Ladies Only

I love the weekend...for so many reasons.

One of them being, it's time for Camera Critters!!


And since my mom has been helping out with the blog this week, guest posting,
I thought I use some of her photos for today.


It's all about the Ladies...




Ladybugs, I mean.





She took these photos in Monterrey, California.

Did you see my mom's post on whales earlier this week?
Awesome photos.





Ladybugs are good luck.
I'm not sure why.


If I saw this many in one day, I'd go buy a lottery ticket!




What do you consider Good Luck?


You know the drill.
Grab a camera, find a critter and join Camera Critters!

A Bookish Sort of a Day

It began to rain yesterday morning as I loaded my car for the trip to Columbia, SC and by the time I started out, it seemed to be settling in for the day. I was delighted, however, as I passed our little pond to catch sight of a pair of ducks -- rare visitors. I think they're Buffleheads -- but can't be sure. The telephoto option on my camera did its best but between the distance and the rain . . .

. . . the rain, through which I drove all the day, was never quite blinding but serious enough to make one slow down a bit. It was an enjoyable ride though as I had fascinating company. First there was Patrick Tull, reading Patrick O'Brian's The Reverse of the Medal. I adore this series, read by this reader, and have listened to all twenty-odd books time and again.

But even though I had new CDs waiting for me, I savored the last disc of this book, enjoying once again the stirring ending which is ( for those of you who have fussed at me for my cliffhanger ending of In a Dark Season) a cliffhanger. As a matter of fact, after his first few books, O'Brian's Aubrey/Maturin series is pretty much one uninterrupted story, broken into convenient book-sized chunks. And they all end in cliffhangers.
. That episode of Jack Aubrey's and Stephen Maturin's adventures having come to an end, I pulled out my birthday present from my older boy and his wife -- a gorgeous box set of the audio edition of C.S.Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia. Here's another of my favorites -- I was introduced to Narnia in childhood and have read and reread the books many a time. But this is the first time anyone's read them to me -- and not just any anyone. Kenneth Branagh does the honors for the first book -- The Magician's Nephew. What a delight!

And almost before I knew it, I was in Columbia, SC, pulling into the parking garage right next to Ron Rash. (By chance, I swear. Poor guy probably thinks I'm a stalker.)

Then there was a grand reception last night at the Thomas Cooper Library with amazing food and authors everywhere.

There were poets (Susan Myers was one I got to talk to) and songwriters and writers of 'hen lit' and a very nice couple who write about barbecue (John and Dale Reed) and some mystery authors I 'know' from online loops (J.T. Ellison and C.J.Lyons) and two more (Fran Rizer and Mignon Ballard) who'll be on the SPOOKED panel with me tomorrow and John Milton in a glass case.

Well, not the poet himself, but amid this lively gathering of writers and readers in a library that smelled of books -- there was on display -- in glass cases scattered throughout the room where we were being entertained so lavishly -- a wonderful collection of Milton's work, including a first edition of Paradise Lost and many and various charmingly and alarmingly illustrated editions.

It was the perfect ending to a bookish sort of a day.

FRIDAY RANDOM TEN

Can it be? Can it possibly be Friday already?

Yes, it is - which means it’s time once again for the Little White Choon-Box to disgorge its Musical Content. Oh, boy!

This weekend, I am off to the mountains of North Georgia, where I will be enjoying a relaxing weekend at our fraternal organization’s annual regional retreat. We’ll be spending a lot of time dealing with matters both spiritual and spirituous. Glug!

Meanwhile, what’s playing today? Check it out:

1. Debbie Gibson Is Pregnant With My Two-Headed Love Child - Mojo Nixon
   
   Debbie Gibson is pregnant
   With my two-headed love child
   It’s a bigfoot baby
   All covered in fur now
   Stark raving naked in the fornication nation
   
   We were secretly married
   Out in Las Vegas
   At a little bitty chapel
   Joan Collins married us
   Rootin’ tootin’, ain’t high falutin’
   
   Rick Ashley is a pantywaist
   Mash my butt in his face
   He’s teeny tiny two inches of terror
   And they’re all gonna scare you
   Harebrained cockamamie knuckleheaded idjit galoot
   
   No truth to the rumor
   About Spuds and Debbie G
   Only went to the motel,
   Just to watch a little TV
   Hate that dog, he must die
   
   T-T-T-T-T-Tiffany
   Is wrestling in Jell-O
   Body slamming Debbie G,
   They’re covered head to toe
   Hard on, my hard on
   
   Debbie Gibson is pregnant
   With my two-headed love child
   It’s a bigfoot baby
   All covered in fur now
   Stark raving naked in the fornication nation
   I’m stark raving naked in the fornication nation
   Stark raving naked in the fornication... nation!
   
