WHO KNEW?

Got this snazzy little gadget from Leslie. It purports to give you some idea of how much Vile Language is on one’s site. Lookee:


Created by OnePlusYou - Free Online Dating

Gee...who knew?

Col. Laurence Allen's House

January, 1863.

Fifty armed and desperate men from the community of Shelton Laurel (also known as Sodom) enter the town of Marshall in search of the essential salt which they, as suspected Unionists, had not been allowed to buy. They ransack stores and plunder homes -- even pounding up the stairs of Col. Allen's house to rip blankets from the beds of his sick children.

Retaliation is swift; a few days later a troop of Confederate soldiers makes its way to Shelton Laurel in search of the raiders. The result is the Shelton Laurel Massacre, in which 13 men and boys (some as young as 13 and 14; most, if not all, non-participants in the raid) are rounded up and executed. Women, some elderly, are tied to trees and whipped when they will not say where their men are; an infant is laid in the snow in an attempt to force the wretched mother to name the raiders and their hiding places.

Civil war -- brother against brother, neighbor against neighbor. The families of the victims of the massacre knew the killers. And for years, bitter resentment simmered, breaking out now and then in private vengeance. Over a hundred years after the Civil War and the Shelton Laurel Massacre, our county still was known to many as "Bloody Madison."

Do the old feuds and hatreds remain? Probably not -- though I wouldn't presume to say for sure. But the old house endures, new furbished and landscaped, a private home adorning our little town and inflaming the imagination of at least one novelist.

I'll be drawing for a winner tomorrow and posting the name with tomorrow's blog. Leave a comment to get your name in the hat for an early copy of In a Dark Season.

THE GREY LADY GOES MAD

MAD Magazine fans who remember Al Jaffee’s rear-cover Fold-Ins will enjoy this interactive collection of vintage Fold-Ins hosted by (of all places!) the New York Times.

The Grey Lady has gone MAD!

[Tip o’ th’ Elisson fedora to Jack at Random Thoughts for the link.]

The Mystery Photo - Answer

That mystery photo was way too easy! I'm just getting you warmed up. :o) Here's the same elephant eye, open this time.

An Elephant and a Camel go into a bar...

Sunday I took my boys to one of those roadside, traveling carnivals. Someone gave us a coupon for a free ticket, so we decided to go check it out. It was a Barnum and Bailey knock off, a Ringling Brothers cheap imitation, but we still had fun.

The minute we walk up to the tents, my boys see something they want...can you guess?

They want the alien. So, that's a picture of the Alien I did NOT buy.

This is a picture of the snow cone I did end up buying, because the tent was so hot we were sweating on top of our sweat.

The high point of the visit was riding the animals available. First up was the camel ride...

Then the elephant ride! Too cool. My boys are in the middle, don't know who all the other people are...

Now, the elephant can sense that I'm looking for good blog material, so it gives me a pose...

Saggy, elephant butt, can't go wrong with that! My boys were on the elephant at the time it did this, and they said they ended up leaning to one side as the elephant shifted its weight. It was a little scary for them, the (big wusses) little darlings. Just kidding!

Now we need a picture of camel butt...

Here's what it looked like in the sweltering hot big top:

As I tried to ignore the flashing subliminal messages they sent to tempt me into eating something bad...

Then the scary clowns arrived...

and they had women doing this...

and poodles that did this (I bet I could teach Annie to do some tricks like this with my kids...)

then the crazy hula hoop woman went all hula hoopy on us...

and finally, we escaped out of the hot tent back to the animals outside.

This llama was chillin' (look at what's in his mouth!)

and this llamabelow needs to visit an orthodontist!!

And, finally, we saw lots of this...

Fun at the circus today!!

What's this a picture of?

Is it obvious? I don't know...give me your best guesses!!

CURRICULUM VITAE - TIGHTY

Leslie tagged me with the infamous Six Words Meme:

Write a memoir of your life in six words or fewer, mention your tagger, and tag six more people.

It doesn’t get much simpler than that. Except Leslie, in tagging me, insisted that I write my six word Curriculum Vitae in Yiddish. Awright; I’m game.

Er sitzt, und zayn vayb schvitzt.

(He sits, and his wife sweats.)

It may not be perfect Yiddish, and it’s not at all a complete representation of my Baneful Existence, but it is six words, and, well, there you are. In English, I might’ve put it this way:

Food in; shit, bad jokes out.

Tags? I don’t tag. If you like it enough to do it, just link back here and consider yourself tagged. Ba-bing!

AN AVIAN COMEUPPANCE

This afternoon, as we enjoyed a cup of coffee at Georgia Tech’s Ferst Center just before the Audra McDonald concert, we saw something that would have warmed the cockles of Eric’s heart.

[Just what are Heart-Cockles anyway? And why is warming them generally considered to be a good thing? Are they naturally cold? But I digress...]

It was a mockingbird in full Birdly Fury, attacking a squirrel for some reason unknown to us.

