Barren trees on a gray winter's morning.
(Click picture to enlarge) 
"The trees down the boulevard stand naked in thought,
Their abundant summery wordage silenced, caught
In the grim undertow; naked the trees confront
Implacable winter's long, cross-questioning brunt."
~ D. H. Lawrence, "Winter in the Boulevard", 1916
Winter trees, the dry Autumn leaves finally stripped by the winds of a 'Noreaster. The sun shines through gray haze and cold fog and the whipping winds crack the barren limbs together in a loud rhythmic symphony. The sight and sounds send a shiver down your spine.... while you are still inside, looking out. Yet, with 100 degree temperatures in the midst of summer... do we not sometimes long for those cold, barren days of winter?
Submission for Photo Friday topic "barren". (end of post)
Busy bumble bee... flits from flower to flower...
(Click picture to enlarge) "A bee is never as busy as it seems; it's just that it can't buzz any slower." ~ Kin Hubbard
Tell that to the bumble bee at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden, who was so loaded with pollen, he couldn't fly. Shake a little loose, don't take on so much.... take a day to relax.. guess I should take my own advice. Busy, busy, busy... places to go, people to see and a never ending flow of boxes to move and unload! Busy as a bee!
Submission to PhotoFriday for topic "busy". (end of post)
...but the place you live in is that much more grey. Shawshank Redemption.
(Click picture for larger view) "I am a feather for each wind that blows." ~ William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
Grey feathers from a mourning dove or mockingbird, with the soft down near the point; not usually the type seen in feather beds, but still beautiful. Amazingly, the sticky green weed on which it rests is called "bed-straw"; an irritating, scratchy plant with small spines on each stalk and with round spiny seed balls that stick deep in Max's fur and adhere to trousers and shirts as one walks by. In early American times, this plant was used to stuff mattresses, but given how it feels... I'd take the grey feather mattress any time.
Submission for Photo Friday topic "grey". (end of post)
....the dream of flight.
(Click picture to enlarge) "I believe that if one always looked at the sky, one would end up with wings." ~ Gustave Flaubert
To soar above the earth with wind in your hair, unencumbered by gravity, floating in the cool breezes; who has not at one time or another dreamed of flying with eagles!? Such are the things dreams are made of. What dreams are on your horizon?
Submission for PhotoFriday topic "dream". (end of post)
A hummingbird feeds in mid-air, its wings but a blur.
(Click picture for larger view) "A flash of harmless lightning,
A mist of rainbow dyes,
The burnished sunbeams brightening
From flower to flower he flies."
~ John Banister Tabb
The hummingbird does rest, occasionally still on the branch of a nearby tree; but only rarely. The nectar draws him in to feed and hovering, almost still but with wings always in motion, always active. Then to a vantage point he flies, to wait and watch and guard his territory. Fierce are the battles, back and forth, around and around the nectar. I often wonder that he has time to dine..... fast food, indeed!
Submission for PhotoFriday topic "active". This "hummer" will also take a ride on Friday's Ark, hosted by the Modulator. (end of post)
White tulip. Norfolk Botanical Garden."White ... is not a mere absence of colour; it is a shining and affirmative thing, as fierce as red, as definite as black ... God paints in many colours; but He never paints so gorgeously, I had almost said so gaudily, as when He paints in white."
~ G. K. Chesterton
"Like the musician, the painter, the poet, and the rest, the true lover of flowers is born, not made. And he is born to happiness in this vale of tears, to a certain amount of the purest joy that earth can giver her children, joy that is tranquil, innocent,uplifting, unfailing." ~ Celia Thaxter, An Island Garden, 1894
The sun was bright this day and made shadows of petals on petals; leaving the background darkened to black with the light. I can feel the warmth of that sun in this picture.
As for an update regarding my mom, she is now in the rehab facility and will be there for at least 21 days. Dad makes his trips back and forth a couple times a day and I am headed in that direction. The hard core therapy starts tomorrow. She is supposed to come home on the day we close on Stephen's house. Moving will be a slow process for both her and the house. All in all, I think she is doing a little better with this knee than the first; perhaps that is because she knows what to expect. So, now I am off to have lunch with them there and explain to her why I am limping. Joy.
Submission for SeeItSunday topic "white" and PhotoFriday topic "purity". (end of post)
Well, not so little sometimes. My Shadow
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.
The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow--
Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;
For he sometimes shoots up taller like an India-rubber ball,
And he sometimes goes so little that there's none of him at all.
He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play,
And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.
He stays so close behind me, he's a coward you can see;
I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!
One morning, very early, before the sun was up,
I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;
But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,
Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.
