Oh don’t I feel like I’m pounding my noggin against this! As Wall is my name, perhaps I was destined thusly. In an aura, the green on the edge would signify healing. Sounds very good.
I mailed this cocoanut from Molokai to Kentucky by addressing it and gobbing on postage. How many stamps to mail myself somewhere less stressful? They would probably park a weightlifter’s mail order birthday present on top of me and I’d arrive flat enough to have been mailed in an envelope in the first place…undoubtedly cheaper that way.
I have logged in many, many, many hours hauling books, thousands of them, 70 miles via too many stairs, carrying about 25 over and over and over. How many 25s go into 4000? Depressing. I feel my workload stacking up higher and higher. At least it’s neatly stacked. Count your blessings, name them one by one.
Weeds, broken twigs, old rotting leaves. Why does this seem like a mirror? I do like the colors and shapes. In a manicured front yard, this would be horrid. I’ve never even been close to a manicure. Here in the wetland haven, it is natural and it is beautiful. Not so bad to be a mirror after all.
This is my painting from a few years back of how the chickens got from Southeast Asia to Hawaii; they call them jungle fowl. Water in a dream is a sure sign of change. I have not dreamt of water, so I suppose my current pattern will not vary much.
As patterns go, I like this one lots. The violets and white flowers stand in a bit of relief on the thin ivory background. The dress turned out really pretty, midi length and short frilly sleeves. The bodice exposes more than is proper, but a camisole is fine with it. I used a pattern with this dress, but customized it.
That’s the ticket; I’ll customize my labor pattern and see if I can’t get a yard or two of enjoyment out of it!
I cannot seem to take a picture aound the cabin that does not include BOOKS. I’ve been obsessed with books since I chewed up my Little Golden Books so long ago. I take a shot of a dress I made and there are a few hundred fiction books to keep it in style.
Cookbooks? How could I not have more cookbooks than I could ever consult?
If you ever need a reference on Mesoamerical cultures, I got ’em.
Are we travelling somewhere? I cannot plan a trip without getting a country Insight Guide and a Lonely Planet Guide, and maybe some city or feature specific ones too.
You’d want to know the languages there, wouldn’t you?
And how about some cultural and geographic background? Or some fiction based on whatever locale? Or even something on the
exploits of that country’s most famed paleontologists or physicists?
The rain went on its way and the sun came out. I’d been working all weekend moving books from upstairs down, up and down, up and down, about 25 at a time. Come late Sunday afternoon, I was SO ready for a break, and sitting on my rump is not for me. I stepped out on the front porch and was dazzled by the slanting rays of sunshine; it made the forest appear golden and spotlit the colors. Here are some of radiant photographs, I hope they come though the multiple electromagnetic steps and satellite bounces well.
The early fruit trees are blooming, we’ll see if Sunday night’s freeze harmed the Intrepid Peach, the Moonglow Pear and the rest .
I walked the gravel road from one property line to the other. The Wild Branch is still high and the road is still a mess. I did clear out the ditches a bit to assist in drainage. The wood roses were so beautiful, I wish the picture revealed the amazing hues better. They aren’t actual roses, but the blooms are very reminiscent of the old-fashioned wild roses. I have some of those, to bloom later though.
Driving home from the chicken plant one evening (always too much overtime), I kept a sharp eye out for deer and other wildlife. I’d seen the aftermath of collisions with deer including the damage to all parties – no thanks. I don’t like hitting any other creature, either, I even slow down for butterflies. In the dusky haze, I spotted two lumps smack in the middle of the road.
Kittens, a tiny boy and girl, eyes not even open yet, thrown away like the trash idiots litter along the roadside. They fit in the palm of one hand, covered with ticks (even on their eyelids) and had pale worms crawling out of them. Fleas! They were so weak they made no sounds and barely moved. The girl had the tip of an ear folded backwards, a grayish-brownish tiger stripe. The boy was white with (relatively) big black spots. Safely cradling the castoffs in an old towel I kept in back, I talked to them to let them know I would care for them as we drove on home. Pictures of them would be awful, so I’ll wait until the story brightens.
