The cicada are beginning to re-appear. I spotted the first one on a post two weeks ago. Last week I saw one on a tree. Now I've begun to notice the holes they drill in the ground (according to a source I read last summer, the holes indicate them going back underground rather than them emerging).
In any case, Koko is a happy dog. He wanders from tree to tree on his evening walk, gazing up the trunk in search of victuals. Not much there so far, but he's found two recently dead ones on the sidewalk and has delicately taken them up in his mouth and spit out the ants crawling on the carcass before chomping with undisguised enthusiasm.
Meanwhile, back at home Koko's on a diet. In a fit of good sense and responsible dog ownership, we committed to no longer giving him people food. As that plan took effect, we also decreased the numbetr of treats he gets each day. He'd become a bit plump over the winter, and for all that my Jennifer says, "He's big-boned, Mama," the reality is that overweight dogs die on average three years earlier than their sleeker kin.
Koko seems not to have noticed the changes in diet. Why would he mind when a smorgasbord lies outside the front door, with more on the way each day?
July 13, 2009
June 30, 2009
Flying Fingers
I've been on a quilting binge ever since I learned that my friend Terry had a malevolent sarcoma on her left arm. The news left me with an overwhelming desire to sew tiny green pieces of fabric together. I did so for two days, crying all the while, and then I decided that I might as well be in South Carolina where I could see and talk with Terry. She's come a long way since then; the arm was amputated about two inches above the elbow three weeks ago Friday. She's determined that she'll be driving again by the end of this summer.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, when I got home I kept sewing little pieces of green fabric. Eventually it turned into a quilt/blankie, mostly greens, with six or eight patches showing pretty teapots -- fabric I picked up at Mary Jo's Cloth Shop in Gastonia, NC, while I was down that way. The backing is a white fabric with scattered daffodils. The title is "The race is not always to the swift," because I used racing fabrics for one edge of the backing-- people in a foot race, hermit crabs, and some nice pirate fabric.
We're all recovering nicely, and Terry loves her quilt. I was headed back south to see her and also celebrate a baby shower for my sweet niece Jessie, whose baby is due at the end of August. That didn't work out, and I was so disappointed I decided I might as well finish getting my 2008 tax information together. I also made a few more blankies while I was at it: one for my compadre's new grandson, one for his granddaughter, another quilt with greens and yellows, and a chicken quilt for Mary Flowers' husband. Oh, yes, and a blankie for Jessie's baby. Now I'm finishing one for my sister's grandson, the amazingly precious Carson, whose second birthday is next week. His is cowboys and things with wheels -- just right for picnics and playing peekaboo.
PS I just realized that I wrote malevolent sarcoma rather than malignant. I don't want to personify a cancer and yet both adjectives seem appropriate.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, when I got home I kept sewing little pieces of green fabric. Eventually it turned into a quilt/blankie, mostly greens, with six or eight patches showing pretty teapots -- fabric I picked up at Mary Jo's Cloth Shop in Gastonia, NC, while I was down that way. The backing is a white fabric with scattered daffodils. The title is "The race is not always to the swift," because I used racing fabrics for one edge of the backing-- people in a foot race, hermit crabs, and some nice pirate fabric.
We're all recovering nicely, and Terry loves her quilt. I was headed back south to see her and also celebrate a baby shower for my sweet niece Jessie, whose baby is due at the end of August. That didn't work out, and I was so disappointed I decided I might as well finish getting my 2008 tax information together. I also made a few more blankies while I was at it: one for my compadre's new grandson, one for his granddaughter, another quilt with greens and yellows, and a chicken quilt for Mary Flowers' husband. Oh, yes, and a blankie for Jessie's baby. Now I'm finishing one for my sister's grandson, the amazingly precious Carson, whose second birthday is next week. His is cowboys and things with wheels -- just right for picnics and playing peekaboo.
PS I just realized that I wrote malevolent sarcoma rather than malignant. I don't want to personify a cancer and yet both adjectives seem appropriate.
May 6, 2009
Where I've been
Ohio, Ohio,
Taking Dad to the doc --
Now home again, home again,
tickety toc.
More to come once I have a chance to read Sunday's paper -- I left Louisville on Saturday and was without television and laptop until this morning, so all I know of Derby is the name of the winner. And that I was pulling for Dunkirk.
Taking Dad to the doc --
Now home again, home again,
tickety toc.
More to come once I have a chance to read Sunday's paper -- I left Louisville on Saturday and was without television and laptop until this morning, so all I know of Derby is the name of the winner. And that I was pulling for Dunkirk.
May 2, 2009
Derby Day
Oh, I love the first Saturday in May! And only the lingering memory of Eight Belles tempers the feeling.
I have a yellow Lab mix pound dog; and in my reading after we brought him home I learned that breeders are working hard to prevent the hip problems that are prevalent within the breed. How are they doing that? By not breeding dogs who display the problem.
The day is coming when horse breeders will do the same with thoroughbreds. A few more breakdowns like Eight Belles and economics will force them to.
I disagree with PETA; the first time I saw a winning horse prance back down the track, sneering at the losers, I understood that they love the race and the competition. The inbreeding, though, is causing needless pain and suffering to horses, trainers, and observers. The solution isn't a different kind of track. It's a different mindset toward health and strength.
I have a yellow Lab mix pound dog; and in my reading after we brought him home I learned that breeders are working hard to prevent the hip problems that are prevalent within the breed. How are they doing that? By not breeding dogs who display the problem.
The day is coming when horse breeders will do the same with thoroughbreds. A few more breakdowns like Eight Belles and economics will force them to.
I disagree with PETA; the first time I saw a winning horse prance back down the track, sneering at the losers, I understood that they love the race and the competition. The inbreeding, though, is causing needless pain and suffering to horses, trainers, and observers. The solution isn't a different kind of track. It's a different mindset toward health and strength.
April 30, 2009
April 29, 2009
Coffeetable
This is the last coffeetable photo I'm going to post for the time being. Koko has been spending very little time in the living room in recent months. I wasn't sure why, but I missed him. Then one day he was standing beside me, shook his head, and bopped a floppy ear on the edge of the coffeetable. Aha! Problem discerned: poor puppy does not like ear-bopping. This is the last photo before I took the table out of the room.
And here's a recent photo of the dog which makes a coffeetable-less life worth it:
April 28, 2009
Dead Possum -- Or is it?
Koko killed a possum and jauntily carried it home and placed it on the welcome mat. My compadre took a photo.
Twenty minutes later my compadre went back outside and took another photo of the now relocated dead possum.
Ten minutes later he went outside once again only to discover a reanimated possum. Yes, it's true: this possum was only playing.
April 24, 2009
Why we need local newspapers
I'd prefer the Louisville Courier-Journal had put this headline on the front page, but I appreciate it appearing at all, anywhere, what with my not having seen television news last night:
"Boil-water advisory is in effect."
Because I am by nature and upbringing a concerned citizen, I read the advisory to learn which of my fellow citizens were involved: "eastern Jefferson County," it informed me. And then, in the following paragraph, "from Beckley Station Road east to Floyds Fork and Shelbyville Road south to Interstate 64."
I set down my coffee cup and re-read that last bit. Shelbyville Road south to Interstate 64, you say? Why, that means me.
Surely not.
I read the paragraph a third time, recalled the heavy equipment that's been at work in Shelbyville Plaza for over a week, and continued on into the story to discover that I and my geographic kin must boil water due to a drop in water pressure and disruption in service.
So much for my coffee.
The larger point here is that without the newspaper I would have continued to consume polluted water and ice cubes. Instead I now have two huge pots on the stove in which water is coming to a rolling boil and trying to think through how I'll clean the traces of bad water out of the coffeemaker.
