Nyssa looking like the cat who ate the canary! (Rebel)
(Click picture for larger view) 
"Some people, like flowers, give pleasure, just by being." ~ Unknown
I am sitting at the computer and I hear a strange sound, almost like a cat scratching on a cloth somewhere far away. I jump up and run from room to room trying to find the culprit before something (such as the toilet paper) turns into a shredded mess and .... nothing! Later, it happens again and then again. Finally, the house phone rings; on the other end of the line is an irritated voice "Mother! Don't you ever answer your phone?!" So that's what that buzzing sound was! I forgot the phone was set on "meeting"!
And so goes the conversation; she loves her classes, she changed the lab from evening to afternoon, she has her bulletin boards done, her new residents are great, she passed out the cookies we made and everyone loves them, her car wouldn't start and she had to get a jump (What?!) , she has a paper due, the starter is dead on her car (How?!) and they can't repair it until tomorrow (Wait!), she has another call on the other line, and oh, yes.... the starter costs $430 dollars (Ouch! Hold on!) and could I please put some funds in her account. (Sigh!)
So yesterday I found myself sitting by the drive through window at the bank, several hundred dollars poorer. Max, on the other hand, in spite of just having his blood drawn was deliriously happy...Why? The bank teller gave him two dog biscuits. It doesn't take much to make his day.
Submission for Thursday Challenge topic "people". (end of post)
United Methodist Church. Clay City, Illinois. October 2006.
(Click picture for larger view) "Each of us is carving a stone, erecting a column, or cutting a piece of stained glass in the construction of something much bigger than ourselves." ~ Adrienne Clarkson (Governor General of Canada, 1999-2005)
I love stained glass windows. It doesn't matter if it is the grandest cathedral in Europe or, as here, a small country church; the light that shines through these windows illuminates the soul and soothes the spirit.
Most churches built today forgo the stained glass windows; they are expensive to install and repair and that is a shame. A little country church in Bible Grove, Illinois, south of Effingham in the middle of corn country is case in point. For years this little church held Sunday worship for the farm community and for years averaged 30 in attendance. It was an old fashioned country Methodist church with a circuit preacher who came every other week; those Sundays without a minister they held Sunday School and worshiped in song. At least a third of the congregation were relatives of mine directly and probably another third considered distant family. Children heard Bible stories sitting in little red chairs and played tag on the grounds outside. This little white country church, this Shouse Chapel was special to the farm families. It was built with care and devotion with some of the most beautiful stained glass windows. Many were documented memorials to family members and all were unique and special.
The ravages of time finally became too much for the little white chapel on the prairie and the damage from termites too great. Shouse Chapel was condemned and scheduled for demolition. Most of the congregation drove to Clay City or other larger towns to worship, many of the older folks had moved to warmer parts or passed away. The people of this community held to the "waste not, want not" philosophy and many wanted to save the windows. I don't know if they auctioned them or simply allowed people to purchase them outright but my cousin bought several and with his woodworking ability, he recycled them into personal pieces for various family members. A sister church, the church with these windows, had Ricky take several of the larger panes and built them into displays in their church. In this way Shouse Chapel will never be forgotten and those original builders, those artisans in glass and those country farmers who wanted a beautiful place to worship with their families, did indeed create something much bigger than themselves.
Submission for Tuesday Challenge topic "glass". (end of post)
Muscovy duck (Cairina moschata) (Rebel)
(Click pictures for larger view) "One may smile, and smile, and be a villain." ~ William Shakespeare (English Dramatist, Playwright and Poet, 1564-1616)
The winter has been mild with daytime temperatures into the sixties and even seventies; the weather has tricked the redbuds into blooming ans the occasional daffodil as well. Thursday, I made a trek over to Mt. Trashmore Park with the Rebel and new lenses. There are always ducks and geese and seagulls there, waiting for food. White geese, mallards, coots and a rare Canadian goose were playing and the ever present seagulls and crows were dueling for perching rights on the parking lot lamps. This Muscovy duck was the only one of his kind in the group and he was quite the show off. Above he was preparing to stand tall and flex his wings, when I caught him in this "Phoenix" pose. Below, he strutted and spread his wings as an angel, the black angel.