We can only speculate as to what got the bird pissed off at Mr. Acornpants. Perhaps it was the desire to demonstrate solidarity with all the birds who are screwed out of Bird Feeder meals by the wily squirrels who steal their food. Perhaps the squirrel - inadvertently or not - wandered too close to the bird’s nest, threatening its young birdlings.

Regardless, the squirrel was having a hard time of it. Rocky the Flying Squirrel might’ve stood a chance, but not this unassuming land-bound grey fellow. The bird was knocking the crap out of him.

How humiliating. The worst part of being smacked around by a mockingbird, of course, is the taunting. You can be sure that that bird was ragging on Mr. Squirrel’s ass, talking trash like an NBA player:

“Yo, man, you call that a bushy tail? That ain’t no bushy tail. Yo mama’s punani mo’ bushy than that skanky-ass tail...”

Eventually, the bird got tired of chasing his furry prey. More likely, the squirrel took off for parts unknown, too embarrassed to ever show his face in that neighborhood again.

I tell ya, Eric would have been pleased.

THE GREAT INVENTION

Dr. Timothy Bleary was one of the Hallowed Names in gastroenterology in the 1960’s.

Among his many contributions to the field were diagnostic imaging technologies that allowed physicians, with minimally invasive procedures, to identify intestinal ailments with amazing accuracy. Patients would line up around the block to secure a coveted appointment with the good doctor, knowing that he could figure out what afflicted them, effecting a cure while other gastroenterologists could only scratch their heads in puzzlement.

Amazingly, it was under the influence of LSD that Bleary invented his greatest diagnostic tool.

Of course you’ve heard of it: the Colitis-Scope.

TWENTY YEARS

The Momma d’Elisson at age 20, in a photograph taken roughly 60 years ago.

Twenty years ago today - as reckoned by our civil calendar, anyway - I joined a vast club, a club with an almost universally reluctant membership: the Motherless Children’s Collective.

This year, owing to the vagaries of the Hebrew calendar, I’ll be observing my mother’s Yahrzeit beginning at sundown Wednesday, April 16. Three days before the onset of Passover, as always. But this time, it will be in a traditional Japanese inn - a ryokan - in Kyoto, a perfect place for the contemplation of Beauty and Inward Thoughts. Jews may be thin on the ground in the ancient capital city, but I will still be able to manage an Eil Malei Rachamim, if not a Kaddish.

Today being the anniversary date by the secular calendar, I feel the need to be a little maudlin, for which forgive me.

Mom was an active, intelligent woman, and she would have been proud of her granddaughters. That, perhaps, is what pains me the most, after all these years - that she never got to see the young women Elder Daughter and the Mistress of Sarcasm have blossomed into...and how much of her is in them.

In twenty years, the sense of loss gets a lot duller, though it never goes away completely. It’s like an old scar that aches when the weather changes, as if to say, “Now, you ain’t gonna forget me, Bub, are ya?” And you don’t forget. You could never forget. But life goes on, because it must.

Oy. This business of being maudlin? Definitely not Momma’s style. If she caught me writing this post, she’d kick my ass.

Painting Class

"Zinc white, cadmium red, quinacridone red, cadmium yellow,Hansa yellow, cerulean blue, cobalt blue: the names were as beautiful as the colors. Elizabeth squeezed a blob of each in a careful line along the top of the glossy freezer paper that was her makeshift palette." Art's Blood, p.241)

I am not now, nor have I ever been, an Artist. But there was a time when I had lots of fun playing with paint. Elizabeth's painting class was based on a studio class I took for years at Asheville's AB Tech community college. I love playing with color -- and painting's quicker than quilting, my other artistic outlet. So I signed up for a beginning class. We had a wonderful teacher -- Fleta Monaghan ( http://www.fletamonaghan.com/ )-- who has the gift of helping anyone, no matter how unskilled or uninspired, become a better painter.

After the first class, I joined a weekly studio class where we painted what we liked with Fleta always there to give encouragement and suggestions. ("Vicki, have you considered taking a drawing class?) My favorite thing to paint was big flowers -- not so much drawing (my real weak spot) and lots and lots of color.

Getting lost in painting is like meditating -- bringing your attention to bear on one little thing and shutting out everything else. I've been surprised to find out that many writers are also amateur painters but I think the two go together well. The attention to detail -- learning to see how the light lies just here along this delicate curve or distinguishing the various shades and hues that lurk in a "green" leaf --- that attention, brought to writing, must add depth and richness.

I know my time in painting class enriched my writing. And I love manufacturing "painterly" descriptions of Elizabeth's world. But as I write this I realize: I miss the paint.

Dogma

I found Annie fast asleep on her bed in the den last night...along with my husband and two boys all sleep on the couch in the same room, basketball blaring on the TV. Only my elderly father was still awake. I couldn't resist a few pictures of the sleeping dog, husband and kids, but denied permission to post the pictures except of Annie...