In the great scuffle of newspapers closing and of newspapers giving more space to celebrity romance than to civic discourse, the fact remains that the heart of any newspaper's existence isn't entertainment or the making of money. While those things can happen, they're incidental to the real mission of any newspaper: public service.
"Boil-water advisory is in effect."
Because I am by nature and upbringing a concerned citizen, I read the advisory to learn which of my fellow citizens were involved: "eastern Jefferson County," it informed me. And then, in the following paragraph, "from Beckley Station Road east to Floyds Fork and Shelbyville Road south to Interstate 64."
I set down my coffee cup and re-read that last bit. Shelbyville Road south to Interstate 64, you say? Why, that means me.
Surely not.
I read the paragraph a third time, recalled the heavy equipment that's been at work in Shelbyville Plaza for over a week, and continued on into the story to discover that I and my geographic kin must boil water due to a drop in water pressure and disruption in service.
So much for my coffee.
The larger point here is that without the newspaper I would have continued to consume polluted water and ice cubes. Instead I now have two huge pots on the stove in which water is coming to a rolling boil and trying to think through how I'll clean the traces of bad water out of the coffeemaker.
In the great scuffle of newspapers closing and of newspapers giving more space to celebrity romance than to civic discourse, the fact remains that the heart of any newspaper's existence isn't entertainment or the making of money. While those things can happen, they're incidental to the real mission of any newspaper: public service.
April 23, 2009
The Joy of Blogging
You take a little vacation and you complete a book proposal; then you look around and go, "Wow! It's been a month since I blogged!" Many good things have happened, including a week with my compadre's teenage sons with us for spring break. I haven't heard that much laughter shaking the rafters since the last time my daughters and I were together. They'd lovely boys with beautiful manners, and we hit two of my favorite places: the Louisville Slugger Factory and the Kentucky Museum of Arts and Crafts.
After a quick trip to take the boys home and have birthday cake to celebrate Joe's birthday in Seneca (he's now 13), we scurried home so I could get back to work on the proposal for the book. It's changed shape and size and dimension and theme and intention over the last few months; and I'm amazed at how enriched our understanding of themes is now. I'm less and less drawn to anything to do with spirituality but more and more drawn to how love is shared and grown and kicked aside and gathered back up and planted and harvested and exhibited and observed. The latter, as it happens, is an incarnation of the former, but so is everything from watching one of Mel Gibson's melodramatic incursions into religious history through doing yoga to lose weight. Once a word means everything, it means nothing.
The proposal went off on Tuesday, and I'm getting back into shape here. I cleaned out the closet and mopped the floors, which must mean the current drug combination is working. I got an extension on income taxes, which I somehow only every manage to do when the IRS owes me money -- how silly is that? I've received some scrumptious mail art in recent weeks that I'm gradually adding at It's Only a Book; but my scanner (the one I dropped a cup of coffee on top of last year) is operating in slow motion this week, requiring an exhibition of patience that takes a lot of energy.
I've got some great shots of a possum moving from wide-eyed into a catatonic state that I'll be posting soon. If wildlife's not your forte, I've also got some fine tulip photos to post as well.
After a quick trip to take the boys home and have birthday cake to celebrate Joe's birthday in Seneca (he's now 13), we scurried home so I could get back to work on the proposal for the book. It's changed shape and size and dimension and theme and intention over the last few months; and I'm amazed at how enriched our understanding of themes is now. I'm less and less drawn to anything to do with spirituality but more and more drawn to how love is shared and grown and kicked aside and gathered back up and planted and harvested and exhibited and observed. The latter, as it happens, is an incarnation of the former, but so is everything from watching one of Mel Gibson's melodramatic incursions into religious history through doing yoga to lose weight. Once a word means everything, it means nothing.
The proposal went off on Tuesday, and I'm getting back into shape here. I cleaned out the closet and mopped the floors, which must mean the current drug combination is working. I got an extension on income taxes, which I somehow only every manage to do when the IRS owes me money -- how silly is that? I've received some scrumptious mail art in recent weeks that I'm gradually adding at It's Only a Book; but my scanner (the one I dropped a cup of coffee on top of last year) is operating in slow motion this week, requiring an exhibition of patience that takes a lot of energy.
I've got some great shots of a possum moving from wide-eyed into a catatonic state that I'll be posting soon. If wildlife's not your forte, I've also got some fine tulip photos to post as well.
April 1, 2009
ADHDamn it
After a week I spent snoozing, I seem to have sorted out the adjustment to the new ADHD drug.
The side-effects warning mentions fatigue and/or sleepiness, along with the usual group of maladies that can accompany any drug. Somehow I underestimated the force of the terms. I thought they meant "Gee, I'm tired; I'm going to bed early" when what they actually meant was that I'd be sleeping 12 hours every night; napping 5 or 6 hours during the day; and explaining to the good dog that we weren't going for a long walk because I couldn't keep my eyes open.
Essentials got taken care of, but everything else, however important or urgent, was set aside for a livelier day -- which has at last arrived. I'm digging my way out of the behindedness; and trusting that more effective days lie ahead.
Maybe not so much this week, though. A lot of hard things happened during this week some years back, and every year I learn anew that grief is bigger than the self; that it is intimately connected to the seasons, the days, and the hours; and that to be a leaf floating down the river of remembrance is to be fully alive and present to beauty and mystery. It's nice to be awake for it.
The side-effects warning mentions fatigue and/or sleepiness, along with the usual group of maladies that can accompany any drug. Somehow I underestimated the force of the terms. I thought they meant "Gee, I'm tired; I'm going to bed early" when what they actually meant was that I'd be sleeping 12 hours every night; napping 5 or 6 hours during the day; and explaining to the good dog that we weren't going for a long walk because I couldn't keep my eyes open.
Essentials got taken care of, but everything else, however important or urgent, was set aside for a livelier day -- which has at last arrived. I'm digging my way out of the behindedness; and trusting that more effective days lie ahead.
Maybe not so much this week, though. A lot of hard things happened during this week some years back, and every year I learn anew that grief is bigger than the self; that it is intimately connected to the seasons, the days, and the hours; and that to be a leaf floating down the river of remembrance is to be fully alive and present to beauty and mystery. It's nice to be awake for it.
March 20, 2009
Sittin' on my yaya waitin' for my somethin' somethin'
I woke up at 6:30 this morning with the song "Sittin on My Yaya" playing loudly on my internal jukebox while my left foot kept time by bopping the side of the bed. Then I noticed that fake bugs (because they couldn't possibly be real) were crawling up and down my spine. And then I realized I was about to jump out of my skin.
I wandered around for a few hours discussing with myself whether I should call my ADHD doctor to see if the newly added Prozac might be the problem (doh!) or take the drug through the weekend in case this was just a transitional ... what word fits here ... hallucination? that would end when my brain chemicals adjusted to the addition.
A word to the wise: If you're doing something that makes you feel as though bugs are crawling up and down your spine? Stop doing it.
Funny about that jukebox. It played nonstop until I started on the ADHD drugs. (In truth, I thought everyone had a brainiac jukebox.) It wouldn't be as bad if I had control of the switches, but I don't. All I can do is report what's playing, or sing along.
Meanwhile, my friend Adrienne has gone to Jackson, Mississippi, to be part of the annual St. Patrick's Day parade -- yes, the very one that kicked off the literary success of Jill Conner Browne, THE Sweet Potato Queen. I am so jealous. Adrienne will be part of the parade while my imaginary bugs and I are here at home. Hope she tosses back a margarita or two for me.
I wandered around for a few hours discussing with myself whether I should call my ADHD doctor to see if the newly added Prozac might be the problem (doh!) or take the drug through the weekend in case this was just a transitional ... what word fits here ... hallucination? that would end when my brain chemicals adjusted to the addition.
A word to the wise: If you're doing something that makes you feel as though bugs are crawling up and down your spine? Stop doing it.