It was at this moment I felt a pang of recognition. This creature looks vaguely familiar, I thought. After observing some of his rather boisterous behavior that I won't go into here, it hit me! This fellow looks (and acts) like the ultra villain in Star Wars: The Phantom Menace; that strange red and black faced evil creature with horns protruding from his head.... yes, Darth Maul, a Sith? (I didn't see this movie but the action figures were all over the toy section in Target.) I'll see what you think....
Duck Maul? Or........
Darth Maul (Sith).
Well, what do you think? Can you see a family resemblance?
Update: Before you answer that... Have you ever tried to look at the pictures in one of those holographic books, the kind with a picture hidden in a chaotic mixture of color and geographic patterns or even other pictures? Some can't do it. Some can immediately see the hidden picture. I can usually see them but only by letting my focus go, vision blur a little and relaxing. I stop trying to see the picture and then it appears. I did that with this picture, then cropped to what I saw and found........ (click read more below)
I would say just look at the mottled red area, blur a bit and let the image appear. Do you see the dog with the big black nose and greying muzzle, who is riding a roller coaster with his big ears flying back in the wind? I do!
Usually dogs and cats go to Friday's Ark, but I think "Duck Maul" deserves his day on the Ark as well. Hope they can make him behave! (end of post)
Winter fruit & nuts. Macro. (Click picture for larger view) "I know the look of an apple that is roasting and sizzling on the hearth on a winter's evening, and I know the comfort that comes of eating it hot, along with some sugar and a drench of cream... I know how the nuts taken in conjunction with winter apples, cider, and doughnuts, make old people's tales and old jokes sound fresh and crisp and enchanting." ~ Mark Twain
Once upon a time I tried to make an apple pie. I peeled the apples, cored them, cut them in thin luscious slices and placed them carefully in a beautiful pie shell. I put in sugar, cornstarch, a dash of salt, apple pie spice and dabs of butter, just as the recipe called for. Then I put the thin layer of pie dough on the top, sealed the edges with a touch of water, fluted the edge and cut slats for steam to escape. I baked this pie, this work of my own hands, until it was a golden brown and the aroma of cinnamon filled the apartment. I had made the perfect apple pie.
After the mediocre supper, I prepared to cut my pie and dazzle my new husband. The ice cream was ready to melt over the top; my knife was poised above the crust and I slowly sliced into my masterpiece expecting to see delicately soft baked apples with a spicy thick cinnamon sweet sauce. Instead, I found butter melted over dry, browning apples with hunks of undissolved sugar and cornstarch! What happened to my prize winning pie? The cookbook guaranteed this was a prize winning pie! I quickly read through the instructions again; yes, I did that and that and that and that and cooked it that long at that temperature. What happened?
I noticed in the lower corner, a little footnote that said simply "Works best with MacIntosh, Granny Smith, and other tart apples." What? I didn't see this before! An apple is an apple and apples are ALL good for pie; aren't they? What did I use.... we had golden delicious and standard (this means cheap) red delicious; wasn't that good enough? Apparently not; either they are not good for pie in general or ours were too old and too dry. Not a speck of moisture came out of those apples, nothing, nada! A disaster!
I learned a lot that day as my pie slithered into the garbage can. - All apples are not alike.
- I don't like apple pie as much as I thought I did.
- Mrs. Smith really does do a good job with hers and doesn't make such a mess in the kitchen.
Life lesson learned? The best pie comes from the frozen food section.
Update: I have removed the links to MacroDay as they have determined that my photo is NOT a Macro but a close-up and removed my entry. This from a site that has accepted landscapes as Macros. (end of post)
(Picture taken in Colonial Williamsburg. Christmas wreaths made with natural fruits, nuts, grains and flowers.)
Four brothers: (l. to r.) Lewis, Jerry, John and Loren. The lineup.
(Click picture for larger view) "Our siblings. They resemble us just enough to make all their differences confusing, and no matter what we choose to make of this, we are cast in relation to them our whole lives long." ~ Susan Scarf Merrell
"All for one and one for all
My brother and my friend
What fun we have
The time we share
Brothers 'til the end."
