborhood. For several years now, new life has been moving in; renovation and restoration of these beautiful old brownstones is ongoing. The colors and ornate details bring character and grace back to Brooklyn and the wide variety of style adds a touch of spice. Sprinkle in the small but beautiful entry garden plots and you have a wonderful place to live. I want to go back again in the spring, perhaps the fall, and .... yes, the winter with snow on the ground would be beautiful too.

Submission for Tuesday Challenge topic "buildings". (end of post)

A Pumpkin Tale Part 8: Pumpkins In A Bubble

Pumpkins in the yard, October 20th.
(Click pictures for larger views)

"Life itself is a bubble and a skepticism, and a sleep within sleep." ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882), "Experience," Essays, Second Series (1844).

(If you've missed the first seven installments, you might want to read them first, here: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6 and Chapter 7.)

The sky is gray as leaves change from green to brilliant gold and red; the cold wind howls and the ground grows cold..... Still four brave pumpkins remain in the patch, clinging to life and refusing to give in. The days are so short and the blossoms and bees now long gone. The lady doesn't know if there is enough time for this fairy tale to end happily. These are the larger pumpkins, but still, most are green. She knows their best chance is to stay on the vines as long as possible; but the vines are withering, the roots give way. What can she do to help!?


November 13

Incubators? The lady will make incubators!! To protect from the wind and the cold and to magnify the warmth of the waning sun of fall! Yes, it might work! What do we need? Strips of that plastic translucent tarp and.... hmm.... yes! We need long spikes, nails to hold the bubble incubators down.... and a hammer. Just three will be fine. Two pumpkins under one and two with their own individual incubator. The lady wrapped her precious pumpkins in their new bubble plastic incubators on November 1st. Here they fell asleep into that deep enchanted sleep, warm and protected.


November 13

The lady had to check the pumpkins every day, removing leaves and water on top of the bubble incubators. She also had to make sure that a little bit of air circulated around them so that they wouldn't spoil. This waiting is so hard! But look......!!!!


November 13

Look what is happening to the pumpkins!!! "My goodness", the lady thought, "this might just work!" Sure enough, slowly... oh, so slowly a change was taking place under those bubbles. At first just shades of yellow peeking out between the green, but then, yes, that lovely orange started to appear. A little more each day.


November 25th

It was a race against time. With each day, more orange appeared and with each passing day the vines withered back and dried up until the lady knew it was time.


November 25th

The lady knew it was time to harvest, now. If she left the pumpkins in the yard they would rot, the rays of sun were no longer guaranteed. The Nor'easters began and temperatures plummeted. Most of the trees have lost their leaves and those that settled on the bubble incubators were no longer bright golds and reds, but rather brittle browns. Yes, it was time to gather the pumpkins.

So, on November 25th, the lady carefully and lovingly removed the bubbles that caressed her remaining pumpkins. She cut the drying stem "umbilical cords" and feeling very much like a third year medical student, delivered her pumpkins, one by one to the dry and safe haven of the garage. Here she would.....

..... Well, I know you thought this was the end but ask yourself these questions....
What do you do with a newly harvested pumpkin?
Are there special handling techniques?
Might they continue to mature inside the house?
How much do fairytale pumpkins weigh?
What do they look like inside?
Can you make something more than pumpkin pies with them?

Now you have these questions, maybe more.... so you'll have to come back for the answers. And if you have any questions, just leave them in the comments. The lady will be back to answer them soon.... She's not quite done yet!

(The tale continues.... but alas, not today... ) (end of post)

The Beginning

Nyssa delighted with her first toy piano. 7 months old.
(Click picture for larger view)

"To show a child what once delighted you, to find the child's delight added to your own - this is happiness." ~ Joseph Priestley (English Chemist and Clergyman, 1733-1804)

Nyssa's Aunt Gayle gave her this toy piano and she quickly learned that if she pounded it with her hand, it made "noise". Oh, Yeah!!!! Thanks, Aunt Gayle!! At Grandma's house she found a real piano to pound on, sometimes laughing with delight and other times with such a serious face; furrowed brow, her tongue stuck out and down over her bottom lip as she made musical noise with both hands. Fortunately, we didn't have a "real" piano until she hit kindergarten. She signed up for lessons but Mrs. King warned us that it might be hard as she couldn't read yet. Nyssa was the first kindergarten student she had ever taken on. After her first lesson at school, she hopped in the car and breathlessly said, "Mom, guess what!" As I fervently prayed silently that she had not been expelled her first week of school, I managed to get out a soft, "What?" Her eyes wide she said, "Mrs. King got me for a piano lesson today and it was WONDERFUL!! We have to go buy a piano so I can practice." And so we did.

Submission for Moody Monday topic "delighted." (end of post)

The Balancing "Bard"

Balancing bird. Brooklyn Botanical Garden.
(Click picture for larger view)

"Happiness is not a matter of intensity but of balance and order and rhythm and harmony." ~ Thomas Merton

In the Japanese Garden pond stands a brightly painted torii or gateway. This water bird perched with outstretched wings on the thin board, turning his head back and forth as if he knew he had an audience. He was perfectly balanced; his wings did not move nor did his position change for fifteen minutes. Only his head occasionally tilted one way or the other. This is not out of the ordinary, in fact, this same bird repeats his balancing act every day; at least that's what the garden worker told me. I love the contrast between the black wings and the bright orange perch; and, this bird has ATTITUDE! I could almost believe him capable of a Shakespeare soliloquy. Yes, this bird is pretty sure of himself.

Submission for SeeItSunday topic "balance". (end of post)

A Time To Every Purpose

The measure of time. Town square clock. Salem, Virginia.
(Click picture for larger view)

"To every thing there is a season,
and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose;
A time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate;
A time of war, and a time of peace."
~ Ecclesiastes 3: 1 - 8 (KJV)

Seconds, minutes, hours; the clocks keeps track of time. Time plods on relentlessly, equally measured in ticks of the second hand or the beats of our heart. Yet, to me it seems to accelerate; each year with fewer days, weeks, hours....minutes. Too fast, time passes. Only yesterday Nyssa was a baby. Just last week I was in college. Surely it was only last year that I made mud pies with my friend Mary and jumped out of the apple tree and rode my bicycle for the first time. Not so. But we take heart in knowing that there is a "time to every purpose under the heaven". So we savor those moments of joy, weather the moments of sorrow, and carry on.

The theme for Saturday Photo Scavenger Hunt this week is "time". You can go here to "Grab the Scavenger Hunt code" and here to join the blogroll. The link to other participants is in my blogroll on the sidebar.