   
2. God, That’s Good - Stephen Sondheim, Sweeney Todd, Original Broadway Cast
   
   
3. Hot For Teacher - Richard Cheese
   
   
4. Ssekota - Maritu Legesse
   
   
5. Miracle Man - Elvis Costello
   
   From his first album, released in the summer of 1977. There was no way to listen to this album (“My Aim Is True”) - and this song in particular - without realizing that a blazing new talent had arrived in the world of Rock Music.
   
   
6. Blues For The Muse - The Incredible String Band
   
   
7. I’ll Follow The Sun - The Beatles
   
   
8. Nite Club - The Specials
   
   
9. Mayi A Gaye - Boukman Eksperyans
   
   
10. Sofa - Frank Zappa
    
    

It’s Friday. What are you listening to?

Flower Fetish

This is another guest post by my mother, Katherine.
She's been wonderful helping out with the blog this week.
She really helps out when I need her.

**********************************************************************************

So, I have a flower fetish.


Wikipedia tells me that a fetish can be, among other things, an attribution of mystical qualities given to inanimate objects.

Are flowers inanimate?


Apparently "inanimate" means not endowed with life or spirit.
Surely flowers have life ... if not spirit.
They certainly stir up my life and spirit.


This first photo is of a Protea.
Proteas were first seen (or noted) at the Cape of Good Hope in the 1600s.
They came to Europe in the 1700s.
They are also known as "sugarbushes."

What a great word: SUGARBUSH.


This is a pink mink protea, below.
Doesn't it look animate?
The petals look like fur.

The flowers were first called Proteas because they were named after the Greek god Proteus who could change his form at will.
This is because Proteas can appear so different from one another.

A close up of another Protea.

Here's a really large Protea with a bee.

The bee has large, orange pollen sacs on its legs.
Pretty neat way to carry pollen.

I'm assuming this is sort of a bee's eye view.

This next flower is some sort of Anthurium (also called "boy flower").
These are really strange looking boy flowers.

And, they are guarded by a group of carved Tiki gods.
I think the middle one looks like an alien.
Perhaps this is Rhea's proof of Aliens seen by the ancients.

If you want to know more about Hawaiin Tiki gods, click here:
Click here: hawaiian tiki gods history

If you want to know more about Protea and Aliens, you're on your own.

Twigs

Runic messages

Scratched into the evening sky --

Springtime's swelling twigs.

I love the look of these twigs. They put me in mind of the eponymous code in the Sherlock Holmes story called "The Adventure of the Dancing Men."

This morning I'm traveling to Columbia, SC for their Book Festival -- big doings with Scott Turow as keynote speaker on Sunday. Unfortunately, I'll miss hearing him as I'll be on my way to Troy, NC for a previous engagement -- a presentation at the library there. And then back home on Monday.

Of course the laptop and Miss Birdie will go with me and I'll hope to get in some rewrite time -- not ever having been one to party hardy, it's no sacrifice to turn in early and take advantage of a quiet hotel room to do some work.

Depending on how well my laptop cooperates with the hotel Wi Fi, I'll post again tomorrow.

FUZZY FRIDAY

The Ark is packed with bugs and bees
And bulls and bears as well.
All packed into one little boat,
They make a Funky Smell.
Thank goodness that the Internet
Cannot transmit the reek -
To shovel out the Kitty Crap
Alone would take a week!

Friday Ark #232 - a nice, symmetrical number - is afloat at the Modulator... with Hakuna in pole position.

And if that’s not enough Photographic Felinicity for you, head over to Artsy Catsy, where Carnival of the Cats #259 will be posted sometime Sunday evening. Enjoy!

Update: CotC #259 is up.

OLD AND NEW

Downtown Fort Worth sparkles at twilight.