~Author Unknown
My dad (far right) and his three brothers, recently were together for a 50th anniversary celebration, the third in five years. Uncle Lewis (far left) and his wife have their 50th this coming May. Lewis and Dad were the oldest, then Jerry (second left) and John (second right). The one sister, Mary Katherine came along much later. She was the lucky one wasn't she, to have four big brothers; two older to protect her and two younger to pester her.
This picture evolved from my attempts to get a group portrait of the four brothers. Not one of them is comfortable in front of a camera; they would rather be out on the farm or working on an old car or now, sitting in their easy chairs with their feet up and the television remote in hand. In the picture taken face on they looked so stiff and straight, it reminded me of a police line up; this made me laugh. Since I had the frontal view, all we needed was a side view.... too bad we didn't have any of those little tags they hold up for the mug shots. I played with the original (serious face) pictures and posted them in October as The Unusual Suspects. This separate shot found them laughing as well.
Submission for PhotoFriday topic "brother". (end of post)
PS: My brother had a birthday this week and his post is here.
A perfect tree for resting. Summer 2006.
(Click picture for larger view) "Vacations are a little like love - anticipated with relish, experienced with inconvenience, and remembered with nostalgia." ~ Unknown
It was hot, really hot in Brooklyn this summer. This was a day for shade but I wanted to go to the Brooklyn Botanical Garden one more time before we had to head back to Virginia. We found this large tree with a wide expanse of limbs and leaves that mushroomed from the main trunk and brushed the ground at the perimeter. We had to bend over to get under and through the branches but we were rewarded with a wonderful place to rest, quiet and hidden away from view. This trunk was uniquely C-shaped and the perfect place to relax; though I doubt it was a chestnut tree.
Submission for Thursday Challenge topic "vacation". (end of post)
January 24, 1963. First birthday. (Click pictures for larger view) "To the outside world we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other's hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time." ~Clara Ortega
Today is my brother's birthday and he will be ??? years old. (Come on now, look at the pictures and the other posts and you can figure this out) I was born in the late afternoon; he was born in the morning. I remember this as they kept me out of school that day and I played checkers all morning with my Great Uncle Ad Brown. He was born in Roanoke, Virginia and shares the same "home town" as our mother. Although he was two weeks early and delivered by C-section, he weighed in at a hefty 10 lbs. 8 oz. and filled the bassinet. He began life in a size 2 shoe and in size 6mth clothes and never looked back. (more here)
Stephen at 3 months.
When my mom was visiting him at the nursery window, she overheard another family talking. They were admiring a tiny petite little girl all swaddled in pink, obviously theirs. The husband said to his wife, "Look at that one over there! The tag says his name is Stephen. Man! They should have named him "Goliath"!" Grandma thought Stephen was going to be twins so she crocheted two of each of the baby afghans. (There was no ultrasound in 1962) After he was delivered she proceeded to crochet them together into a much LARGER blanket.
Before we moved to Indiana, around three months of age.
Even then his mouth was wide open and the inherent drama present.
I was a built in babysitter, both when the folks had to go out and in church. I will admit that on rare occasions I would pinch him a little, so he would cry and I could take him to the nursery. My best friend had a baby sister and we could talk together while they played. This was pretty quickly nipped in the bud as nothing much ever got past my dad; well, except for that time Stephen jumped a motorbike, fell, broke his shoulder and told Dad that it was a bicycle (sans the motor). That secret was kept for almost thirty years.
Stephen age 3. 1965. Gary, Indiana.
When Stephen was 9 months old we moved to Gary, Indiana where Dad was to pastor a church. We lived in two different houses before the property for the new church and parsonage was purchased and the house built. Above, Stephen is playing with his dump truck in the sand around the construction site. We had a large basement beneath the house where church was held until the building was complete. The new church had a pre-school, which was quite unusual at that time. They started with about six or seven three and four year olds and Stephen was a student. One day he led several of his little friends across the grass to the parsonage where our little dog Pepper was playing in her yard. As boys will do, they started pestering her and anyway, they weren't supposed to be over there in the first place. I saw them through the dining room window and tapped on it to get his attention, but to no avail. So I "tapped" a little harder...uh, with my fist and being almost a teenager, I didn't realize my own strength. The window shattered as my fist went through it and there was a little blood and three year old mass hysteria as they ran back to the church. This was probably the last time I ever intimidated my little brother... actually, it was the last time I was able to do so.