(end of post)

Photo Friday: Immature

Immature robin chicks. (Click picture for larger view)

"You are only young once, but you can stay immature indefinitely." ~ Unknown

These immature robin chicks lack coordination and strength. Their long wobbly necks won't hold their heads up indefinitely and without feathers the chicks cannot fly nor regulate body temperature. Too young and immature, the chicks rely on their parents for food and protection. As evidenced by the wide open mouths, everything in the "robin world" revolves around them. Soon feathers will grow, the nest will become too small and these chicks will test their wings, perhaps with a none to gentle nudge by the parents. Robin chicks will, if they can avoid the pitfalls of weather and predators, mature. If only the same could be said about ALL humans as well.

Submission for PhotoFriday topic "immature". (end of post)

More To Life

Miss Chloe: Hurry? I don't think so; it's so comfortable here, ya'll.
(Click pictures for larger view)

"There is more to life than increasing its speed."
~ Mohandas Gandhi

Miss Chloe doesn't believe in fitting into the hustle and bustle of the world around her. She much prefers the quiet life; a discreet nibble or two at the food dish, a sip of water from the water bowl or the bathroom sink, and a nap. Actually, many many naps. The bed is fine or the bean bag chair or even the floor; but on the floor some sun must be involved. Miss Chloe walks, quietly; she never runs, never interjects herself into other "catty" arguments, always remaining above the fray. Not that she's perfect, oh no! Miss Chloe does have her moments with her sister, but these are usually private disagreements and quickly resolved. Slow to speak, long pauses with squinted eyes, she is my true Southern lady.



Shhhhh! Miss Chloe is getting her beauty sleep. She'll be boarding Friday's Ark this week and also partying over at the Carnival of the Cats on Sunday. The carnival is hosted this week by Scribblings. (end of post)

All Things Bright and Beautiful

Psalms 98:4 ~ Shout joyfully to the LORD, all the earth;
Break forth in song, rejoice, and sing praises. (NKJV)

All Things Bright and Beautiful

All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful:
The Lord God made them all.

Each little flower that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
He made their glowing colors,
He made their tiny wings.

The rich man in his castle,
The poor man at his gate,
He made them, high or lowly,
And ordered their estate.

The purple headed mountains,
The river running by,
The sunset and the morning
That brightens up the sky.

The cold wind in the winter,
The pleasant summer sun,
The ripe fruits in the garden,
He made them every one.

The tall trees in the greenwood,
The meadows where we play,
The rushes by the water,
To gather every day.

He gave us eyes to see them,
And lips that we might tell
How great is God Almighty,
Who has made all things well.

~ Ce­cil F. Al­ex­an­der

(Click pictures for larger view)

On this Thanksgiving Day we pause to remember the blessings of the year and to give thanks. I am thankful for life, health, family, friends, the beauty of nature, and many more things too numerous to count. Most of all, I am thankful for God's creation, God's love and His ultimate sacrifice for me. What are you thankful for this Thanksgiving?

(end of post)

A Rocking Chair Morning

Rocking chairs. Somewhere in West Virginia. (Click picture for larger view)

"You're getting old when you get the same sensation from a rocking chair that you once got from a roller coaster." ~ Unknown

Rocking chairs sitting on the porch waiting for warm bodies on a crisp fall day; see the beautiful fall colors in the mountains? What could be more relaxing than to quietly sit and rock and take in nature's gifts? Not much.

Submission for Thursday Challenge topic "chair". (end of post)

Fragmentary Blue

Plumbago auriculata. (Cape plumbago, leadwort)
Brooklyn Botanical Garden. August 2006.
(Click picture for larger view)

Fragmentary Blue
Why make so much of fragmentary blue
In here and there a bird, or butterfly,
Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye,
When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue?

Since earth is earth, perhaps, not heaven (as yet)--
Though some savants make earth include the sky;
And blue so far above us comes so high,
It only gives our wish for blue a whet.
~ Robert Frost (1874-1963)

Outside the cold wind is howling, driving rain pelts the windows and ten foot high waves are crashing in from the ocean. Gale and flood warnings are out through the holiday and into Friday. This wind twisting from the southeast to east to northeast, will bring an end to the fall leaves. Even now they are flying and whirling through the air and across the grass. Some settle in the pooled water at the curb while others gather in piles along the fence.

The colors of fall are fading; from deep reds and yellows to drab shriveled browns. Only the recently planted pansies and the chrysanthemums still brighten the landscape. This Cape Plumbago grew in the temperate climate greenhouse of the Brooklyn Botanical Garden, and its limbs were heavy with these clusters of light blue blooms. In the midst of a cold "Nor'easter", this picture brings sun and warmth and a touch of summer.

Submission for LensDay topic "blue". (end of post)

Ignoring Is Bliss!

Maggie, a tummy uncovered. (Click picture for larger view)

"Learning to ignore things is one of the great paths to inner peace." ~ Robert J. Sawyer

Maggie doesn't really like me. She would rather be an only cat, pampered and spoiled by her daddy; the problem being the fact that her "dad" is also mine. So suddenly, she had to share her space and her "parents" with six other cats and two additional humans, not to mention Max, that hairy barking thing outside the sunroom door. The intruders took over her sunroom where she used to lie in sweet repose as the sun streamed in. They took over her food bowls, nibbling at will and creating the dreaded "sink hole" in her special bowl. They took over her favorite sleeping lounger and her "mom's" bed and the living room couch. They even took over her "mom's" affection; someone was always lounging on the arm of her chair or gazing into her eyes or settling in on her lap.

For a long time she would hide under the bed or under a chair in a far corner. Nicky tried to make friends; he followed her around like a puppy dog, (sorry Max) and patiently took all her snarls and hisses and swats. Everyone else avoids her, well, except Willow; also a Ragdoll, she pesters her. Willow hides on the shelf above Maggie's litter box and when Maggie goes inside to use the facilities, Willow pops out and hangs her head over the edge, looking into the box, cat face to cat face. This ALWAYS freaks Maggie out!

Her kitty nemeses spend the night in the sunroom; after their 9 PM trek through the house to their barracks, Maggie feels free to roam the house. This is the time she rolls on bare feet, does her begging act for her "dad" and plays with the toys. It is also the time she pauses for an undignified spread on the carpeted floor. She's ignoring me, concentrating on something in her paw. She's thinking.... "Ignoring is bliss!"