Funny about that jukebox. It played nonstop until I started on the ADHD drugs. (In truth, I thought everyone had a brainiac jukebox.) It wouldn't be as bad if I had control of the switches, but I don't. All I can do is report what's playing, or sing along.
Meanwhile, my friend Adrienne has gone to Jackson, Mississippi, to be part of the annual St. Patrick's Day parade -- yes, the very one that kicked off the literary success of Jill Conner Browne, THE Sweet Potato Queen. I am so jealous. Adrienne will be part of the parade while my imaginary bugs and I are here at home. Hope she tosses back a margarita or two for me.
March 18, 2009
In touch with my inner banshee
I saw my ADHD doctor yesterday to discuss how the Adderall, a minimal dose of which I started taking three weeks ago, is working. One huge benefit: I feel like myself again. From the time I started taking ADHD drugs until now, I've felt as though I'm living with somebody else's brain. Not a bad brain, you understand. Just different. It wasn't horrible so much as perennially disconcerting. A side debit was that when I forgot to take the drugs (which hardly ever happened more than 4 times a week), I would decide I didn't actually need them. Why? Because I felt great -- which is not the same as feeling/being fully functional.
Feeling like myself again is a big upside with the Adderall. The only downside -- minor in the great scheme of things -- is that the drug puts me in touch with my inner banshee. My compadre has not had an easy time of it in recent weeks.
"Is the drug wearing off during the day?" I was asked.
Maybe. I only got mad at my compadre at night, but, then, he doesn't get home from work until after nine, so that's hardly confirmation. But I feel a darned sight perkier with the Adderall, so increasing it feels like it will leave me dancing on the roof, naked -- hardly a solution.
Instead, I'm now taking, in addition to the Wellbutrin and Adderall a very low dose of generic Prozac. Three hormones/brain chemicals dance around in my (and also your) head. The levels of two of mine are raised to about equal levels. The third one lags behind.
"Serotonin," said the doctor.
"Ooo, that's the happy hormone," I said. (My memory is like fly paper; it doesn't catch everything, and some things are only hanging by a toe or two; but other bits are solidly wedged in there. Serotonin seems to be filed under Sex; which I think is an association rather than an accident of the alphabet.)
"Yes, it is," he agreed. Prozac adds the serotonin I've got a shortage of.
And so I left with another prescription clutched in my hand. Oh, wait, no; two more prescriptions. The second is a Wellbutrin refill. We thought he gave it to me last time, but I couldn't find it when I got home. I thus became a new category of patient: the only one who ever lost a prescription for a non-narcotic drug.
If you want to learn more about ADHD, check out my friend Linda's site for ADD divas. It's a friendly and welcoming; you can sign up and take part in real time discussions with experts; and on top of all that she wears cute hats. Not Derby-level cute, but cute enough.
Feeling like myself again is a big upside with the Adderall. The only downside -- minor in the great scheme of things -- is that the drug puts me in touch with my inner banshee. My compadre has not had an easy time of it in recent weeks.
"Is the drug wearing off during the day?" I was asked.
Maybe. I only got mad at my compadre at night, but, then, he doesn't get home from work until after nine, so that's hardly confirmation. But I feel a darned sight perkier with the Adderall, so increasing it feels like it will leave me dancing on the roof, naked -- hardly a solution.
Instead, I'm now taking, in addition to the Wellbutrin and Adderall a very low dose of generic Prozac. Three hormones/brain chemicals dance around in my (and also your) head. The levels of two of mine are raised to about equal levels. The third one lags behind.
"Serotonin," said the doctor.
"Ooo, that's the happy hormone," I said. (My memory is like fly paper; it doesn't catch everything, and some things are only hanging by a toe or two; but other bits are solidly wedged in there. Serotonin seems to be filed under Sex; which I think is an association rather than an accident of the alphabet.)
"Yes, it is," he agreed. Prozac adds the serotonin I've got a shortage of.
And so I left with another prescription clutched in my hand. Oh, wait, no; two more prescriptions. The second is a Wellbutrin refill. We thought he gave it to me last time, but I couldn't find it when I got home. I thus became a new category of patient: the only one who ever lost a prescription for a non-narcotic drug.
If you want to learn more about ADHD, check out my friend Linda's site for ADD divas. It's a friendly and welcoming; you can sign up and take part in real time discussions with experts; and on top of all that she wears cute hats. Not Derby-level cute, but cute enough.
March 16, 2009
A mud puppy and an eastern hellbender went into a bar . . .
one big salamander
Originally uploaded by ratterrell
I went looking for a mud puppy this morning and found this photo on ratterrell's flickr site. He'd been ice fishing in Wisconsin, caught what he thought was a walleye, reached for it, and stopped when he spied the fella in the photo.
He says it kind of freaked him out,coming up from the dark water. I understand. When I was growing up, my parents owned an ice-fishing business on Lake Erie, and mudpuppies like this were sometimes on the end of our lines, too. Salamanders, they are.
Ice fishing came to mind when I opened the Spring 2009 Kentucky Afield and found "On the Prowl for Devil Dogs: the search for the disappearing eastern hellbender" by Danna Baxley. The hellbender was once prevalent in Kentucky. In an exhaustive search last year, our Department of Fish and Wildlife Resources turned up only 11.
What's causing the demise of this remarkable salamander? The usual things: "siltation, water pollution, all-terrain vehicles (ATVs) in waterways, dams, overcollecting, disease, and killing by the public" (p. 28).
If you happen upon a salamander one day and want to know if it's a mud puppy or an eastern hellbender, count the toes on its hind feet. Mudpuppies have four per foot; hellbenders have five. Also, while mudpuppies have gills, salamanders don't. Finally, take out your tape measure. The largest mudpuppies are 13" long. The hellbender can grow to 29 inches and a rollicking 5 punds.
The hellbender's other nickname -- snot otter -- offers another clue to its mystique. Pretty? Depends on your outlook. Unique? Yes. Worth preserving? Yes.
March 15, 2009
Get 'Em Done
If you have Attention Deficit Disorder (ADHD), are really busy, are somewhat overwhelmed, or are just trying to understand where the time goes, go read this posting on A Certain Lack of Focus. The writer, who is ADHD, is working on a novel, finishing a degree program, and considering the 400 other ideas that ramble through any ADHD brain in a given hour. Not only that, she's come up with a concrete method for staying on track.
The quick description: Start with a box with pull-out drawers. Label each drawer with the name of a project. The center drawer gets labeled TIME. Fill the Time drawer with buttons. Each time you spend an hour on a project, move a button from the Time box to the other project's box. At the end of a day (week, month, lifetime, depending on how big a box you started with, you'll have a visual record of how you spent your time.
Personally, I'd be better off if I also included drawers for the non-work functions, that whole sleepingeatingwalkinggoofingoff part of life that's supposed to balance out hyper-focused getting-stuff-done mode.
My description doesn't do her project justice. Allow yourself a look at her description and excellent photos.
The quick description: Start with a box with pull-out drawers. Label each drawer with the name of a project. The center drawer gets labeled TIME. Fill the Time drawer with buttons. Each time you spend an hour on a project, move a button from the Time box to the other project's box. At the end of a day (week, month, lifetime, depending on how big a box you started with, you'll have a visual record of how you spent your time.
Personally, I'd be better off if I also included drawers for the non-work functions, that whole sleepingeatingwalkinggoofingoff part of life that's supposed to balance out hyper-focused getting-stuff-done mode.
My description doesn't do her project justice. Allow yourself a look at her description and excellent photos.
March 14, 2009
Pimps R Us
AdSense is starting a new program to make your online shopping more convenient. Their advertisers will now purchase ads based on visits I've made to their site and on my interests as revealed by my visits to other websites.
According to the e-mail I got from Google, which urged me to reset my privacy settings to let them follow me around day and night, they'll now be able to "recognize the types of web pages users visit throughout the Google content network."