Nestled in a cozy old-sock bed, they received eyedropper super-milk and frequent gentle rubbing to mimic mama’s cleaning. They were coddled each morning before I left for work and as soon as I returned. De-ticking and deworming were critical and I did those risky tasks as soon as I though they might stand the strain, carefully as possible. They opened their little blue eyes and started looking around at their world. They outgrew the sock bed and their patchy fur filled in.
Krink and Spot seemed to be recovered from their horrid ordeal, but I came home to find Spot still and cold a couple weeks later. Krink looked up at me a mewed for her milk. From then on, I kept her on my belly whenever I was home so she could feel my warmth, feel me breathing. Her poor bent back ear never straightened. She remains my undersized sweetheart, always begging for me to hold and pet her. She’s old now, many years have passed, but she does not tire of running ahead to look up with unspoken pleading for me to cuddle her close and whisper into her crinkled ear.
I just got the notice over the e-mail circuit here at work: Put that clock ahead this weekend. Ahhh, confession time. I never set it back last Fall. No, I didn’t forget. It was purposeful deception.
Ma gets tired in the evenings and starts falling asleep on the sofa. yet she’s adamantly peering at the clock (when awake) to make sure she doesn’t go to bed until 10:00 pm. I’ve attempted many times to persuade her to go to bed when she’s tired, not by the clock. No dice. She’ll get up and stare at the clock.
When we got the notice to turn the clocks back last autumn, I started thinking about having an entire ‘nother hour to study to read or whatever in peace and quiet, no more idiotic, brain-sucking TV. That’s when we Central Time zoners started going by Eastern Time. All the TV programs show the show times in Eastern and Central times, all I had to do was make a little mental switch. Now it’ll be ruined!
I know, dirty me for messing with poor old Ma that way. Really, I think she’s been the better for it, getting better rest and less snoozing on the sofa. I have less anxiety because I get more time to myself. Of course, I could go ahead and put the clocks forward as I am told to do and keep it up, heh, heh, heh….
We have lots of Dutch genes in our family and I always wanted to go to Holland. My Sci-Fi series stars Elise t’Hoot, a Dutch girl escaping from calamity that destroyed her family, then winds up with a relative in rural Kentucky. Frustrated with college problems, she signs onto a military colony ship…headed to check on colony planets. Memories of her Dutch home sustain her through many tribulations and razor-close calls. So you see, I’ve had the Netherlands on my mind for quite a while.
Elise’s Mother was a renowned horticulturist:
Elise’s Father worked at the huge sea gates that protected lowland Holland from the wrath of the stormy ocean:
We had a wonderful trip, three glorious weeks! One cannot go there without visiting the iconic windmills…they don’t figure in my stories but how can I show Dutch photos without them?
I have a chewed up Winesap that is not going to make it. If everybody had as much trouble as me when it comes to fruit, the suppliers would not be able to give trees and plants away. Phooey.
You may know I work in town and only get home to the cabin on weekends. I have a small rocked front yard with the center cleared for a good-sized strawberry patch. My dwarf fruit trees live in big containers arranged around the patch. Last March one Friday, I rolled in after dark, so missed the tragedy on the snow covered ground.
That next morning I went out to check on my trees, to see the bud progress and look for bugs. I saw to my horror that one had been dragged away. I followed the dirt trail to the gnawed, misshapen fiber container. Then I spied the five foot switch in the weeds, chewed, that used to be a healthy second year Winesap Apple tree.
Thinking it might still be dormant enough, I replanted it. I sprayed it along with the others. I hoped. It really seemed like it might survive. Now I despair. Unlike the Gala, the Rome and the Yellow Delicious, this poor guy is brittle. No burgeoning buds. I can’t help but believe that if I could have found it much sooner I could have saved it. But I was 70 miles away.
I put a taller fence around the center garden patch. Ugly. However I do have indoor critters to raise my spirits…