~ Robert Louis Stevenson
Everyone feels like a shadow sometimes... not really there, a figment of the imagination. Sometimes we wish we could be shadows; to slip in unannounced, seen but not recognized and able to fade away when the sun goes behind a cloud. To be a shadow, sometimes comforting... sometimes lonely; just remember... you can't have a shadow without the sunshine!
Submission for PhotoFriday topic "how I see myself". (end of post)
This hat is too large for such a little girl.
(Click picture for larger view) "Sometimes you can tell a large story with a tiny subject." ~ Eliot Porter (1901-1990), U.S. photographer
Her cowboy hat was way too large; a man's size, purchased at the local garage sale for a dollar. But for Nyssa it was fantastic, even if it fell sideways over her big blue-green eyes more often than not. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were a mainstay at this point in time... although the jelly never stayed on the sandwich but migrated to her face at some point. Nyssa wouldn't touch steak until she was in high school, so the PB&J went with us to the steakhouse where she would order her side salad to go with it. In our small town, the restaurant didn't mind.I love the memories we made in those peanut butter and jelly days and that old ten gallon hat! You know... I think that hat may be stored away somewhere. Do you suppose it will survive until another little girl wants to play cowboy?
Submission for PhotoFriday topic "large". (end of post)
Tanya flashes a look with her amber eyes.
(Click picture for larger view) "Her amiable amber eyes
Are very friendly, very wise;
Like Buddha, grave and fat,
She sits, regardless of applause,
And thinking, as she kneads her paws,
What fun to be a cat!"
~ Christopher Morley
All of my cats have blue eyes and all my previous cats had blue eyes. I was looking in my files for a cat with amber eyes. Tucker had green eyes but his companion of many years, Tanya, has big amber yellow eyes that glow from her black as midnight face. It is difficult to photograph a black cat, usually distinct facial shapes and features simply blend in together with the end result, a blob of black. Only when their eyes are open can you glimpse not only the curve of their whiskers or the triangular nose from the light reflected in their eyes, but also the fire that burns inside. Tanya really wanted me to leave her alone; she was resting and you know how cats dislike being disturbed from a nap! She was a bit annoyed; but well versed in the shortcomings of humans, she simply glared a bit and returned to her dreams.
PS: Tanya lives with Diane and Alec and I've heard that Tanya is not feeling well. She is getting on up there in age and as such, has good days and bad days... here's hoping that this will be a very, very good day.
Submission for PhotoFriday topic "amber".
Tanya will be boarding Friday's Ark at the Modulator today and will visit the Carnival of the Cats on Sunday. (end of post)
Smoke gets in your eyes.
(Click picture to enlarge) "Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs."
~ William Shakespeare
Take a new Canon Digital Rebel xti, a candle, some matches, a few props and you have..... a whole lot of fun. First with the flame; then with the smoke. I think it would have been easier had there been someone to gently blow the candle out while I simply took the shots, instead of having to do both. What do they say? Practice makes perfect? Much more practice to come, I know.
Submission for PhotoFriday topic "smoke". (end of post)
....and look upon verdure is the most perfect refreshment. (Jane Austin)
(Click picture for larger view)"If a man insisted always on being serious, and never allowed himself a bit of fun and relaxation, he would go mad or become unstable without knowing it." ~ Herodotus (484 BC - 430 BC)
To rest suspended between earth and sky, on a warm sun-filled spring day, with shade provided by ancient oaks and an cool ocean breeze on your face; that is relaxation. Add a good book; no, not a technical journal or textbook or a two thousand page epic novel, but a bit of fluff... perhaps a mystery or fantasy or even a cookbook (for those unique people to whom cookbooks read like novels); and you have a day that approaches perfection. Should there be colorful flowers blooming nearby, the fragrance of lilac and the music of a mockingbird... well, what would you call something beyond perfection?
Submission for PhotoFriday topic "relaxation". (end of post)
....still common today. (Click picture for larger view) "Happy, twice happy, you who dwell in the country, if you only knew the pleasures which surround you!" ~ Virgil
This is a common sight in the farmlands of the midwest. Barns and farmhouses with clotheslines in the yard; more often than not they are filled with drying laundry, overalls, t-shirts, underwear and socks.... many socks. Those warm winds sweeping down the plains will dry pretty quickly along with the added heat from the sun. There is nothing like the smell of laundry dried on the open line. Unfortunately, there is also nothing stiffer than laundry dried this way.