I'm sorry! Maggie has a hard time getting her quotes right, but she did a good job showing her tummy to the world; or at least to the cats and humans for Tummy Tuesday, over at catstuff. She'll be boarding Friday's Ark this week and also partying over at the Carnival of the Cats on Sunday. The carnival is hosted this week by Scribblings.
(end of post)

Moonlight Dreams

Moonlight in Sherwood Forest. (Click picture for larger view)

"A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world." ~ Oscar Wilde

When the moon is full and its orbit close to the earth, moonlight bathes the trees and rooftops in a bright glow. On those rare nights you may see your moon shadow along the ground; a faint, but dark Siamese twin attached to your feet. The air is usually crisp and cold, perhaps a bit of silvery white frost is on the grass and with each breath out, a cloud winds skyward around your head. It is a night bright with moonlight; perfect for a walk and a bit of stargazing.

Submission for Tuesday Challenge topic "moonlight". (end of post)

Good-bye, Buster..... Good-bye

Buster S. and his "baby". (1992 - 2006) Rest in peace.

Memories
Not the least hard thing to bear when
they go from us, these quiet friends,
is that they carry away with them so
many years of our lives. Yet, if they
find warmth therein, who would
begrudge them those years that they
have so guarded?
And whatever they take,
be sure they have deserved.
~ John Galsworthy

My friend Miss M, lost her best friend yesterday, November 19th. He was a friend who had been with her through the ups and downs of life for fourteen years. On occasion we wondered about Buster; his fondness for his "baby" that he used as his personal pacifier and his amazing ability to clear a room after eating that spicy hot dog from Sonic. (Whew! He had powerful "fluffs"!)



But Buster had such a gentle soul. He never met a child he didn't like and he loved Little Miss M the most. She dressed him in the latest fashion and he always loved those accessories. Only a special dog would allow this.



Not only did Buster love people; he loved cats. Why, some of his best friends were cats! Stoney and Clovis snuggled and loved on him; they also jumped on his back and boxed his nose, but Buster just basked in the attention. Somehow, the kittens sparked that puppy still buried deep inside of his spirit.

In the end Buster was far more ill than anyone knew; it came on suddenly and even he didn't seem to realize it. So his passing, while too sudden for his human family left behind, was quick and painless. This is the best we can hope for our animal friends.

Now Buster has met up with my long gone Dixie, Dottie and Barney, in a big green field with brightly colored flowers and scampering squirrels; fresh running streams of water and endless kibble. There they will play without being tired, sleep without being cold and run under the warm sun without being hungry. He is happy. He is safe.

Good-bye "Budder", good-bye.

Miss M has pictures posted at her site "stinkerbell". Today she has a big hole in her heart, as does everyone who ever knew Buster.
Buster's memorial will be up at Friday's Ark and at the Carnival of the Dogs. Buster was a one of a kind friend. (end of post)

November's Russet

November's russet leaf. (Click picture for larger view)

"The dusky waters shudder as they shine,
The russet leaves obstruct the straggling way
Of oozy brooks, which no deep banks define,
And the gaunt woods, in ragged scant array,
Wrap their old limbs with sombre ivy twine.
~ Hartley Coleridge, November

The leaves have turned and with the wind many have given up and floated to the ground. I still found color in the forest around Williamsburg; and color floating in the meandering stream flowing through my favorite little park. The water is brackish, a mixture of fresh and backwater from the Chesapeake Bay; it is never very blue, but now the shallows flow slowly with a brownish hue from the muddy bottom. In summer, the green water plants cover this area and butterflies abound sucking nectar from pink blooms. Now sea grass and the occasional cattail remain, trapping the larger leaves as they float with the current. A few more weeks now and the forest will take on it's thin skeleton look. Until then I'll cling to every last bit of color we have, however small and seemingly insignificant. Wouldn't you?

(end of post)

Window Work

High-rise window washing. (Click picture for larger view)

"It is not real work unless you would rather be doing something else." ~ J.M. (James Matthew) Barrie (1860-1937), British playwright

A hot summer day, the sun beating down relentlessly and these two fellows are about twenty floors up. outside the high rise office building, washing windows. This has got to be hard and tedious work; not for the faint of heart nor for those who fear heights. Sometimes thankless, definitely tiring but it has to be one great view from up there.

Submission for SeeItSunday topic "work". (end of post)

Plush On Plush

Plush kitty on a plush couch.
(Click picture for larger view)

"All cats love a cushioned couch." ~ Theocritus

Cats know comfort. They will find the warmest spot in the sun, the softest throw on the chair, the fluffiest pillow; here, Willow finds her space on the plush sheepskin throw. Her creamy white fur is soft and plush with the feel of rabbit fur between your fingers; she blends with the soft sheepskin until I'm not sure where Willow ends and her cushion begins. Now that's plush.

The theme for Saturday Photo Scavenger Hunt this week is "plush". You can go here to "Grab the Scavenger Hunt code" and here to join the blogroll. The link to other participants is in my blogroll on the sidebar.

PS: Willow is a Ragdoll.
(end of post)

Fire Hydrant: Brooklyn

New York City (Brooklyn) fire hydrant. (Click picture for larger view)

"If you want to make Brooklyn in words or film or paint, you must see the way the sun defines the silent streets on an early Sunday morning, sculpting trees, buildings, fire hydrants, stray dogs, and wandering people with an almost perfect clarity." ~ Pete Hamill

A hot summer day in New York and the kids are out in the streets, gathered at the fire hydrant; water flowing in the streets and shooting high into the air with the kids running through the cool spray. This is the picture I see surrounding a New York City fire hydrant. Probably not very realistic, but fun nonetheless.

New York City's first fire hydrant was installed in 1808 and was probably a wooden case type. In the later part of the 1800's, several companies started supplying New York with more modern iron hydrants. This fire hydrant in Brooklyn, New York was manufactured by the A.P. Smith Company of East Orange, New Jersey, who patented this "O'Brien" model in 1896. By 1902 the city demanded hydrants with uniform specifications and began buying primarily one style of fire hydrant, the "O'Brien" model or "Series S" you see here. Eventually in 1920, A.P Smith lost exclusive rights to the design and other manufacturers began production. New York's specifications of one single hose nozzle (2.5") and one single pumper (4.5") still remain today. In 1966 the hydrant division of A.P. Smith was purchased by US Pipe which was at the time located in Chattanooga, TN. While I don't know the exact date of this hydrant, it is from the original exclusive A.P. Smith company which makes it earlier than 1966 and more likely from the early 1940's or before.