Isn't that special? Well, no. It's one thing to have cameras recording every inch of, say, Target parking lots; those cameras do contribute something to shoppers' security. But to have my every move traced online so a company can market better to you should you stop in at this blog? In the original story, Big Brother had a political use for information; all this contemporary Big Brother wants is to get into your pants -- but only if that's where you keep your wallet.
I'm not going to join their game of Pimps R Us. Instead, I increased my privacy settings and then deleted all their gadgets from my blogs. I attempted to remove myself completely from their records; but I'm not sure I was successful. There are a lot of places you can click one button and sign up for AdSense. I didn't find one, though, where I can resign. In any case, they're out of here.
According to the e-mail I got from Google, which urged me to reset my privacy settings to let them follow me around day and night, they'll now be able to "recognize the types of web pages users visit throughout the Google content network."
Isn't that special? Well, no. It's one thing to have cameras recording every inch of, say, Target parking lots; those cameras do contribute something to shoppers' security. But to have my every move traced online so a company can market better to you should you stop in at this blog? In the original story, Big Brother had a political use for information; all this contemporary Big Brother wants is to get into your pants -- but only if that's where you keep your wallet.
I'm not going to join their game of Pimps R Us. Instead, I increased my privacy settings and then deleted all their gadgets from my blogs. I attempted to remove myself completely from their records; but I'm not sure I was successful. There are a lot of places you can click one button and sign up for AdSense. I didn't find one, though, where I can resign. In any case, they're out of here.
Navajo Coal, Everybody's Money, and More
***A report in the current issue of Forbes is relevant to all Kentuckians, including environmentalist, coal miners, politicians, and investors. As goes the Navajo Nation, it seems to me, so goes Kentucky when it comes to new coal-fired energy plants:
The Navajo nation has huge reserves of coal, a 50% unemployment rate, and a desire to build what the EPA says "would be one of the cleanest coal plants in the nation." Environmentalist groups are suing to prevent construction. If they're successful, the Navajo will build five gambling casinos instead. Navajo Nation President Joe Shirley Jr. says, "'The creator put the coal and the water there to be used. What we need to do is use it.'"
Christopher Helman, "Beyond Casinos, Forbes
, March 16, 2009, p. 88 ff.
***Trying to understand what got us into our economic plight? Here's the answer:
"In 2008 the average household net worth dropped by 22.7%.
. . . [Conventional wisdom] had us believing that over the long run stocks produce the highest returns, that a diversified stock portfolio protects you against loss and that the risk of owning stocks is small if you hold them for a long time.
"We now know that conventional wisdom is wrong."
Steve H. Hanke, "Unconventional Wisdom," Forbes, March 16, 2009, p. 106
***If you're a person who thinks women get all the breaks in society, I've got news for you:
"In the worst financial crash since the Depression, financial service and insurance firms have cut 260,000 jobs. Seventy-two percent of the missing workers laid off have been women, even though they constituted 64% of employment before the crash began."
Anita Raghavan, "Wall Street's Disappearing Women," Forbes, March 16, p. 72 ff.
Hmmm.
And just in case you're wondering how the folks who sold the (flawed) conventional wisdom package to us feel about recent events, here's a cover headline from that same issue: YES--YOU DESERVE A FAT BONUS.
The Navajo nation has huge reserves of coal, a 50% unemployment rate, and a desire to build what the EPA says "would be one of the cleanest coal plants in the nation." Environmentalist groups are suing to prevent construction. If they're successful, the Navajo will build five gambling casinos instead. Navajo Nation President Joe Shirley Jr. says, "'The creator put the coal and the water there to be used. What we need to do is use it.'"
Christopher Helman, "Beyond Casinos, Forbes
, March 16, 2009, p. 88 ff.
***Trying to understand what got us into our economic plight? Here's the answer:
"In 2008 the average household net worth dropped by 22.7%.
. . . [Conventional wisdom] had us believing that over the long run stocks produce the highest returns, that a diversified stock portfolio protects you against loss and that the risk of owning stocks is small if you hold them for a long time.
"We now know that conventional wisdom is wrong."
Steve H. Hanke, "Unconventional Wisdom," Forbes, March 16, 2009, p. 106
***If you're a person who thinks women get all the breaks in society, I've got news for you:
"In the worst financial crash since the Depression, financial service and insurance firms have cut 260,000 jobs. Seventy-two percent of the missing workers laid off have been women, even though they constituted 64% of employment before the crash began."
Anita Raghavan, "Wall Street's Disappearing Women," Forbes, March 16, p. 72 ff.
Hmmm.
And just in case you're wondering how the folks who sold the (flawed) conventional wisdom package to us feel about recent events, here's a cover headline from that same issue: YES--YOU DESERVE A FAT BONUS.
March 13, 2009
Friday, Friday, can't trust that day
It's Friday, with all of the accompanying "who did what with the week?" drama. I've got clothes in the dryer that somebody washed three days ago and forgot to transfer -- am discussing with Koko how he can not possibly want to go for another walk already -- finishing the final chapters of the five books I've been reading -- paying the bills -- and daydreaming over the new projects Deb Engle and I are putting together.
One of those projects is a new book idea we've been kicking around ever since I came up with a fabulous title while in the library two weeks ago. We're not ready to share it yet, but this morning Deb came up with a brilliant subtitle: "Finding Grace in the Tough Times." Not only does it mirror the book's content but it also tips its hat to our earlier work/focus, specifically Deb's Grace from the Garden and my Grace: A Memoir. We're ready to rock and roll with this project.
We're also on fast forward with our speaking / workshops platform. When I told Deb yesterday that I'd condensed the labels on this blog, she said, "And there's your speaking content: nature, the arts, and zombies." So now I'm working on slant, which at the moment I can reduce to "I'm for all three of them."
One of those projects is a new book idea we've been kicking around ever since I came up with a fabulous title while in the library two weeks ago. We're not ready to share it yet, but this morning Deb came up with a brilliant subtitle: "Finding Grace in the Tough Times." Not only does it mirror the book's content but it also tips its hat to our earlier work/focus, specifically Deb's Grace from the Garden and my Grace: A Memoir. We're ready to rock and roll with this project.
We're also on fast forward with our speaking / workshops platform. When I told Deb yesterday that I'd condensed the labels on this blog, she said, "And there's your speaking content: nature, the arts, and zombies." So now I'm working on slant, which at the moment I can reduce to "I'm for all three of them."
March 12, 2009
Signs of Spring
The thing about spring is that you can't delay taking photos, because what's bare ground today is a five-inch-high tulip tomorrow; and what's a glimpse of a lily poking though the dirt today is a platoon tomorrow.Also, if you delay you may not be able to find the purple crocus (if it was a crocus) with variegated leaves again.
I spotted the tulip three days ago. The rest? They were bare yesterday. Gotta love the way spring surprises.
Weeping Willow
Weeping willow is another kind of greenery that brings the island back to mind. Florence and Leslie Bretz(who owned vineyards, a collie that might have been named Lassie, a pasture with cows, and Bretz Winery)had a weeping willow between their house and barn. When I stood under the tree and walked out into the sun, the branches floating past reminded me of a wedding veil.
I tried it again today. They still do.
Another weeping willow, much larger than this one, grew beside the pond up the way from where I live. It fell when Louisville got the hurricane's tailwinds last fall. Each time I approach the pond, I see where it isn't. The same thing happens all over the city; on I-64 heading toward the city, there's substantially more sky than there was a year ago. I've read that in the 1973 tornado Cherokee Park lost all of its trees. Recent damage to trees doesn't compare to that event, but losing trees 60 feet tall is always regrettable.
City Forsythia
When I photographed signs of spring today, it was cold enough that I could see Koko's breath -- and yet there stood the forsythia, undaunted. I'm always amused when I see ruthlessly pruned forsythia.