Sleeping giant... age 4
I wrote about the mishap depicted in the above picture here. Around this same time, Mom had a large rubber plant that she had nurtured and grown to be a fairly good size. It sat in the corner of the living room in the new parsonage. One day Stephen decided to "help mommy". He got under the kitchen sink and found a mayonnaise jar filled with a clear liquid "water". He knew she used a "special water", so he took the lid off and watered the rubber plant liberally; he emptied the jar. I don't know where we were but I do know that I was not "in charge" of him that day. Pretty soon, the poor rubber plant began to droop; or rather the top half started to lean and lean and bend and lean some more until it was at right angles to the bottom half and then some more until it was bent into a U shape. Then the whole plant began to shrivel and in a half an hour it was dead. I think the "water" was actually "turpentine". That was the last rubber plant we ever had; it may have been the last live plant we had. This may have been the point where the fake plastic plants entered the picture.
It looks like we are getting closer, but he's really choking me. Stephen at age six.
Through high school Stephen liked to hang around with the church youth group, going on hay rides, tobogganing (after we moved to New Brighton, Pennsylvania), and such. This was a real time of irritation and he enjoyed popping up just when I was snugging on the hayride with my first boyfriend Howard. He enjoyed getting me in trouble too. It wasn't until I left home for college at the age of 17 that we began to really become friends. He was 8 years old and had his own nine or ten years of being essentially, an only child. When he was twelve, he ushered at my wedding and that was the last recorded moment in history that I was taller than he was.... I was 21. The spurt to 6'5" began that year.
Stephen today. Photo by peter rigaud.
(I call this his "secret agent" look)
Since then I have seen him grow and come into his own. We took vastly different career paths and I admire his tenacious and firm resolve to make it in a very difficult art. His voice has matured from good to great to fabulous. My brother introduced me to the Broadway musical and to classic opera. Because of him I have seen the breathtaking art of Florence and the sights of Vienna, Linz and Salzburg in Austria. I've seen The Phantom of the Opera in Chicago, Washington DC, Philadelphia, Atlanta and in some places more than once. He has belted out renditions of "Happy Birthday" that everyone in the house could hear through the hand held phone and has crooned "Memory" from Cats at the burial of a beloved pet, even as his canine audience deposited droppings by the casket.
Nyssa and her Uncle Stephen
He has been more than an Uncle to Nyssa. He has been a friend, a playmate, a comforter when she was sick, a champion when she was sad and a strong father figure when her own let her down. In these last three years he has given her the gift of her education when I couldn't and for this we are eternally grateful.
That "Goliath" of a baby born this day years ago has grown into a man with a "Goliath" heart filled with generosity, kindness, strength, understanding and love. I can't imagine having anyone else as my brother and I am thankful God let him come into my life.
Happy Birthday, Brother!!!
There are also posts about his singing and other stories here, here, here, here and here. His website with pictures, itinerary and sound bites of his music are here. (end of post)
Colonial Williamsburg. December 2006. Sheep safe within the fold.
(Click picture for larger view) Slumber Song
Drowsily come the sheep
From the place where the pastures be,
By a dusty lane
To the fold again,
First one, and then two, and three:
First one, then two, by the paths of sleep
Drowsily come the sheep.
Drowsily come the sheep,
And the shepherd is singing low:
After eight comes nine
In the endless line,
They come, and then in they go.
First eight, then nine, by the paths of sleep
Drowsily come the sheep.
Drowsily come the sheep
And they pass through the sheepfold door;
After one comes two,
After one comes two,
Comes two and then three and four.
First one, then two, by the paths of sleep,
Drowsily come the sheep.
~ by Louis V. Ledoux (1880—1948)
Sheep are not the brightest of creatures; if you get one to walk down a path through the woods, all others will follow. They are easily lost and will stand bleating plaintively, out of sight from the flock but only a few steps away and yet unable to find their way back. This picture of sheep safe in their fold is comforting. It reminds me of the cold Illinois winters when we visited my grandfather's farm. Every evening he would gather the sheep from the pasture behind the barn and from the pine grove, leading the old buck towards the barn. All would follow and soon they were safe, shut in away from the cold wind and snow with fresh feed and soft hay and the milk cows for company. Here they stayed safe and sound through the night. Each morning he would slide open the heavy barn doors and they stood looking out, blinking in the light as if they had never seen the barnyard or the pasture before. Each morning brought the same reaction of surprise. Finally, one would take a tentative step across the threshold, then another and soon the whole flock, one after the other scampered back through the pine grove to the pasture beyond.