Other fire hydrant posts include Fire Hydrants ~ One and A Splash of Blue, and Bubblegum And Blueberries.
(end of post)

Photo Friday: Symbols of Evil

Concrete and barbed wire. (Click picture for larger view)

"You may either win your peace or buy it: win it, by resistance to evil; buy it, by compromise with evil." ~ John Ruskin, English essayist

"Never open the door to a lesser evil, for other and greater ones invariably slink in after it." ~ Baltasar Gracian (pseudonym Lorenzo Gracian)

Barbed wire and concrete remind me of penitentiaries, keeping the evil IN; as well as that of secure installations, where it keeps the evil OUT. This picture reminds me of the concentration camps in Europe, in particular Mauthausen, near Linz, Austria. Beautiful rolling hills, lush with the green of growing crops and dotted with small farm houses; in sharp contrast to Hitler's labor camp sitting on the hilltop with dank and cramped wooden barracks, dark cellar gas chambers and crematorium, and that deep water-filled quarry where so many died. Covering the walls of the crematorium are pictures of hundreds who perished here; brought over the years by family members seeking to find the final resting place of fathers, mothers, grandparents and other relatives. Mauthausen would be considered an "equal opportunity" camp today as individuals from 30 different countries died here; prisoners of war, Spanish resistance fighters, university professors, gypsies, Polish and Hungarian Jews and anyone who failed to pledge loyalty to Hitler. How did Hitler manage to bring such evil and terror to a beautiful countryside? People find it far easier to compromise; to overlook the evil, than to resist it.

Submission to PhotoFriday for topic "evil". (end of post)

Mr. Rhett: The Lover, The Dreamer

Mr Rhett

"Cats look beyond appearances--beyond species entirely, it seems--to peer into the heart." ~ Barbara L. Diamond

He's not really looking at the camera, nor is he interested in the towel or even the sunbeam streaming through the bathroom window. Mr. Rhett is lost; deep in thoughts of places and things far away. Do cats ever think about their mothers? He lost his at such a young age, perhaps not. He doesn't think about what he is to eat or if he has a place to sleep; he eats when he wants and sleeps where ever he chooses to. My personal opinion is that he is thinking of Miss M, his human girlfriend in Mississippi, the love he left behind with golden hair. Or he's dreaming of Miss Sophie and wondering if the sleek gray beauty with big green eyes is dreaming about him as well. Sigh! Mr. Rhett is lost in love, lost in dreams.

Focus Rhett! It's time to board Friday's Ark! I hope you'll be over this brooding by Sunday so we can visit the Carnival of the Cats. It's hosted by Mind of Mog this week. (end of post)

And They Call It Puppy Love

Nyssa and Dottie playing on the sandbox. (1988)

"Until one has loved an animal a part of one's soul remains unawakened" ~ Anatole France

Dottie was a rescue dog, a puppy we found at the ASPCA when our beagle Barney was killed by a car. She must have been hungry when they found her because she ate everything. Dottie would have eaten an entire bag of dog food at one sitting if you let her. She was not the greatest athlete; when Dottie was really overweight, my brother could out run her and all the squirrels in our yard taunted her, knowing full well they would easily get away. Dottie was a terrible watch dog; she had such a big heart and never met a person she didn't like. She was, however, a perfect time keeper; 5 PM meant supper and supper meant barking like a crazed demon until food was served. She never fetched, wouldn't roll over on command, never played with toys or learned to walk properly on a leash; but she always made you feel as if you were the greatest person on the face of the earth. For this alone, we loved her.

Dottie is gone now almost four years. She was 15 years old when the lung tumor developed and quickly spread. She lost her short fight but left us with a lot of memories. She returned our love tenfold all those years. Good luck with those squirrels Dot!

Submission for Thursday Challenge topic "love". (end of post)

Morning Coffee : A True Tale

Coffee pot. (picture from internet)

"Pretty much all the honest truth telling there is in the world is done by children." ~ Oliver Wendell Holmes

Once upon a time.....
there was a little girl named Roxanne who loved to spend time with her Grandma at her house. Roxanne was about three and she often spent the night. One morning Grandma made her a big breakfast of eggs and bacon and they ate together. Grandma filled her coffee pot, one much like this and plugged it in. While her coffee perked, Grandma decided to quickly go upstairs and run her vacuum cleaner. Roxanne was a VERY good little girl and played quietly with her teddy bear and her coloring books at the kitchen table.

Grandma was finishing up one bedroom when she turned around to find Roxanne standing at the door. "Grandma, your coffee pot is jumping up and down," she said. Knowing how often she heard the Maxwell House perking coffee pot commercial, Grandma just nodded and smiled, "Yes, Roxanne, that is exactly what it is supposed to do. It's making the coffee." Roxanne left the room but soon came back and said, "Grandma, the coffee pot is still jumping up and down." "Yes, dear, it is supposed to do that, it just takes a little time to get done."

Roxanne went back downstairs as Grandma started vacuuming the second bedroom. In only a few minutes she was back. This time Roxanne ran to Grandma, tugged on her skirt and with wide eyes and an excited voice said, "Grandma, Grandma your coffee pot is jumping WAY UP and DOWN!!!"

She was so insistent and her voice so intense, Grandma took Roxanne by the hand and went quickly downstairs and into the kitchen; only to find golden brown liquid running down the cabinets, dripping off the ceiling and pooling on the linoleum floor. A shooting fountain of coffee was spurting from the top of the coffee maker.... the coffee maker WITHOUT A LID!!! Grandma had a BIG mess to clean up! She had forgotten to put the lid on; and indeed her coffee pot was "JUMPING WAY UP AND DOWN!"

The moral of the story?
A child's descriptive words may not be completely accurate; but they usually DO reflect the gist of what's happening!

(end of post)

Nicky's Favorite Day

Laundry Day (Click picture for larger view)

"There are people who reshape the world by force or argument, but the cat just lies there, dozing; and the world quietly reshapes itself to suit his comfort and convenience." ~ Allen and Ivy Dodd

Nicky loves laundry day and you will always find him on the puffy pillow top mattress pad; almost always in this position, stretching to feel the smooth silky white cover while he sinks down into the soft foam mattress. If Maggie gets here first, he simply lumbers up, she snarls and runs away and he assumes the position. There really is nothing like sleeping on your back, tubby tummy up.... what a perfect way to entice the passing tummy scritch or even better, a chin scratch. Nicky, Nicky, Nicky... life is good.