On the island, forsythia grew on the north side of the town hall, facing the school. Trimmed? Never, as far as I know. Its spindly tendrils flung themselves around in the wind, of which there was plenty in early spring in northern Ohio. This bush, which sprung into bloom yesterday, looks pitiful, or at least embarrassed, in comparison.
As Anonymous once noticed, "Sometimes wild abandon is its own reward" -- a tenet city forsythia doesn't seem to know much about.
March 8, 2009
Changing and Re-arranging
Notice anything different?
(Please say yes.)
I've spent hours and hours over the last two days changing some of the clunkier bits on my blogs. Primarily I ruthlessly cut the Labels categories, from 150/tumultuous to less than 20/tidy.
I'd like to say that now, as the rain gently falls. cooling and calming the parched ground, I'm content with the work I've done. In truth, the rain carries the noisy clatter of hail with it, and the ground is so far from parched that I'm expecting to get a sewage-in-the-streetsrivercreeksground bulletin any minute now. As I have noticed entirely too often, taking action tends to add, rather than subtract, items from the to-do list. Most pressing? To update my Links on each of the blogs. Some have gone dead; others are on the wrong blog; others need added to help folks who wander my way figure out where to go next.
I'd like to think it will be next weekend before I take on that task. I need to throw myself into getting my tax information together;hanging up the three loads of clean laundry that are piled into one weak clothesbasket; swapping the two area rugs so the lighter, brighter, wilder one is in the living room; and cleaning all the papers currently lounging on countertops, desks, tables, and attractively arranged piles on the floor. Then, too, I have some art that needs to get into the mail, as soon as I do a bit more stitching or otherwise adhering and get them scanned and posted. Once again the choices are clear: the supposedly necessary vs. the desirable.
(Please say yes.)
I've spent hours and hours over the last two days changing some of the clunkier bits on my blogs. Primarily I ruthlessly cut the Labels categories, from 150/tumultuous to less than 20/tidy.
I'd like to say that now, as the rain gently falls. cooling and calming the parched ground, I'm content with the work I've done. In truth, the rain carries the noisy clatter of hail with it, and the ground is so far from parched that I'm expecting to get a sewage-in-the-streetsrivercreeksground bulletin any minute now. As I have noticed entirely too often, taking action tends to add, rather than subtract, items from the to-do list. Most pressing? To update my Links on each of the blogs. Some have gone dead; others are on the wrong blog; others need added to help folks who wander my way figure out where to go next.
I'd like to think it will be next weekend before I take on that task. I need to throw myself into getting my tax information together;hanging up the three loads of clean laundry that are piled into one weak clothesbasket; swapping the two area rugs so the lighter, brighter, wilder one is in the living room; and cleaning all the papers currently lounging on countertops, desks, tables, and attractively arranged piles on the floor. Then, too, I have some art that needs to get into the mail, as soon as I do a bit more stitching or otherwise adhering and get them scanned and posted. Once again the choices are clear: the supposedly necessary vs. the desirable.
March 7, 2009
Rockin' the Bar
Day's Espresso and Coffee Bar was THE place to be in Louisville last night. Not only were five rockin' writers there to read, but in between readings we got to listen to gorgeous music -- dulcimer and voice.I managed to get photos of everybody but Amanda Arnold. I was accidentally at the back of the room when she got to the microphone to read her short story, and I didn't want to create a distraction making my way back to the table.
The people pictured:
Our gorgeous musicians, Ruth Reed and Erin Fitzgerald.
Kit Willihnganz, who writes primarily for young adults and owns Women Writing for Change Louisville, an encouraging and safe nonacademic writing academy for women.
Aletha Fields,known as the Poet Laureate of Louisville, and no wonder. In one poem she chastises the people who "set up hatred and hallowed it in Jesus' name" followed later by the announcement, "I resist the temptation to hate your evil ass back." A brilliant poet and a brilliant performance.
The dulcimer in action. i thought I got at least one photo where her right hand was in focus, but I must have been hallucinating.
Me clasping my Open Ketter to Aretha Franklin, from which I read excerpts. You can't tell from the photo, but the jacket I'm wearing sparkles, and I had on red shoes, too!
Gioia Patton, who has interviewed everybody you've ever wanted to talk to, including, most recently, Shirley McClaine and Elizabeth (Eat, Pray, Love) Gilbert.
Marie Davis, a novelist and cartoonist whose work appears around the world not only in English but also in Russian, Belarusan, French, and Spanish. Marie was the catalyst, organizer, publicist, and head cheerleader for last night's event, and we are all truly grateful to her for bringing us together.
This literary event was the first held at Day's. They did a great job of hosting, and I'm not saying that just because my photo was on the counter beside the cash register when I walked up to order a cup of coffee.
Louisville Skyline
I wandered off for a few minutes to check out some blogs and am back with this fabulous one you MUST go see if you're interested in either Louisville or very cool city skyline photography.
Lizzie Morrison Photography is the name of the business, and she does gorgeous shots of the city lights reflected on the Ohio River. She also has series of photos of the Ohio River, Cherokee Park, the Gallapalooza horses, and more. Go look. You'll love it!
Lizzie Morrison Photography is the name of the business, and she does gorgeous shots of the city lights reflected on the Ohio River. She also has series of photos of the Ohio River, Cherokee Park, the Gallapalooza horses, and more. Go look. You'll love it!
Argh
I've spent the last three hours -- without even a coffee break -- condensing. First I exported the Hot Flash Fan blog to my Way Ahead Threads blogsite; that site will now include feminist art, fiber art, and my art (other than mail art).
That move was so much simpler than I feared that I then turned to simplifying the labels on this blog. The pile has been substantially reduced, to the point that I'm even willing to have the labels appear here. Previously, the list was too long even for me to plow through.
I'd read that this kind of filtering gives insight into what a blog actually is as opposed to what you vaguely suppose is going on. Turns out to be accurate, although I did some rather widespread grouping. Under Art, for instance, appear postcards, Yo-Yo Ma, and many other categories. "Arts" is probably a better term, but changing all of those notations isn't going to happen.
My world feels much tidier now. Hope it works better for you, too.
That move was so much simpler than I feared that I then turned to simplifying the labels on this blog. The pile has been substantially reduced, to the point that I'm even willing to have the labels appear here. Previously, the list was too long even for me to plow through.
I'd read that this kind of filtering gives insight into what a blog actually is as opposed to what you vaguely suppose is going on. Turns out to be accurate, although I did some rather widespread grouping. Under Art, for instance, appear postcards, Yo-Yo Ma, and many other categories. "Arts" is probably a better term, but changing all of those notations isn't going to happen.
My world feels much tidier now. Hope it works better for you, too.
March 5, 2009
Translations
I've just added the "We speak your language 2" gadget to this blog. I've run across it a time or two on blogs in other languages and found it helpful. Even though the translations were imprecise, they gave me far more information than I had without them.
What has your experience been with translator gadgets? Are they helpful? Accurate enough? Are there other translation gadgets that work better than the one I'm using?
I appreciate any comments you might like to leave on the topic.
What has your experience been with translator gadgets? Are they helpful? Accurate enough? Are there other translation gadgets that work better than the one I'm using?
I appreciate any comments you might like to leave on the topic.
February 27, 2009
Natural history, updated
Walking Koko this morning, we came upon this dead hawk under a tree beside a large parking lot. Raptors aren't easily vanquished, as you'll understand from the close-up shots of its claws and beak. What, then, brought it down?
Raptors are, of course, protected (as are virtually all birds other than poultry) under national and international laws. I called Raptor Rehabilitation of Kentucky here in Louisville and when John called back I asked what kills hawks like this. He said many get hit by cars. Sometimes Cooper's hawks fly into buildings hard enough to damage their eyes; with damaged eyes, they can't hunt and starve to death. Red-tailed hawks in general have it rough. Only one out of four survive their first winter. In a year like this, with extended periods of freezing when rodents are burrowed underground out of sight, the figures go up even higher.