Last weekend, we stayed at a hotel in downtown Fort Worth. It was the first time we had done so since our wedding, over thirty-one years ago.

Back then, we had stayed at the Hilton, right across from the Water Gardens – the local landmark so prominently featured in the movie Logan’s Run. At the time, there were not too many hotel choices in downtown Fort Worth, and so there was a small crop of minor celebrities staying there. Upon our arrival, our room was occupied by Richard Kiel, the actor memorable for his steel-toothed portrayal of “Jaws” in the James Bond flicks The Spy Who Loved Me and Moonraker, the former having been released that very summer. And the grrrl group Heart was there as well. Barracuda!

The Hilton is still there, but now it’s surrounded by taller buildings, making it difficult to spot from a distance. This time, however, we stayed at the Courtyard, AKA the Blackstone, located in the very first skyscraper to have been built in Fort Worth. It’s a grand old Art Deco building, one that has had its share of notable guests over the years.


The Blackstone: dignified Art Deco with a backdrop of glass and chrome. Check out the window washer!

Downtown Foat Wuth has undergone a sort of renaissance in recent years, with plenty of arts, shopping, and restaurants. I love the old buildings, with their detailed stonework... and I love the contrast between Old and New that confronts you almost everywhere you look.


The juxtaposition of Old and New.

You gotta love a city that respects its past even as it embraces the future... even if the municipal tap water tastes like horse piss.

More pics below the fold, for those who care to look.

Glistening tree branches form a visual counterpoint to the brickwork of a downtown building.


The old Kress department store: Art Deco classic turned Leased Residence.


More Art Deco detailing.


Art Deco designs festoon the exterior of the old Blackstone.


A shrine to famous past guests. [Click to embiggen.]


The old courthouse, a downtown landmark.


Hi-Yo Burlap! (Who was that Sacked Man?)

Sanctuary

Sanctuary: A consecrated place; a place of refuge and protection.

Beaver Lake Bird Sanctuary on the edge of Asheville is such a place. A determined group of nature lovers fought to keep this ten acres at one end of a suburban lake free from development and this upland marsh now provides a quiet place for contemplation of nature and, perhaps, the meaning of life. And ducks.

It's a place I often visit when I'm in Asheville with a spare half hour or so -- a little shot of nature and serenity just off a busy thoroughfare. And I do enjoy watching the ducks, especially these Muscovies with their red-wattled faces and variegated plumage

Sanctuary, indeed, for man and beast alike.

Cloud Groupies

Did you know there are people out there who are really into clouds?

I mean, clouds are cool...
and who doesn't like them.

I've taken some amazing photos of clouds.

There were the ones that looked like an alien invasion...
and the other ones that looked like alien penguins fell from the sky.

What?
You don't see it?
You have to admit they're amazing though.


Anyway, these super-cloud groupies...they formed a group.

They're called the Cloud Appreciation Society.



As you can see, they sell books...and clothes and calendars.

Here's their manifesto:

The following is the Cloud Appreciation Society's declaration of principles:

• We believe that clouds are unjustly maligned and that life would be immeasurably poorer without them.
• We think that they are Nature’s poetry, and the most egalitarian of her displays, since everyone can have a fantastic view of them.
• We pledge to fight ‘blue-sky thinking’ wherever we find it. Life would be dull if we had to look up at cloudless monotony day after day.
• We seek to remind people that clouds are expressions of the atmosphere’s moods, and can be read like those of a person’s countenance.
• Clouds are so commonplace that their beauty is often overlooked. They are for dreamers and their contemplation benefits the soul. Indeed, all who consider the shapes they see in them will save on psychoanalysis bills.
• And so we say to all who’ll listen: Look up, marvel at the ephemeral beauty, and live life with your head in the clouds!

They sound a little cloud-nutty, but ultimately, their message is nice.
They say, stop and look at the clouds and appreciate them.

A more atmospheric version of "stop and smell the roses."

Nature's tea leaves to read the atmosphere's moods? I don't know...

Go outside RIGHT NOW and look up.
Do you see clouds?
What do they look like to you?
Use your imagination, what shapes do you see?

Are you any kind of groupie?

My mom started writing this post, but I hijacked it and make it into my own.
hehe

I'm crooked like that.