Nicky sends his tummy teasers out to the visitors for Tummy Tuesday at catstuff. I think he hopes to find a lady love there someday, as Maggie won't even give him the time of day. On Friday it'll be time to board Friday's Ark! I hope you'll be off this bed by Sunday so we can visit the Carnival of the Cats. It's hosted by Mind of Mog this week.

(end of post)

Paint Can Alley

Rubbish (Click picture for larger view)

"As in digging for precious metals in the mines, much earthy rubbish has first to be troublesomely handled and thrown out; so, in digging in one's soul for the fine gold of genius, much dullness and common-place is first brought to light." ~ Herman Melville (1819-1891), U.S. author.

Are you a packrat? Do you save the rubbish of life? I think most people do. Rarely someone saves a bit of mismatched furniture or dented oatmeal tins; when the Antique Roadshow comes to town, they discover that this rubbish was a treasure worth thousands of dollars. But do they do the sensible thing and send it right off to Southerby's for auction? No! They put it back in it's display area, or they pack it up safe and sound in a closet or a vault. They won't get rid of it, won't sell it; BUT now they have to insure it for thousands of dollars! This would never happen to me. (Continued... click read more below)

The word "treasure" most certainly would not apply to this pile of rubbish. Old paint in cans. Lids rusted shut. Rust clinging to the inner sides and rims of the cans, ready to flake off and fall into the remnants of paint, which has long since dried into a rubbery lump. If it hasn't dried up, it has at least formed a stretchy membrane over now thickened muck. I don't know why my dad keeps these. Of course, because I am his daughter, I did the same thing.

When I was getting my house in Mississippi ready to sell, there were almost ten years of dings and scratches on the walls and woodwork that needed a touch up. I had the original paint; saved in the garage. It was everything I described above and worse. What a struggle to match the original paint on the wall; and this was the easy part. The woodwork was painted with an oil based paint... almost white but with just a touch of lavender; not enough to see with the naked eye. I didn't know that oil based paints would yellow over time or that paint formulas changed and the chances of matching it, even with the exact same formula was near zero. So I mixed and played and mixed and eventually hid most of the dings with only a few areas being noticeable. I guarantee that after all that work and worry, the new owners went in and completely repainted everything. The rubbish paint I left on the shelf was thrown out. New pristine paint was applied and now...... they have their own stash of these cans in the corner of THEIR garage.

Submission for Tuesday Challenge topic "rubbish". (end of post)

A Pumpkin Tale Part 7: When You Least Expect It...

...tragedy may strike. September 27.
(Click pictures for larger views)

"That small circle of earth became a second home to both of us. Gardening boring? Never! It has surprise, tragedy, startling developments - a soap opera growing out of the ground. I'd forgotten that tremolo of expectation produced by a tiny forest of sprouts." ~ Paul Fleischman, Seedfolks

(If you've missed the first six installments, you might want to read them first, here: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 and Chapter 6.)

Life was good in the pumpkin patch.
Who knew it could change in an instant?
......The lady had already harvested four beautiful pumpkins; all coach shaped and orange, each weighing six to seven pounds. In the patch, pumpkins were growing larger at astronomical rates, vines ignored her attempts to rein them in, pumpkin flowers blossomed and new pumpkins were discovered daily. At least three of the remaining pumpkins appeared to be giants; or at least really, really big.


October 4th

The lady had been very careful with each pumpkin; she tried not to move the pumpkins as their stems were still quite fragile and easily broken. She read that pumpkins should ripen on the vine; after picking they do not mature to that bright orange color she hoped for. One pumpkin grew at a strange angle in the yard; it lay on its side, sticking up a bit out of the grass. This was not a very stable position and the lady knew the weather patterns were changing.

One day a 'Noreaster came through. It was not the right time of year for 'Noreasters and this one was strange; it moved south instead of north. But the winds were very strong and the rain pounded; tree limbs fell, leaves were stripped from the trees, flower pots were blown over...... it was a fierce storm. When the winds died down, the lady saw that tragedy had befallen her pumpkin.


A broken stem.

It was sitting alone, right side up in the grass; no longer attached to the vines, its stem broken through. What is the lady to do? She most certainly wasn't going to throw her pumpkin away, especially one of this size and so perfectly shaped. It was heavy. The lady carefully lifted her pumpkin and carried it into the house. She washed it gently with the 10% bleach mixture and rinsed it thoroughly. This pumpkin measured 13 inches in diameter and weighed in at 21 pounds.


Size comparison with one of the earlier pumpkins. Side view.

The lady didn't know if her sad pumpkin would ever change color now, but she knew it could still be used for sweet pies and muffins. So she placed the pumpkin in a special padded box bed in the sunroom, to cure for at least ten days, probably longer. Her traumatized pumpkin would rest with the smaller pumpkins, all bright orange, already in place... waiting to be cut.


Size comparison. Top view.

The lady still took hope. It's October, fruit flies still roam within the ever blooming pumpkin flowers; and there are still four pumpkins that have a chance. Two are huge, one is medium and one small; all are loved. The cold is coming; with the cold, the vines will wither and the fragile connection between pumpkin and the earth will become even more tenuous. Still, the lady has an idea; probably a bizarre plan, but maybe it will work...... you'll just have to come back to find out!

(To be continued..... but yet again.... not today.)
(end of post)

Harmony

... or discord. Macro. (Click picture for larger view)

"Medicine, to produce health, has to examine disease;
and music, to create harmony, must investigate discord."
~ Plutarch

Music was a passion for my mom growing up. She plays the piano beautifully and has that uncanny ability to not only play the written notes on the page, but is able to put in additional chords, runs and what I call the "special effects" of music. She transposes at will and plays any number of hymns from memory, no music in front of her. While growing up, Mom was the church pianist almost everywhere Dad pastored. One Sunday she decided to play an old gospel hymn "Camping in Canaan's Land" for the offertory and not having the music, she played from memory. At one point the melody was very similar to another song and she accidentally slipped into "In your Easter bonnet, with all the frills upon it, you'll be the grandest lady in the Easter parade." She looked a bit disconcerted but kept on playing; then Dad looked at her funny because she was still playing The Easter Parade, in fact she finished up the offertory in that song. If anyone else noticed, they didn't say anything. What happened? Somehow she slipped from one melody into the other and couldn't find a chord or point to get back. I do believe she tried to have the music in front of her after that.