February 26, 2009
99 and holding
The number 99 must have mystic significance, because I paused in making It's Only a Book cards after completing 99.
More recently I stopped mailing cards on Postcrossing -- the international postcard exchange project that hit exchange number 2,000,000 yesterday -- once I mailed my 99th postcard.
Seems like I might have waited until number 100 to take a break, but my psyche wasn't operating in round numbers.
What was I doing? Slowing down, mostly. Giving myself a chance to catch up with what I've already completed and to choose either to continue or to wrap up one or both projects.
This morning I'm aware that I'm not ready to stop either one. There's more to do, more to enjoy, more to learn. And so I go, full steam ahead -- and I have the coffeetable to prove it.
February 19, 2009
No use crying over sour milk
I've just tossed away a perfectly good morning reading the entire "things my girlfriend and I have argued about" blog. Written by Mil Millington,it lives in its entirety on one long webpage, although you can sign up (as I have) to receive occasional mailings from him. You can also buy his books, which I have not.
The postings are, as the title states, recountings of arguments Mil, who is British, has had with his girlfriend Margret, who is German. He attributes the arguments to Margret being nuts, which is likely, what with her having lived with him for more than 15 years. They have two children and aren't married, a situation he explains to Americans by calling attention to the difference between a ritual and reality. The example he gives is the way in which a person can be (and often is) dead without or without benefit of a funeral.
Margaret is not so much insane as she is a person who doesn't suffer fools gladly. In that respect, she reminds me of my sister Amy. The world is full of Amy stories, but this is the one that came to mind as I read about Margret.
One July when I was out in Arizona visiting, Amy, a few friends, and I were seated around her kitchen table, which had an ivy-patterned tablecloth on it that matched the curtains. (Yes, it was darling.) Amy and I had fresh cups of coffee in front of us. She picked up the small pitcher of milk, poured some into her cup, and placed the pitcher down in front of me. I picked it up, poured some milk into my cup, watched the milk clabber into lumps, set the pitcher down, and said, "Oh, look. The milk's gone sour."
"No, it hasn't," said Amy. "I just put some in my cup."
"I know you did," I replied, "but it's sour now."
"I JUST put it in my cup," she said, as though once that fact penetrated my thick head I'd reconsider my sour-milk statement.
"I know. But look." I moved the cup a bit closer to her and gave the lumps a quick stir with a spoon.
Amy peered into my cup. Then she sat back in her chair and glared at me. "What the hell did you do to the milk?" she asked.
They used to accuse witches of making the milk go sour, and I have a close relative who can't wear wrist watches because they stop two minutes after she dons them, but I myself am given neither to spells nor to odd electrical impulses - and yet nothing I could say convinced Amy that I have no control over milk.
All of which is to suggest that Mil Millington is a lucky man.
The postings are, as the title states, recountings of arguments Mil, who is British, has had with his girlfriend Margret, who is German. He attributes the arguments to Margret being nuts, which is likely, what with her having lived with him for more than 15 years. They have two children and aren't married, a situation he explains to Americans by calling attention to the difference between a ritual and reality. The example he gives is the way in which a person can be (and often is) dead without or without benefit of a funeral.
Margaret is not so much insane as she is a person who doesn't suffer fools gladly. In that respect, she reminds me of my sister Amy. The world is full of Amy stories, but this is the one that came to mind as I read about Margret.
One July when I was out in Arizona visiting, Amy, a few friends, and I were seated around her kitchen table, which had an ivy-patterned tablecloth on it that matched the curtains. (Yes, it was darling.) Amy and I had fresh cups of coffee in front of us. She picked up the small pitcher of milk, poured some into her cup, and placed the pitcher down in front of me. I picked it up, poured some milk into my cup, watched the milk clabber into lumps, set the pitcher down, and said, "Oh, look. The milk's gone sour."
"No, it hasn't," said Amy. "I just put some in my cup."
"I know you did," I replied, "but it's sour now."
"I JUST put it in my cup," she said, as though once that fact penetrated my thick head I'd reconsider my sour-milk statement.
"I know. But look." I moved the cup a bit closer to her and gave the lumps a quick stir with a spoon.
Amy peered into my cup. Then she sat back in her chair and glared at me. "What the hell did you do to the milk?" she asked.
They used to accuse witches of making the milk go sour, and I have a close relative who can't wear wrist watches because they stop two minutes after she dons them, but I myself am given neither to spells nor to odd electrical impulses - and yet nothing I could say convinced Amy that I have no control over milk.
All of which is to suggest that Mil Millington is a lucky man.
February 14, 2009
February 12, 2009
the little dog laughed
--Oh, dear. The announcement about Marie Davis's new book is too small. I'll figure out how to make it larger, but meanwhile I've found that if you click it gets larger and if you then squint it's big enough to see!--
Back before Christmas, I was at lunch with the editors, publisher, and other writers for Today's Woman magazine here in Louisville. As we were introducing ourselves to the group, Marie Davis stated that she had a new book out! She said the title is Hey Diddle Diddle and added a few more words about the book.
Afterward I said to some friends, "Oh, my goodness. The way she expressed that made it sound as though this book is... what's the word? ... dirty."
"Oh, it is," they replied, nodding and grinning. "It's filthy."
"Funny and filthy," somebody added.
It's taken me a little while, but now you know about Marie's book. It's audio only, and you can order it directly from the publisher-- OR you can pick up a copy at the fabulous reading that Marie is putting together on March 6. I'll be reading, also, as will a number of other fabulous local writers -- and we'll have books for sale, too! More details will follow as the event approaches, but go ahead and put March 6 on your calendar NOW.
And while you're following directions, go purchase yourself a copy of Marie's book.
Two birthdays
In honor of Abraham Lincoln's two hundredth birthday,here's a postcard I'm mailing to my parents today. I learned from this morning's Courier-Journal that while we're celebrating Abe, we can also celebrate the founding of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People one hundred years ago today -- and a Louisville native was a major figure in its formation.
Peter Smith reports that William English Walling "covered labor wars at a Colorado silver mine and the foiled revolution of 1905 in Russia" as well as an anti-black riot in Springfield, Illinois. Later,Walling, other white radicals, and noted black figures including Ida B. Wells and W. E. B. DuBois issued a statement on February 12, 1909, calling for the formation of the NAACP.
Bake a cake, throw some confetti, and tell all of your friends. We have a lot to celebrate.
February 11, 2009
Happiness is a nice goat
Just for fun ('cause we're going to get hammered by a wind storm later today, and all of the limbs that cracked in the ice storm will become unguided missiles; and, oh, yeah, expect power lines to be down again) -- here's one of my all-time favorite postcards. It came from Anette in Norway.
I'm fond of goats. My sister once bought a goat she saw advertised in the paper for $15. She lived in an apartment at the time, so she called my parents to ask if they'd keep her goat for . . . well, I don't know what she said then. In any case, Nan became a permanent, contented island resident. She had her little quirks, as so many of us do. My parents' property has woods on both sides, but Nan was the curious sort. When she heard voices through the trees, she'd hightail it up the steps inside the barn to spy on the neighbors. She had special friends, too. Back when the post office was still at Thelma Schneider's, two women would walk past our house on their way to the post office. Nan would fall in and accompany them there and back. Nothing like a morning constitutional to set the day off right...
February 8, 2009
"The day began with fishermen setting down pallets across a crack in the ice"
Sports reporter columnist D'Arcy Eagen published a warning note in yesterday's Cleveland Plain Dealer. With ice the thickest in years -- two feet in some places -- on Lake Erie, fishermen have been herding out onto the ice.