And, if you're really into weather, supernatural and romance,
boy have I got a fun book series for you to read.

The Weather Warden books.

NEWLY RELEASED...

...in the now-moribund CD format is this Fine Album.


[Click to embiggen.]

Naw, I’m just kidding. This one is unavailable in stores... or pretty much anywhere else. It’s the product of a cute little PhotoShop-based meme Libby has been trying to propagate.

Create Your Own Album Cover!

It’s simple, especially if you have PhotoShop or some other image-editing software. Here’s all you do:

1. Go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random. The title of the article is the name of your band.
   
   
2. go to http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3. The last few words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your album.
   
   
3. Go to http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days, where the third picture - no matter what it is - will be your album cover.
   
   
4. Use PhotoShop (or any similar image-tinkering app) to put it all together.
   
   
5. Post the result on your blog.
   

Clever, no?

I’m not tagging anyone with this, but if it’s your cup of tea, have at it. What I find amusing is that this random approach yields results that would look perfectly at home in the Remainder Rack of your local music shoppe. Say, does anyone still actually buy CD’s any more?

Update: Just for shits ’n’ grins, I did a second one:


[Click to embiggen.]

Hey, this is fun!

Critique

My workshop on writing popular fiction meets tonight and we begin the critiques of twenty pages from each of the first two victims - er, make that class members. Folks in this group are not just dabbling at writing, they're actually trying to write (or have written) a novel or, in a couple of cases, a memoir. And the genres are all over the place -- sci-fi, cozy mystery, coming-of-age, thriller, western, fantasy, young adult -- I'm sure I've left out something.

So how do we deal with such diversity? Good question.

The fact is that very few people like every kind of reading -- but that's what we've got here. So each of us has the task of opening our mind to this particular type of writing and trying to determine if it is working -- does it engage the reader from the beginning? are the characters compelling? is the world of the story consistent?

It's never fun having people criticize something you've worked hard on, especially if you think you've done a good job. And there's bound to be a certain amount of trepidation among first timers to the class. One of the students commented on the fact of signing up for (and paying for) "a gut-wrenching experience."

Really, it's not that bad. As a Southern lady of a certain age, I require politeness in our criticism. We begin by saying what worked well in the pages under consideration before moving to what, in our opinion, isn't working. At no point do we say things like "This sucks!" or similar harsh, unhelpful statements.

But we do say what isn't working. And to soften the blow when I hand back the pages, all marked up with my comments, I usually bring in one of my manuscripts, similarly marked up, just so they can see how important it is to get another viewpoint.

I have learned so very much from my editor's comments and corrections. Even when she wants me to change who done it (ART'S BLOOD) or to excise a major character and attached subplot (DAY OF SMALL THINGS aka Birdie's book), I'm grateful for the learning experience.

Just as I hope tonight's writers will be.

MARDI GRAS IN NEW ORLEANS FOAT WUTH

You know if you’re going to New Orleans
You ought to go see the Mardi Gras
You know if you go to New Orleans
You ought to go see the Mardi Gras
You know when you see the Mardi Gras
Somebody’ll tell you what’s Carnival for

Get your ticket in your hand
If you wanna go to New Orleans
Get your ticket in your hand
If you wanna go to New Orleans
You know when you get to New Orleans
Somebody’ll show you the Zulu King

You will see the Zulu King
Down on St. Claude and Dumaine
You will see the Zulu King
Down on St. Claude and Dumaine
Down by the old auditorium
Is where you’ll wait to see the Queen.

- Professor Longhair

Mardi Gras - Fat Tuesday - does not really register on the radar screens of us Red Sea Pedestrians, but years of living in Texas have given us more exposure than we otherwise would have had. We’ve even eaten King Cake, at the risk of breaking our teeth on the little plastic Jesus-Baby buried somewhere within.

We have not gone to see the big Mardi Gras celebrations in New Orleans and Galveston. If ever we want to be surrounded by a sea of drunken, vomiting strangers, Savannah is only four hours away... and Saint Patrick’s Day is just a few weeks from now. But last weekend we were in Foat Wuth, Texas, and we managed to find ourselves in the eye of the local Mardi Gras cyclone.

