good to see these birds-for-watching, being that it
is full of teen-and-below temps here now...
miss the birdies... :)
very nice picture, gypsy...
i am hoping to have giant funflowers, sunflowers,
again this summer...
sure miss how stuff grows in calif, and, south texas though...
neat wooldland stuff grows here, at least...
but not for gardens, unless folks are really
anchored with enough bucks to near make it 'big business'
as to the rewards growing, to match what is paid into
the soil and plants, and such...
seems so simple in my sunshine states, and i miss that..
but i am happy to be near the grandkids here... :)
Happiness counts for lots. Be happy where you grow. Birds don't keep to that rule since it's their bent to migrate, most of them. Our winter weather has gone, we're looking for record highs tomorrow.
As for the Southwest, I have some dumb article about some dumb place they call the STanding Up Country--Canyonlands, Uhta, the Urealyse Range.
I'm going to bed, though. I'll post the article--with images--tomorrow, I mean later. It could be tomorrow. It will be tomorrow. It is tomorrow in New York.
P.S. to Gypsy, that is a fine bird at the top. Thank you.
You're never too young to watch looney tunes, no matter how old they are! Remember that Rodger, the BDC, and you should be even better than fine, even finer than frog hair, possibly. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q526mSA3TRs
Regular programming sucks boobs!
Don't tell me our Merry-Go-Round is broken then charge me to fix it. The ST is all "Fix-It-Together" as I see it.
From an old Master Mariners' Regatta, in an article by Roger Olmstead, The American West magazine, summer 1964.
The event was one which my Scrabble partner Zoe Bishop loved to attend. She crewed for Chairman Bob on his boat out of the Berkeley Marina, where she lived aboard Water High, an ancient hulk that sat at the very gates of the marina.
Her dog, the giant lab George, was dramatically saved one day when he fell overboard as a pup.
She had moved to the marina from Richmond. Her kids wanted to attend Berkeley High, not Richmond High. Who could blame them? Zoe had a degree from Mills and got a good job as a travel agent and the rent was too cheap to forgo after the kids left. Then she inherited the house here in Merced and moved here, working for the historical society.
I figured this was a good spot to insert Zoe's story, as it's kind of a low ebb here, it seems. Anyway, after Liz passed away, and I had moved from that old house to an apartment in a triplex owned by Liz's mom & dad, I met Zoe, who lived next door and was friends with my sister-in-law who lived in the apartment next to mine.
Zoe and I ended up playing hundreds and hundreds of games and consuming hundreds of Budweisers. She was the Queen of Beers, like Bud is the King.
She never tried to win, usually didn't, and kept us amazed with her stories, like the one about her son Duncan's death. By "us" I mean a couple of other fellows who lived in the Tioga, and who volunteered at the museum as docents also played with us many times. We ended the Scrabble sessions by watching Jeopardy
He and his intended, I forget her name, but ahe was an heiress from back east, were in Scandinavia, traveling. They got on one of those ski devices where you sit tandem and just steer downhill and run-out. They didn't judge the run-out oat all well and ended up drowning in the sea!
Big funeral back east, a horrendous hullabaloo, you can bet.
The one thing I remember which strikes me today is that when the family wanted to have a ten-year memorial for Duncan, she wouldn't do it because it seemed like it was just yesterday he died. It's how time shortens when you arrive at an older stage in your life. Ten years is much longer when you are younger.
Talk about low ebb...
She passed away from cancer in 2005. I know exactly what she felt.
The 700-ton barkentine "Makah" swings wide around a scow schooner on the long beat from Oakland Creek to Fort Point.
I cannot decide whether it is an illness or a sin, the need to write thing down and fix the flowing world in one rigid form. Bear believed writing dulled the spirit, stilled some holy breath. Smothered it. Words, when they’ve been captured and imprisoned on paper, become a barrier against the world, one best left unerected.
Everything that happens is fluid, changeable.
After they’ve passed, events are only as your memory makes them, and they shift shapes over time. Writing a thing down fixes it in place as surely as a rattlesnake skin stripped from the meat and stretched and tacked to a barn wall. Every bit as stationary, and every bit as false to the original thing. Flat and still and harmless. Bear recognized that all writing memorializes a momentary line of thought as if it were final.--from p. 21, Thirteen Moons
What's in store today on Musical Migrations? Bulgarian singers? Love it!
Java or some place similar. These slides were not organized well, a legacy to a friend from a relative who took a lot of shots wherever he was posted in the Army.
Mouse: You're an associative encyclopedia. Nice...
My association: Mishima's "Spring Snow".
Edited - Mouse: You don't follow me... that's how it is... but tell me where you have ended up at the moment you just froze in time. Where's that?
Great street photo next page. Or maybe just photo or copy of photo. You know the thing at the top of the next page at this moment. That thing. It. The it part of the M flow at present.
I could easily agree about 1. great and interesting 2. domestic and not interesting. But I won't.
Let us know!