My grandmother's house was over 100 years old and in the dank and dark basement sat her old wringer washing machine. The machine would agitate the clothes with the soapy water... always hot back then. When Grandma thought the dirt was out, she picked up a shirt or sock or pair of pants with a huge wooden fork and fed it through the rollers of the wringer, into a waiting wash tub of warm water. We would help her dunk and dunk and dunk those clothes in the rinse water and send them back through the wringer. Then into a second fresh tub of clean water. After the second dunking, she would always feed the clothes slowly, sometimes twice through the wringers and into her basket. Then we headed out to the line stretching across the back yard. She quickly hung those clothes and then we waited. Sheets always came out white as new fallen snow and stiff as a board. Overalls could stand on their own after drying on the line. There was no Downy and certainly no Bounce dryer sheets back then. Oh but what fun an eight year old could have, running and hiding between the sheets and towels and what trouble she would be in should one of those items fall to the dirty ground due to her antics.
Grandma eventually got a dryer when Grandpa built her a new house, but they never did take down that clothesline. Above all Grandma was practical.... that newfangled dryer might just break down one day, and where would she be without her clothesline?
Submission to PhotoFriday for topic "the country". (end of post)
....always get me down. (Click picture for larger view) "The blues ain't nothing but a good man feelin' bad."
~ Leon Redbone
"The blues", everyone has them; those days when the world weighs heavy, the future is dark and invisible, the past a clouded mess of chaos and the present, a frantic attempt just to keep your head above water. If you've got "the blues" it will probably rain or snow; surely life would be better if you could hibernate in a dark, warm, quiet cave, all by yourself. Yes, everyone gets "the blues".
But not everyone can play the blues. Chester Burnett, "Howlin' Wolf" was born near West Point, Mississippi and became one of the most successful blues artists of the 50's and 60's. Several years ago the Howlin' Wolf Blues Festival was held in West Point, only a twenty mile drive from our house in Columbus, Mississippi. Nyssa and I had never been to a blues venue so we went. It was a typical hot Mississippi summer night and the crickets were going strong. Group after group got up to play and there were horns, piano, electric guitar and that swaying beat of the drums. My favorite group was a family one with a couple of small boys playing the horns; though they weren't more than 10 or 11, the sounds that came from those horns was unbelievable. The women in the audience were humming to the music and we had those old time hand held fans going double time in the heat. It was a great experience; people came and went as they felt, refreshment stands did a great business and the music continued late, or should I say early into the next day, according to the papers. Unfortunately, it was a school night so we had to leave before the major group performed. Several of the surviving members of Howlin' Wolf's band had returned to play together in his honor.
We moved away several years ago. I wonder if musicians still gather in that little town on a hot Mississippi night to sing and play "The Blues".
Submission for PhotoFriday topic "The Blues". (end of post)
My little blessing at age two. (1988) (Click to enlarge) Count Your Blessings...
Count their fingers, count their toes,
count the freckles on their nose.
Count the laughter, count the tears,
count the memories through the years.
And when you add up all of your assets,
may your best investments be
the sum of all the blessings,
hanging from your family tree.
~ Keri Lyn
It's hard to believe that this little two year old will be twenty-one in less than three weeks.... where did the time go? She was, is and will forever be my blessing from God. God blessed me with this child and together we have laughed and cried, felt immense joy and deep sorrow, reached high goals and experienced the pits of failure. We have come through the valley of the shadows of both adolescence and menopause..... at the same time.... and we lived through it. She has been fiercely independent from the beginning and that will not change, nor do I wish it to; for I feel confident that whatever she endeavors to do with her life, she will succeed. I love you Nyssa.
Submission for PhotoFriday topic "blessing". (end of post)
....of a new season. (Click picture to enlarge) "Mistress Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells and cockleshells,
And pretty maids all in a row."
~ Nursery Rhyme
The first new growth of Spring; daffodils, or perhaps crocus. New life pushing up through the pine needle covering. This is always an exciting discovery, for where there are daffodils and crocus, the tulips and forsythia will not be far behind. Today, a new discovery; tiny bursts of green on the tips of the fig tree and a hint of opening buds on the lilac. All nature is getting into the act.
Submission for PhotoFriday topic "growth". (end of post)
My grandmother's handiwork, crocheted lace handkerchiefs.
(Click picture for larger view) "And there were times when one yielded quite shamelessly to the sentimental. They were more likely to be times of crickets, I think, than of birds - when it was impossible not to feel, like another essence of the sunlight, the bittersweet of life that lingers about old houses, and places where men have died, and things that forgotten hands have touched." ~ H. G. Dwight, Atlantic Monthly, 1912
My grandmother loved to crochet and quilt. She could look at an afghan and replicate the pattern on her own. Her quilts were pieced and finished by hand and she left each of us several examples of her handiwork. I have about six of these linen handkerchiefs that she made with crocheted lace borders. The work is delicate and intricate and required total concentration. These are precious because they were made before the Alzheimer's took its toll on her mind, before she could no longer remember how to write her name much less crochet. These represent my grandmother before she no longer knew my name.