I took piano for several years and violin for three years; just enough to have fun with it but not enough to ever be any good. While I was studying violin, Mom decided to try it as well. She had a head start with the ability to read music and her polished ear for tone and note identification. It really should have been a piece of cake for her. Not so. She was awful! I mean really, really awful!! The sound that emanated from her violin can only be described as the sound of a hundred thousand fingernails scraping down a blackboard and amplified a hundredfold! The sound would wake the dead or kill you or both! It wasn't in her fingering or her ear or her musical ability; it was her absolute inability to hold her bow at the appropriate angle that caused the horrendous screech. We left the house when she practiced; I tried to play at the other end of the street. Finally, Dad gently asked her to stop the lessons. Thankfully for our ears, she did.

Submission for MacroDay topic "music". (end of post)

Wide Open Spaces

....of Earth and Sky. Sunrise on the Illinois plains.
(Click picture for larger view)

"Oh, give me land, lots of land under starry skies above,
Don't fence me in.
Let me ride through the wide open country that I love,
Don't fence me in.
Let me be by myself in the evenin' breeze,
And listen to the murmur of the cottonwood trees,
Send me off forever but I ask you please,
Don't fence me in."
~ Cole Porter, Don't Fence Me In

The great plains of the Midwest where the wide open spaces of farmland meet the vast space of the sky in the endless horizon. You can literally see for miles and miles and miles. No claustrophobia here.

Submission for SeeItSunday topic "space". (end of post)

The More Things Change........

...the more they stay the same!
Nyssa: Left ~ Age 20; Right ~ Age 3.
(Click picture for larger view)

"Growth is the only evidence of life." ~ John Henry Newman

"Remember that as a teenager you are at the last stage in your life when you will be happy to hear that the phone is for you." ~ Fran Lebowitz (b. 1951), U.S. journalist.

How quickly, too quickly they grow; from infant to toddler to independent grade school child to teenager to college student to adult. And yet they are your child, your baby; for always and forever. It has been quite a roller coaster ride of growth spurts, broken hearts and bandaged knees; Mt. Everest highs and Death Valley lows. I think the transition from teenager to adult is the hardest for parents, at least for me. Now, they make the decisions that affect their happiness and their futures. They have to deal with the consequences of their choices. Now we just have to sit back and watch them grow and hopefully mature. So far, so good!

The theme for Saturday Photo Scavenger Hunt this week is "growth". You can go here to "Grab the Scavenger Hunt code" and here to join the blogroll. The link to other participants is in my blogroll on the sidebar.

PS: There do seem to be a few things that don't change with growth; one is their neverending connection to the telephone; the other, their love affair with cars... at least having one and driving one. (end of post)

Walking Down The Paths Of History

A walk together down the paths of history.
(Click picture for larger view)

"The figures of the past go cloaked.
They walk in mist and rain and snow
And go, go slowly, but they go."
~ Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), U.S. poet. "Poesie Abrutie."

Every time I walk on the stone walkways of William and Mary surrounded by lush trees in spring or brilliant color in fall, I never fail to feel the deep history of this place. One can feel the presence of George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, who walked these same paths and saw many of these same trees go through their yearly cycle. Occasionally, when one of the workers from Colonial Williamsburg makes his way across campus dressed in period garb, it feels like I've stepped back into the early 1700's or it does until he checks out his book from Swem library with that computerized scanner.

Wednesday my brother and I drove up to see the girl. She loves her uncle and he loves her, even though he sometimes has a slightly gruff exterior. He has been so generous, providing a large majority of the money for her college education. They walked ahead as I snapped this, talking about the campus, classes, music, the new dorm, the legends of Tucker Hall; just basking in the short time they would have together this visit. He can tell she's happy here; it's a good fit for her. No one can believe she is a junior with only one year left! Time is flying by and soon she will join all those who have walked these paths; her history a part of theirs.

(end of post)

Creepy Crawlers

Tiny creepy crawlers. (Click picture for larger view)

"An English professor announced to the class; "There are two words I don't allow in my class. One is gross and the other is cool." From the back of the room a voice called out, "....... so, what are the words?". ~ Unknown

What is "gross"? That overwhelming feeling of disgust that leaves you a bit nauseous or makes your skin crawl. Many things are gross; roaches the size of Rhode Island, bag worms in their filmy web, pollen scum floating on top of stagnant water, flies laying eggs on a piece of rotten fruit, invisible spider webs on a dark night. Many words conjure up a gross feeling; slime, mold, muck, maggots, ticks, putrid, and others. It all varies with the person and personality. For example, my daughter thinks blood is "gross" and I don't; this is a good thing in my profession.

But, before we get too far afield..... "gross" aptly describes the feeling I get upon picking up a dish left outside and seeing these tiny creatures scattering in all directions. At the same time it feels as if there are thirty or forty of them crawling on my hand and up my arm, or onto my flip-flopped foot and up my leg; often there are. Then comes the brushing and stomping and hoping that you got them all off, all the while feeling like you didn't for hours after the encounter! I know ants are industrious, cooperate with other ants, form colonies; all very civilized actions. But to me they are just GROSS!!!

Submission for PhotoFriday topic "gross". (end of post)

Miss Chloe and The Monster

Miss Chloe: "Look it's a black plastic thingy..." (Click pictures for larger view)

"Long ago, there lived a creature with a voice like a vacuum cleaner. We know little about it, but we do know that it ate cats." ~ Unknown

None of our cats loves the vacuum; when the motor starts they usually find a deep closet or a dark space under the bed. Miss Chloe loves her space in the leather bean bag chair out in the sunroom, especially on cool days when the warm rays of the sun stream in. But we have to keep the sunroom clean and this requires vacuuming. If certain kitties would shake their paws before stepping out of the litter boxes, we wouldn't have to do this.

Above, Miss Chloe has been sleeping soundly in her beanbag when she senses the presence of an unknown thing. "Look, it's a black plastic thingy," she says. Suddenly the loud whine of the motor starts.


"Oh! No! It's THE VACUUM!! It's going to eat me alive! I'm trapped! I'll never get away in time!!" Calm down Chloe. My goodness how big your eyes are all of a sudden. And so it goes, she zigs; she zags, she backs up and finally gets away clean.

Miss Chloe will board Friday's Ark tomorrow, after she calms down. I'm sure she will be fine for Sunday's Carnival of the Cats as I have no plans to vacuum between now and then. This week's carnival is hosted by The Whole Kitten Kaboodle. (Oops! I think there has been a big misunderstanding.... the Carnival moved at the last minute, but the link is correct.)