The Ottawa County sheriff issued a cautionary note in that same column, warning that with the temperatures rising and wind out of the southeast, cracks in the ice were likely -- meaning ice floes could carry people away. Emergency personnel were standing by, just in case.
That was yesterday's Plain Dealer. In an AP story by John Seewer in today's Courier-Journal, we have the follow-up story.
This gem of a sentence ought to be the first line of a short story rather than a line in a news report:
"The day began with fishermen setting down wooden pallets to create a bridge over a crack in the ice so they could roam further out on the lake."
The bridge worked well enough for 135 people to cross it.Then the wind picked up, the ice shifted, the pallets fell into the lake, and 135 people found themselves afloat on a miles-wide floe.
The Coast Guard sent four helicopters and eight air boats. Local authorities sent air boats, too. And some people on all-terrain vehicles found a crossing point five miles distant. One person died after he fell into the lake, apparently from a heart attack. The shock of the cold water will do that.
Bob Bratton, the Ottawa County sheriff quoted in the original Plain Dealer piece, is quoted again in this morning's paper. In what must be called an understatement, he said, "What happened here today was just idiotic. I don't know how else to put it."
When I was growing up, my parents owned an ice guide business on Middle Bass. I remember Daddy reporting one day that some shanties had just floated away. (I think they were Sonny Schneider's shanties, and I think they were in the cove between Middle Bass and Sugar.) The four or five fishermen were gotten off safely, but one of them was irate. Why? Because nobody would return to the treacherous ice to retrieve his watch, which he'd left there on a hook.
"My father left it to me when he died," said the man. "It's priceless."
Priceless? Hmmm. I suppose that depends on how you weigh human life vs. possessions. Sonny's life was far more valuable than a ticking trinket,as are the lives of all those rescuers endangered by yesterday's fiasco.
My father's comment years ago on the watch incident offers a classic lesson: "If you've got something that's priceless, don't hang it on a hook in a shanty."
The Ottawa County sheriff issued a cautionary note in that same column, warning that with the temperatures rising and wind out of the southeast, cracks in the ice were likely -- meaning ice floes could carry people away. Emergency personnel were standing by, just in case.
That was yesterday's Plain Dealer. In an AP story by John Seewer in today's Courier-Journal, we have the follow-up story.
This gem of a sentence ought to be the first line of a short story rather than a line in a news report:
"The day began with fishermen setting down wooden pallets to create a bridge over a crack in the ice so they could roam further out on the lake."
The bridge worked well enough for 135 people to cross it.Then the wind picked up, the ice shifted, the pallets fell into the lake, and 135 people found themselves afloat on a miles-wide floe.
The Coast Guard sent four helicopters and eight air boats. Local authorities sent air boats, too. And some people on all-terrain vehicles found a crossing point five miles distant. One person died after he fell into the lake, apparently from a heart attack. The shock of the cold water will do that.
Bob Bratton, the Ottawa County sheriff quoted in the original Plain Dealer piece, is quoted again in this morning's paper. In what must be called an understatement, he said, "What happened here today was just idiotic. I don't know how else to put it."
When I was growing up, my parents owned an ice guide business on Middle Bass. I remember Daddy reporting one day that some shanties had just floated away. (I think they were Sonny Schneider's shanties, and I think they were in the cove between Middle Bass and Sugar.) The four or five fishermen were gotten off safely, but one of them was irate. Why? Because nobody would return to the treacherous ice to retrieve his watch, which he'd left there on a hook.
"My father left it to me when he died," said the man. "It's priceless."
Priceless? Hmmm. I suppose that depends on how you weigh human life vs. possessions. Sonny's life was far more valuable than a ticking trinket,as are the lives of all those rescuers endangered by yesterday's fiasco.
My father's comment years ago on the watch incident offers a classic lesson: "If you've got something that's priceless, don't hang it on a hook in a shanty."
February 5, 2009
The Hat
Sometimes a postcard is more than just a postcard. Sometimes it's a celebration, like the ones for sale on cafepress displaying the hat Aretha Franklin wore when she sang at the inauguration of President Barack Obama. When she rose to sing that day, she proved what Louisville has known for generations: It's all about the hat.
The designer is Mr Song Millinery in Detroit, Michigan, Ms. Franklin's home town. Since the inauguration Mr. Song has been selling a hat similar to Aretha's, in satin rather than wool and with slightly different crystals, for $179. For the rest of us who won't be singing in public this winter, there are T-shirts, magnets, and more available at his cafepress store. Go buy yourself some, and send one to me.
Meanwhile, rock on!
The designer is Mr Song Millinery in Detroit, Michigan, Ms. Franklin's home town. Since the inauguration Mr. Song has been selling a hat similar to Aretha's, in satin rather than wool and with slightly different crystals, for $179. For the rest of us who won't be singing in public this winter, there are T-shirts, magnets, and more available at his cafepress store. Go buy yourself some, and send one to me.
Meanwhile, rock on!
February 3, 2009
Read over my shoulder
Remember "Ain't It Amazing," the great country song by Don Williams? I was cleaning off the coffeetable this morning -- by which I mean piling into one stack all of the newspapers and magazines in which I've read something amazing in the last few weeks. Months. Year. The table is still crowded.
I'm now going to post those amazing nuggets here. I could make clickable links for you, but I'm pretty sure you know how to google. Besides, once I start linking I can't stop, and the last thing I need is more roads to diverge down.
Here we go:
Viral hemorrhagic septicemia, a virus deadly to fish that was first identified in the Great Lakes in 2005 and thought restricted to those waters, was discovered in the Clear Fork Reservoir near Mansfield, Ohio, in 2008. Kentucky's warm summer water temperatures may help prevent the disease entering our waters. July 2008
A local five-year-old called Emergency Services this week after being left at home with two siblings, no supervision, and no power for 12 hours. He was quite calm when he told the dispatch operator, "We want our mama to come home now."
Louisville Metro Department of Public Health and Wellness is giving nicotine patches -- for free -- to people 60 and older who sign up for stop-smoking classes. With the city's high rates of particulates and lung cancer, I'm glad to see we're finally offering concrete assistance. Speaking of cigarettes, A Mayo Clinic study revealed that women suffer more intense nicotine withdrawal symptoms (including weight gain) and often start smoking again when they gain 5 to 10 pounds. Glad to see there's a study backing up what we've been telling you all along. January 2009
In a home slowly being overtaken by electronic gadgetry, I will never again be able to listen to a CD if my compadre can't remember where he put the cord when he installed batteries in the CD player last summer.
Last year Pakistani artist Huma Julji showed an assemblage called Arabian Delight. Materials included a suitcase and a (this is awful) taxidermied camel. Local authorities banned the piece on the second day of the show. By then, some idiot had already bought it. Note to self: include taxidermy in future artwork to establish my cutting edge style. January 2009
The snow and ice are more treacherous in Louisville today than they've been since this ice-snow-sleet-freezing rain--freezing fog mess began -- and I have the skinned knee to prove it.
The temperature is to reach the 40s and higher by the end of the week. Forget generators. It's time to buy hip boots.
I'm now going to post those amazing nuggets here. I could make clickable links for you, but I'm pretty sure you know how to google. Besides, once I start linking I can't stop, and the last thing I need is more roads to diverge down.
Here we go:
Viral hemorrhagic septicemia, a virus deadly to fish that was first identified in the Great Lakes in 2005 and thought restricted to those waters, was discovered in the Clear Fork Reservoir near Mansfield, Ohio, in 2008. Kentucky's warm summer water temperatures may help prevent the disease entering our waters. July 2008
A local five-year-old called Emergency Services this week after being left at home with two siblings, no supervision, and no power for 12 hours. He was quite calm when he told the dispatch operator, "We want our mama to come home now."