Submission for PhotoFriday topic "sentimental". (end of post)
Hot time.. summer in the city.
(Click picture for larger view) "Long lion days
Start with white haze.
By midday you meet
A hammer of heat...."
~ Philip Larkin (1922-1986)"Long lion days"
I've seen my share of 100+ degree days in Dallas, Oklahoma City and Mississippi. I've seen air conditioners that have exploded after a power failure on these days; the overworked condensers not able to handle the pressure. I've seen cars with boiling radiators, their drivers standing on the side of the road with sweat pouring down their faces. I've seen my beagle struggling to breath, her tongue and gums turning blue as her body's ability to regulate broke down and her core temp soared above 108; a heat stroke. And I've felt that thick and heavy weight of tropical humidity in the deep south that makes even temperatures under 100 feel like 120.
This picture captured the heat wave of summer in New York City. No breeze to evaporate the sweat on your skin, no clouds to break the pounding sun, the deep red haze of the heat that did not abate at nightfall.... 104 in the shade at supper, 103 at midnight, no relenting, no rain, no storm... just heat. Broadway shows, museums and restaurants are the coolest places in town. Oppressive, stifling, overpowering heat... just thinking about the summer heat makes me appreciate the cold front that just came through... Oh, the joy of 40 degree temperatures!
Submission for PhotoFriday topic "heat". (end of post)
Got coffee? (Click picture for larger view) "Without my morning coffee I'm just like a dried up piece of roast goat." ~ Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750) "The Coffee Cantata"
"A certain Liquor which they call Coffee...which will soon intoxicate the brain." ~ G. W. Parry (1601)
It's my brother's fault that I drink coffee. He loves coffee. No one talks to him until he has his second cup in the morning. He likes it stiff, hearty, strong. While he was on tour with Phantom of the Opera, he had me buy coffee with chicory and ship it to him as he couldn't find it in the North.
It is our mother's fault that he drinks coffee. She never drinks a whole cup of coffee; I don't think she ever has. When Stephen was little, he would find that half a cup of coffee on the table after she left for work and he drank it. We are talking six, seven or eight years old and he was already devious, sneaking into the kitchen before Dad could get rid of it. By the time he was in college, he was addicted to that which he still calls "the nectar of the gods". Not me. I thought it smelled wonderful when brewing but the taste was bitter and nauseating. I made it through college, medical school, residency and fifteen years of practice without ever drinking coffee. In fact, on that rare occasion when I had to brew coffee for a dinner, Nyssa would smell the aroma and ask, "Is Uncle Stephen coming to see us today?" Even she associated coffee with him.
But then Stephen introduced me to Starbucks and the "white chocolate mocha with a splash of almond" did me in. We didn't have a Starbucks in our little Mississippi town; I know that is hard to believe, but it is true. What we did have, however, was The Coffee Plantation, a little coffee shop that sold coffees of all blends and flavors and their special flavor of the day "Creme Brulee" hooked me forever.
Now, when he gets home the kitchen is crowded with coffee machines; the individual brewers for Mom and Dad, the ten cup for my flavored coffee and the big fancy grinder included one for Stephen's mud. Still he treats me to a Starbucks and even remembers what I like. And I, in turn get him their coffee beans to take back to Europe. It's an easy Christmas or birthday present and with his level of caffeine addiction is always welcome.
Submission to PhotoFriday topic "addiction". (end of post)
...with the sand and the ocean waves.
(Click picture for larger view) "Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide, wide sea.
~Samuel Taylor Coleridge, "The Ancient Mariner"
This is one of my favorite pictures of the ocean. Sunrise in August, the waves gentle, the sky clear and a solitary swimmer, standing alone at the edge of the day. Such peace can come with solitude.
Submission for PhotoFriday topic "alone". (end of post)
Sea urchin shells. (Click picture to enlarge) "I search for the realness, the real feeling of a subject, all the texture around it ... I always want to see the third dimension of something ... I want to come alive with the object."
~ Andrew Wyeth, artist (1917 - )
The summer job in a knick-knack shop at the beach was not always exciting and much of the merchandise was at best, tacky but it was a job and Nyssa worked hard. While I was waiting on her one day I snapped pictures of gaudy coconuts fashioned into flamingos, plastic molded fish with silicone enhanced lips and juice glasses with "Virginia Is For Lovers" written on the surface in hot neon colors. The shells were a pleasant contrast and I found these sea urchin shells in soft colors and wonderful textures. All was not lost.
Submission for PhotoFriday topic "textured". (end of post)