Submission for Tuesday Challenge topic "fold". (end of post)
Roses for the dance recital. 35mm film. "The future is shaped with the feminine art
From dreams that lie in a little girl's heart."
~ Reginald Holmes
It is a Southern Belle rite of passage, ballet class. Each week the little ones, age four and up, giggled and squirmed in their tights and tutus with tiny pink leather ballet slippers as Miss Charlotte guided them in twirls and bends, all set to music box songs. Miss Charlotte had the patience of Job, particularly at her end of the school year recital. This was held in the large junior high school auditorium, with a stage that sat five feet above the floor in the front, sloped seating to hold five hundred people and those thick maroon velvet theater curtains to draw open and shut.
Each class did at least two dances, one tap, one ballet and had two different costumes. The performers stayed in the adjacent gym between numbers, where volunteer mothers kept order. All over the audience moms pupped up and down as they rushed back to help with costume changes and hair touch-ups. The youngest groups were the cutest and most unpredictable. One outgoing little Miss stopped in the middle of her dance and proceeded to try to line everybody up.... Miss Charlotte simply had the curtain drawn shut, fixed the line-up, stopped the fight that had ensued between the bossy chick and one little girl who had finally reached the end of her rope. Then they started over. And there was the year with that oddity.... a little boy in class. Charlotte staged the number "Humpty Dumpty" with all the little girls as the King's soldiers and the lone little boy as Humpty. Unfortunately, while the little girls lined up with military precision, they wouldn't let Humpty in the middle, no matter how hard he pushed and nudged. Again, the curtain closed and the problem resolved.
That first year as the big recital approached, I wondered what Nyssa would do. Would she stand on that stage in the glaring lights, with hundreds of faces in the darkness of the audience beyond and simply freeze with fright as one little girl did? This was her response in a Bible School program just a year before and in a much smaller venue. So, I held my breath and watched as she pirouetted and heel-toed all over the stage, staying with the music quite well if I must say so myself. After her last dance she joined me in the audience and as she climbed up on my lap I asked her, "How was it?" She replied in a breathless whisper, "Oh, mom! It was wonderful! I danced on a REAL stage!" Oh! No! She inherited the drama gene from Uncle Stephen. At that moment, I knew I was in trouble.
Submission for Moody Monday topic "feminine". (end of post)
There is one in every dozen or so. (Click picture for larger view) (Rebel) "If you've broken the eggs, you should make the omelette."
~ Anthony Eden (English Statesman and Prime Minister (1955-1957)
You go to the store to purchase a dozen eggs. In times past these were packaged in thick pressed paper containers that were great fun to cut and use in kids craft projects, then came the styrofoam container but that proved environmentally unfriendly so onward to the plastic crates. You know them, those clear cartons that let you see each egg without opening; in fact, opening the egg carton is almost impossible without a blowtorch and an ax. At least it is impossible to open if you're trying to get an egg out, but if you're simply placing the carton in the refrigerator and happen to turn it over easy; said carton will open of its own accord dumping all the eggs on the dust covered floor. At this point all you can do is stand and stare at the scrambled mess.
Do you check your eggs at the store? Of course you do, sometimes going through several dozen before finding that one carton with no cracks, no breaks and no telltale signs of trauma; these are your choice. Carefully take the eggs from the car to the kitchen, gently put the grocery bag on the table, delicately remove the eggs from the sack and check them again. What?! An egg is cracked, how did this happen?! That boy that bagged the groceries, why that eggs Benedict Arnold, he treated them like they were hard boiled, slinging the sack here and there! Hmmpf!
Let it go. Just get over it. Cracks happen. You just have to do what they did in the nursery rhyme. What rhyme? Humpty Dumpty of course!Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall!
All the kings horses and
All the kings men
Had omelettes for breakfast!
~ Mother Goose variation by srp
Breakfast anyone?
Submission for SeeItSunday topic "broken". (end of post)
Nyssa looking like the cat who ate the canary! (Rebel)