Painted Sunflower, Orange Delight

Painted sunflower, orange delight.
(Click picture for larger view)

"Nature seems to have poured forth her riches so without calculation, merely to mark the fullness of her joy."
~ Margaret Fuller

Who knew there were so many varieties of sunflower? Big beautiful flowers whose heads follow the sun as it wings its way across the sky. We saw millions of these in Italy; miles and miles of bright color in waves, punctuated by the occasional stone shed or dirt road. This happy flower a golden yellow, stroked with bright orange; the petals look as if they have been painted, gently stroked with color. Cheerful, optimistic, sassy and joyful; I feel all of these things in this picture. How do sunflowers the color of fire make you feel?

Submission for Thursday Challenge topic "orange". (end of post)

Splish! Splash! I Was Taking A Bath

Prospect Park, Brooklyn. (Click picture for larger view)

"All our actions take
Their hues from the complexion of the heart,
As landscapes their variety from light."
~ William Thompson Bacon

"If you keep your feathers well oiled the water of criticism will run off as from a duck's back." ~ Ellen Henrietta Swallow Richards (1842-1911), U.S. chemist and educator

It was a hot and sultry day in the city; the heat wave kept building... 101....102....103. Factor in humidity and the absence of any significant breeze, and you have one sizzling day; perfect for paddle boating, as long as you aren't the one having to provide the muscle power. Ducks and swans gathered at the lake edge and slid into the water. Shaded by overhanging trees, this was the coolest spot without formal air conditioning. This is Walter; or at least that's the name I gave him. Walter is a handsome fellow strutting his stuff for all the females and this may be the duck equivalent of the "Saturday evening bath" in preparation for his date with that cute little grey duck across the way. I can just see the yellow of his webbed foot paddling furiously under the water as his wing action sends droplets of water flying. To him it was just another day in the pond; to me, a memory forever.

Submission for LensDay topic "action". (end of post)

The Sunny View From Mouse Level

Miss Chloe and her sunny tummy; a view from mouse level.
(Click picture for larger view)

"Oh sleep! It is a gentle thing.
Beloved from pole to pole."
~ Samuel Taylor Coleridge

It doesn't take much sun shining through the glass windows to heat up the sunroom, even in winter; and it doesn't take much sun to attract kitty cats of all shapes and sizes. Miss Chloe finds a way to expose as large an area of her body and belly as possible. The sun is hot, and oh, the joy of stretching and heat and.... and...... YAWN....a nap.

Miss Chloe is here for Tummy Tuesday at catstuff. She will be appalled when she sees this as she is usually very proper about her sleeping and sitting positions. She wants to see her friends at Friday's Ark and at the Carnival of the Cats, hosted this week by The Whole Kitten Kaboodle.

(end of post)

How Innocent The Trees

Williamsburg, Virginia. (Click picture for larger view)

"How innocent were these Trees, that in
Mist-green May, blown by a prospering breeze,
Stood garlanded and gay;
Who now in sundown glow
Of serious colour clad confront me with their show
As though resigned and sad,
Trees, who unwhispering stand umber, bronze, gold;
Pavilioning the land for one grown tired and old;
Elm, chestnut, aspen and pine, I am merged in you,
Who tell once more in tones of time,
Your foliaged farewell."
~ Siegfried Sassoon, October Trees

Flowers are for all seasons; colorful petals and beautiful leaves can be found year round. For the trees, there are two seasons of joy; Spring and Autumn. Yes, they have Summer, but all are green in Summer; elm, maple, black gum, pine and poplar, all blend together in subtle shades blurring the outlines and shapes. In Winter, all but the pine, stand naked against the sky with only slight differences in the texture of bark to call their names; rows of trees intertwining empty limbs of grey and brown and all muted shades between.

But in Spring the budding leaves return, at first pale and small; then with bright green to contrast with the blackened winter branches. Many add colors of the rainbow along with pinks and purples in their first flowers. New life! New hope! Joy! And in Autumn, the blazing colors of red, orange and gold splash across the horizon. This is the best season; for as the trees wind down and prepare for Winter's rest, they go out with a bang! A kaleidoscope of color. Who could look at these wonders and believe there is no God?

Submission for Tuesday Challenge topic "trees". (end of post)

Shh! Comfortable Catnapper

Lady Willow, the picture of comfort.
(Click picture for larger view)

"Cats are connoisseurs of comfort." ~ James Herriot. Scottish Veterinarian and Writer. (1916-1995)

Willow knows all about comfort and how to obtain it. If there is a soft pillow, or a warm fleece throw, or a plush sheep skin; or better yet, a bed with one of those heat trapping, body conforming mattress pads; Willow will be on it or in it. She takes no interest in having her tail tucked in or all her paws safely under her body; she just goes for comfort, flopping down in untidy configurations. Then she sleeps. Who could possibly look at this picture and not say that this cat is comfortable? We should all be so lucky!

Submission for Moody Monday topic "comfortable". Willow wants to see her friends at Friday's Ark and at the Carnival of the Cats, hosted this week by The Whole Kitten Kaboodle. I hope she wakes up in time. (end of post)

Serenity Garden

Japanese garden. Brooklyn Botanical Garden. August 2006.
(Click picture for larger view)

"I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order." ~ John Burroughs

The path winds around the pond, past green bamboo and a turtle family sunning on the rocks; up a slope with a weeping willow hanging limp branches over the water and past waterfalls dripping softly into the pond. Side paths lead to hidden benches and Japanese temples, then back to the main walk; all around the quiet garden. Here in the shade of trees, a small arched bridge to the tiny emerald island; no one walks here. The water is still, reflecting the blue sky and trees. This is serenity; a place to think, a place to put our senses in order.

(end of post)

Happy Clouds

A Hallmark moment. (Click picture for larger view)

"It is better to have your head in the clouds, and know where you are ... than to breathe the clearer atmosphere below them, and think that you are in paradise." ~ Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862), Letter, April 10, 1853, to Harrison Blake, in The Writings of Henry David Thoreau, vol. 6, p. 219

Another photograph taken from our road trip to Illinois. In the rolling hills of Kentucky, the pastures were still green and trees were yet green. No storms, no fog, no cold north winds; just a warm fall breeze to push the happy clouds on their way. This scene struck me as being full of life and peace; a Hallmark card setting. The only items lacking were a group of contented cows with markings of black and white or perhaps a group of children flying colorful kites.