She has such a wonderful, simple life. We adopted her from DFW Lab Rescue this summer, and she came with her name. She's two or three years old. She's fed, loved, sleeps with my boys, gets lots of love and car rides. What a wonderful life!

She does have some weird habits. She licks, constantly, herself and others. Then there's the butt scootch. I'll try to capture that on camera someday. It's hilarious. She keeps getting ear infections, more than my kids ever had, apparently that's a lab thing.

Donny, my eleven year old, woke up this morning to her barfing on his bed.

We love you, Annie!!

Coming later today, possible post on a past Mexico trip and/or our experience at the scary roadside circus excursion planned for today!

Rainy Day Memories

In May of 2006 my husband and I did a walking tour in the Cotswolds. Today's misty, rainy weather reminded me of that amazing ten days, spent in some of the most beautiful countryside and charming villages imaginable. Yes, it rained almost everyday but never did it dampen our spirits.

We signed up with a company that set up an itinerary for us, booked us in each night at a different inn or bed and breakfast, gave us good maps, and arranged to have our luggage transported from one stop to the next. We were on our own, tramping through fields, meadows, pastures, woods, and villages, carrying only day packs. There's a wonderful system of public footpaths, often hundreds of years old, well marked and running through private and public land alike, from one village to the next.

The homes and villages are sometimes so beautiful that I found myself absolutely aching with longing to live there. A foolish dream, as even the tiniest of quaint cottages starts around a million dollars.

But irrational longing aside, it was a beautiful place to be in May, walking through the lush, green fields, blue-bell woods and villages built of golden limestone -- thinking of hobbits and Miss Marple and Harriet Vane.

A NIGHT IN CASABLANCA

Marx Brothers fans will recognize the post title as the name of one of the Brothers’ latter-day filmic efforts. Released in 1946 by United Artists, its title was similar enough to that of the well-known 1942 Bogart-Bergman film that - according to the popular legend - Warner Brothers threatened the Marx Brothers with a lawsuit. The legend goes on to say that Groucho responded with a threat of his own: to sue Warner Brothers for the use of the name “Brothers,” on the basis that they were brothers before the Warners were.

The truth is somewhat less exciting - but at least as entertaining.

The title suggested itself to me when we spoke to Elder Daughter earlier today. She was about to board a Washington D.C. - New York flight, after which she would fly nonstop to - where else? - Casablanca.

From one White House to another, you might say.

And I had, in my mind’s eye, a picture of the conversation that would ensue sometime early tomorrow morning, Morocco time, when Elder Daughter is interviewed by the Moroccan immigration officer upon her arrival there:

Immigration Officer: What in heaven’s name brought you to Casablanca?
Elder Daughter: My health. I came to Casablanca for the waters.
Immigration Officer: The waters? What waters? We’re in the desert.
Elder Daughter: I was misinformed.

Elder Daughter plans to return a week from today. Just enough time to recover from her jet lag and get ready for a voyage to even more distant horizons the following week!

Update: Arrived safely and all is well...keyn ayin hora.

Introducing Miss Thing, The Monkey & Sweet Cheeks

Last weekend, we had some family visitors! My sister K and her adorable girls came to visit. (K's husband, Flyboy, was off flying. We missed you Flyboy!) So, I'd like to introduce my beautiful nieces...first, here is Miss Thing. She just turned 10!

Oops, I didn't mean for this picture to slip in...not sure how to delete one picture from the post...

Next, we have The Monkey, who is 8 years old...

and, finally, Sweet Cheeks, who is four.

We decided to take a walk to our neighborhood creek. Here, Sweet Cheeks is trying to control Annie, who is overcome with a love for nature and trying to sniff everything...I don't think Sweet Cheeks has the muscle to win this one...

And, of course, kids being kids, they can't resist the creek. My son Donny manages to talk his pretty little cousins into walking over near the mud...and before you know it, Miss Thing has fallen on her butt in the mud. I don't think she gets dirty often...check out the look of dismay on her face...

The Monkey is not far behind...she embraces her dirty side with less screaming than Miss Thing, but you can tell they both don't get this dirty often...my children have such a great effect on other kids, don't they? Sorry, K and Flyboy! The Monkey's facial expressions are so worth capturing on film...enjoy:

Sweet Cheeks stays far away from her sisters and watches with amusement. She isn't getting muddy today.

Oh, The Monkey is loving it, you know it, despite those dramatic faces...

Here go Miss Thing, The Monkey and Donny farther down the creek...

And, of course, Annie the lab can't take it anymore, she has to join them.

Look at Sweet Cheeks, miraculously mud-free. Isn't she adorable? You see where she gets her nickname.

Ok, I think The Monkey has had enough mud time. She isn't looking so happy anymore.

Miss Thing always has a pose for the camera though, even covered in mud. Cutie.

Annie has had a blast. Wet dog though, that doesn't have me smiling anymore...think she dried off on the walk home? No, of course not...