SWMBO’s mom and stepdad David, who were both celebrating Major Birthdays, took us and a handful of their friends out to dinner Saturday night. They had made reservations at Pappadeaux, a popular Cajun-style seafood restaurant - one that had been a favorite of theirs back when they had been living in Houston.

In Fort Worth, Pappadeaux is located adjacent to Pappasito’s (a Tex-Mex place) and Pappas Burgers, in what we like to call the Pappas Compound. And when we got there, it was a mob scene fresh out of War of the Worlds. Cars cruised hither and thither, all searching for increasingly elusive parking spots. After about twenty minutes of fraying tempers and agita, SWMBO finally scored a parking place and we went inside.

It was a maelstrom, a madhouse of sweating, gyrating bodies, scurrying waiters bearing huge platters of food, and hungry patrons. And that’s when we realized that we were there in the midst of a Mardi Gras celebration. Oy.

Any given Pappas restaurant will be packed on a Saturday night, and Pappadeaux is no exception. But this was extra doubleplusjampacked, thanks to the impending arrival of Fat Tuesday, when the happy Catholics of the Louisiana bayou bid a temporary pre-Lenten farewell to happy times and rich foods. And the non-Catholic population of the neighboring states is only too eager to assist in the celebration, especially as said celebration involves the Holy Trinity: Food, Alcohol, and Excess.

I tried to imagine us - a party of twelve - seated amongst that chaotic crowd, trying to hear ourselves think... and trying to keep little William and Madison from wandering off. But, as it happens, David had an ace up his sleeve.

He had reserved us a table in the restaurant’s Wine Room, a comfy little cubbyhole just the right size for our Dirty (Rice) Dozen. A little oasis of quiet amidst the chaos. It was perfect... as was the meal.

Laissez les bons temps rouler!

WHERE IN THE WORLD IS ELDER DAUGHTER?

Dora the Explorer has nothing on our kid. Carmen Sandiego? A homebody, by comparison.

I was pleased to receive an e-mail from Elder Daughter a couple of hours ago that informed us that she had arrived safely in Dakar.

Dakar? Wuddat?

Dakar, for the Geographically Challenged, is the capital of Senegal. If you look at a map and zoom in on the bulgy part of western Africa, Senegal is the country that lies just south of Mauretania, west of Mali, and north of Guinea and Guinea-Bissau. Dakar is pretty much the westernmost point on the continent, occupying a little peninsula that sticks out of that Africa-Bulge like a zit on a humongous ass.

She’s seen a lot of Africa in the past year or so, Elder Daughter has: Egypt, Morocco, Uganda, South Africa, and now Senegal. That’s five more African countries than I’ve been to.

In the meantime, I will be perfectly content to stay here, where an occasional Gin-and-Tonic has been prescribed to ward off any possibility of malaria. Please join me in wish Elder Daughter safe travels and a happy return.

A COMIC STRIP EVEN I CAN UNDERSTAND

Pearls Before Swine ­©2009 Stephan Pastis. [Click to embiggen.]

I always knew Stephan Pastis was deranged. This clinches it.

Here he reveals the best worst-kept secret about Yiddish: It’s the best language in the world to use when you want to insult someone. And it works equally well whether the insultee understands you or not.

Update: It looks as though this Yiddish shtick is the Theme o’ th’ Week. I’ll post new strips here as they appear.

THE PENETRATING STARE

Hakuna, giving me The Look.

Never mind the legendary Jeremy Tait, he of the Powerful Eyes. Hakuna has got a penetrating stare that will slice through chrome steel.

It’s almost as if to say, “What are you looking at, Bub?”

Going to the Dogs

My friend Josie came out Sunday night for the family birthday celebration. Although she has no pets of her own, Josie's awfully tolerant of our spoiled and demanding pack, allowing Jack a nice snuggle as Ali Ali looks on.

Ali Ali's motto is "It's all about me!" and he really can't bear to see Jack getting all the attention and so . . .

. . .he moves in, becoming impossible to ignore. Except that Jack does, hanging on to his place in Josie's lap . . .

. . . and when Ali Ali, aka 'The Brat,' has been forcibly removed, Jack abides, with a sweet paw-embrace of Josie's leg.

One night at our house, Josie says, fills her need for canine companionship for weeks. Not to mention leaving her covered with dog hair.

As I said, she's a really good sport.