Submission for SeeItSunday topic "clouds". (end of post)

Window View

A window to the sky. (Click picture for larger view)

"Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:
The sun-comprehending glass,
And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless."
~ Philip Larkin (1922-1986), High Windows

A darkened room; quiet, calm and restful with a view of the sky. An historical building with lofty ceilings and drapeless windows reaching high along the wall. Outside the deep blue sky with powder puff clouds and summer trees add color. All that is missing to make a perfect hide-away is music, say the low melancholic strains of a classical adagio, and an overstuffed easy chair and ottoman to slowly sink into. Sigh! Priceless!

This is my first time to participate in the Saturday Photo Hunt and I'm not sure I quite figured out the code yet. This weeks theme is "windows". You can go here to "Grab the Scavenger Hunt code" and here to join the blogroll. The link to other participants is in my blogroll on the sidebar. (end of post)

Static Cling

Miss Chloe. October 7th. (Click pictures for larger view)

"Cats keep their cool, no matter what. Even when they do things like fall or lose their balance, they'll walk away with an attitude that seems to say, I meant to do that." ~ Michael Jordan

Miss Clover. November 1.

Cats and boxes; if there is an open box, the cat will hop inside. If there is paper in the box, it will be distributed over as wide an area as physically possible in eight hours of being found. If there are styrofoam peanuts in the box, they will be batted by paws, chewed, carried, or spilt by said cats. It is never smart to leave an open box of packing peanuts in the company of unsupervised cats.

The scenario:

• Box, one side of lid open. Cat approaches.
• Cat looks in box. Cat sits in quiet contemplation, eyes glaring at the box.
• Cat crouches.... whiskers twitch..... back end wiggles and.....
• Jump! Pounce! Leap into the box!
• White styrofoam peanuts fly out of the box, thus attracting other felines.
• Cat in box, up to her belly in peanuts, swimming in peanuts.
• Other cats proceed to spread the new toys.
• Cat in box develops crazed look in her eyes and leaps out of said box, tipping it over and spilling "billions and billions" of white peanuts..... all charged with static electricity and looking for something to cling too.
• Some tiny fragments of broken styrofoam remain in box.
• As cat noses around in the mess....tiny charged styrofoam pieces stick to said nose.

So this is how it happens. They try to shake it off, wipe it off with a paw but to no avail. (Have you ever tried to get one off of your hand when the humidity is low and the static is high? Nigh to impossible!) Finally, they smooth their fur as best they can and walk slowly away, head held high, tail erect, eyes straight ahead; as if it were the most natural of things for them to have a white blob stuck on their noses!

Chloe and Clover will have to clean their faces before they hop on Friday's Ark and take a spin at the Carnival of the Cats, hosted by Crazy Meezer this week. See you there!

(end of post)

Light And Color

Light and color by Tiffany. Macro. (Click picture for larger view)

"From within or from behind, a light shines through us upon things, and makes us aware that we are nothing, but the light is all." ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Now the days grow short and the light of the sun dim. Now we turn on the lamps to drive away the darkness. Soon the leaves will be striped from the trees by the cold gusting wind, the vines withered, the grass turned brown and brittle. Even now the last dandelion weed and pumpkin blossom cling tentatively to life, awaiting the inevitable. The gray of winter approaches when nature rests; our memories of color now seen only in pictures and in the light of a Tiffany lamp.

Submission for PhotoFriday topic "light". (end of post)

Angelic

Angelic Max. (Click picture for larger view)

"Rambunctious, rumbustious, delinquent dogs become angelic when sitting." ~ Dr. Ian Dunbar

Max has complained that he hasn't has his fair share of time on the internet. I'm sure he still thinks there is a lovely young female out there waiting to be his friend. Max is doing well with his chemotherapy; his lymphoma seems to be in remission and his vet has him on a once a month treatment, instead of once every three weeks. His blood work is still in good shape and he doesn't know he is sick. Max does know that when he goes to the vet, he gets a nice treat of dog food with pats and hugs and kisses.

Here he sits in all his curly, furry glory; his pale blonde "mohawk" standing straight up and that wistful look in his eyes. I think he knows how angelic he looks with the setting sun behind him and that "halo" aura all around his head. He's had his supper, but thinks he can entice me to give him a treat. OK, just ONE biscuit!

I promised Max he could visit the other dogs at the Carnival of the Dogs this week over at Mickey's Musings and he wants to check out the dogs on board Friday's Ark, even though he really doesn't like water, at all!

(end of post)

Time, Touch Us Gently

Sundial. Colonial Williamsburg. (Click picture for larger view)

"Touch us gently, Time!
Let us glide adown thy stream
Gently, - as we sometimes glide
Through a quiet dream!
~ Barry Cornwall (pseudonym of Bryan Waller Procter),
A Petition to Time

Time is mysterious and magical. To all children, time is like the tortoise slowly plodding along, not getting anywhere very fast. Summer is always too short and those months from the start of school until Christmas seem an eternity away; the time between Spring Break and Summer holiday, even longer. Years flow like molasses..... "will birthdays ever come", "will I ever get to ride a real bicycle", "will I ever get to Junior High", "will I ever get out of Junior High", "will Mom ever let me date", "will I ever get to drive a car", "will I ever get out of high school", "will I ever get into college"? So slow for them; so unbearably fast for parents. When does it change? When does time suddenly seem to fly past with speed that leaves us breathless? As a child I wished time to fly and now I long for it to slow down, if only just a little. Children, be careful what you wish for ....

Submission for Thursday Challenge topic "time". (end of post)

I Will Not Go Quietly

Summer Orange (Click picture for larger view)

"Color which, like music, is a matter of vibrations, reaches what is most general and therefore most indefinable in nature: its inner power..." ~Paul Gauguin

It's autumn and orange is a color of autumn. Yesterday was Halloween; orange is a color of Halloween and pumpkins and candy. But, I didn't choose pumpkins or candy or autumn leaves. (The pumpkins were yesterday.) I didn't choose the crisp, cool fall images.

I decided on a vibrant, searing, eye-popping, flaming hot shade of orange; it brings feelings of the sun beating down on my neck with blinding light and sweltering heat. This flower could cause a sunburn if held too close. Don't get me wrong, I love the colors of fall that swirl and mix together on the mountaintop and sing their chorus; but it is a more muted song with a smoldering heat rather than the blasting flame of a summer furnace. The orange of fall is gently but forcibly guiding us, leading us down that path into the browns and grays of winter; the orange of autumn gives us one last splash of color before nature sleeps. My spirit is just not quite ready to go down that road; so with this flower of summer in my minds hand, I cling to summer with all my might, kicking and screaming. I will not go quietly.

Submission for Lensday topic "orange". (end of post)