Louisville Metro Department of Public Health and Wellness is giving nicotine patches -- for free -- to people 60 and older who sign up for stop-smoking classes. With the city's high rates of particulates and lung cancer, I'm glad to see we're finally offering concrete assistance. Speaking of cigarettes, A Mayo Clinic study revealed that women suffer more intense nicotine withdrawal symptoms (including weight gain) and often start smoking again when they gain 5 to 10 pounds. Glad to see there's a study backing up what we've been telling you all along. January 2009
In a home slowly being overtaken by electronic gadgetry, I will never again be able to listen to a CD if my compadre can't remember where he put the cord when he installed batteries in the CD player last summer.
Last year Pakistani artist Huma Julji showed an assemblage called Arabian Delight. Materials included a suitcase and a (this is awful) taxidermied camel. Local authorities banned the piece on the second day of the show. By then, some idiot had already bought it. Note to self: include taxidermy in future artwork to establish my cutting edge style. January 2009
The snow and ice are more treacherous in Louisville today than they've been since this ice-snow-sleet-freezing rain--freezing fog mess began -- and I have the skinned knee to prove it.
The temperature is to reach the 40s and higher by the end of the week. Forget generators. It's time to buy hip boots.
February 2, 2009
February 1, 2009
Past, Present, and Future
My cousin Danny will, from time to time, post a picture of his coffeetable. I'm always fascinated. Today it struck me that I, too, have a coffeetable. How cool is that?
The title? Past because the rest of the Christmas cards are there. Present because Rock & Roll: The Reunion Tour, for which I decorated two rock altars, continues this week in Louisville. And future because I've got to pay bills tomorrow, or Tuesday at the latest. Also, future is when Jefferson County schools will reopen, because too many of them are still without power. The ice melted off all of the trees today, but in walking Koko tonight I saw four trees down (bi--i-i-ig trees that were still standing yesterday). And snow is on the horizon.
January 31, 2009
Even the Evergreens . . . (revised, Feb. 1)
You know that truism about how some trees break in the wind and others bend? And from that idea you're supposed to understand something enduring about love and relationships, about how being flexible and bending in the wind lets you bounce back, strong and healthy, from the storms of life? These evergreen photos point to an alternate conclusion: that being flexible sometimes leaves you bedraggled. Other times, it leaves you pulled up by the roots and dying on the ground.
Just a little thought to cheer you in case you're feeling bedraggled yourself.
Oh, How the Mighty Are Falling
These shaggy trees are beautiful, but they've taken a lot of hits in the last year: ice storm, hurricane tailwinds, and the current ice storm. The last of these big trees near us broke this week. With so much surface area, they can't withstand the weight of the snow and ice.
They've invented a new kind of weather just for us
The National Weather Service is reporting the possibility of fog tonight. That's one of the few atmospheric condition we haven't enjoyed this week. But there's more! It may turn into freezing fog, which will give us more black ice on the roads and, no doubt, more weight on tree limbs that are already under great stress from the snow-ice-show load they're bearing. The winter sandwich shows up well on top of the red car in the photos -- three inches of snow, a half inch of ice, and three more inches of snow.
The mayor's held press conferences at ten each morning to update us on the storm situation. An LG&E (our utility company) representative said this morning that 172,000 homes were without power last night; that all of the crews, both local and the ones brought in from across the southeast, are working 18-hour shifts; and that this morning there were 172,000 homes without power. Trees continue to fall and to take power lines down to the ground with them.
I did see some blue in the sky today, at last.I also did hear that more snow is on the way.
January 29, 2009
A shout-out from the president for kentucky
President Obama signed emergency declarations regarding winter storms in Arkansas and Kentucky.
From the White House announcement:
The President's action authorizes the Department of Homeland Security, Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), to coordinate all disaster relief efforts which have the purpose of alleviating the hardship and suffering caused by the emergency on the local population, and to provide appropriate assistance for required emergency measures, authorized under Title V of the Stafford Act, to save lives and to protect property and public health and safety, and to lessen or avert the threat of a catastrophe in the counties of Allen, Anderson, Barren, Bath, Boyd, Boyle, Breathitt, Breckinridge, Butler, Caldwell, Calloway, Carlisle, Clark, Crittenden, Daviess, Edmonson, Elliott, Estill, Fayette, Floyd, Fulton, Garrard, Graves, Grayson, Hardin, Harrison, Hart, Hickman, Hopkins, Jackson, Jessamine, Johnson, Larue, Lincoln, Logan, Lyon, Madison, Magoffin, Marion, Marshall, Mason, McCracken, Meade, Mercer, Metcalfe, Morgan, Muhlenberg, Nelson, Nicholas, Ohio, Owsley, Perry, Powell, Shelby, Todd, Trigg, Union, Washington, Webster, Wolfe, and Woodford.
"Specifically, FEMA is authorized to identify, mobilize, and provide at its discretion, equipment and resources necessary to alleviate the impacts of the emergency. Emergency protective measures, limited to direct Federal assistance, will be provided at 75 percent Federal funding.
"Nancy Ward, Acting Administrator, Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), Department of Homeland Security, named Kim R. Kadesch as the Federal Coordinating Officer for Federal recovery operations in the affected area.
January 28, 2009
35 out of 36
We're having continual television coverage of the winter storm. The snow stopped at about 11:30, ending 28 straight hours of precipitation (35 of the last 36 hours something was falling out of the sky).
Other updates:
We've had 116 transformer fires.
We have 60,000 storm grates in the county. If you happen to see one that's flooding, phone 502-587-0603 to report the problem. If you can do so safely, you're welcome to clear the ice, branches, snow, sludge off any grates near you.
At least one runway has been open at the airport all day; however, as you might expect, some flights have been delayed or cancelled.
And now I'm heading outside with the camera.
Solid ice, followed by blizzard
When I walked the dog last night, the trees were beautiful. Encased in ice, they glimmered under the street light. This morning it's a whole new world, fat snowflakes falling, blowing,drifting. Kentucky's under a state of emergency. In Louisville, the mayor in a press conference a few minutes ago said there are 263 trees down, 909 power wires down, 53 of the 316 sanitary sewer operations out of power, and 75,000 homes without power. (That last figure is changing rapidly; every time power is restored, another limb falls taking another -- or the same -- line down again. And here I thought all the tender trees went down in the tailwinds from the hurricane in 2008.)
One tree is down outside our front door. Several old hardwoods and a fir tree are down behind a building a block away. The weather reporter on television just had her umbrella snatched by the wind, turned inside out, and thrown down in a snowdrift.
This system is supposed to move out of here in the next few hours. The temperature is now 23, though, so we can expect trees splitting and limbs falling all through the day.
One tree is down outside our front door. Several old hardwoods and a fir tree are down behind a building a block away. The weather reporter on television just had her umbrella snatched by the wind, turned inside out, and thrown down in a snowdrift.
This system is supposed to move out of here in the next few hours. The temperature is now 23, though, so we can expect trees splitting and limbs falling all through the day.
January 27, 2009
snow, freezing rain, and sleet
When it comes to winter weather, we've got it all! We had a bit of snow yesterday, followed by sleet and snow in the night, which is now being coated by freezing rain. According to the weather reports, something frozen will continue to fall out of the sky until tomorrow afternoon.
I'm staying in, staying warm, and working toward the deadline on the new book. The push has been on all month. I'm happy to report that it's coming along fine. I gave myself a carrot yesterday; I signed up for a basket-making workshop on Thursday. Now I just have to be far enough along in the manuscript (and the stalled cars need to be moved from the roads) to take those few hours off.
Now back to the keyboard.
I'm staying in, staying warm, and working toward the deadline on the new book. The push has been on all month. I'm happy to report that it's coming along fine. I gave myself a carrot yesterday; I signed up for a basket-making workshop on Thursday. Now I just have to be far enough along in the manuscript (and the stalled cars need to be moved from the roads) to take those few hours off.
Now back to the keyboard.
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