Leaves of Grass Books

I promised Sonia at Leaves of Grass that I would post my books. They are a little sparse compared to her other friends photos, but I have given away about a dozen boxes of books--mostly paperbacks--to a church run store recently after my move. The professional books are still in boxes...and...

This post also neglects to show the piles of books on each side of our bed...to ugly to photograph.
Now I have space to fill the shelves with new books!

Kinnikinnick for Mothers

The name sounds like a dance or a bird call or a rhythmic clicking of tongue and tooth when pronounced. Perhaps a dance done by Indians in Latin America using bamboo poles? According to the National Wildlife Federation the definition is not so romantic. It is an Indian word for many tobacco substitutes. The species name Arctostaphylos uva-ursi is broken out to mean "arctos=bear" and "staphyle=grape," and in Latin uva is "a bunch of grapes" and I am guessing that ursi also has something to do with bear--- thus the common name bear berry.

As a small child growing up in Colorado this little bush was everywhere in the lower mountains. I remember how strange its name sounded when my mother joyfully pointed it out each spring. I remember how much my mother loved the appearance of the little pink flowers hanging like gentle bells. I just recently learned that it is a cotoneaster...which I should have grasped if I had any observational skills.

At any rate, it was one of my mother's favorite plants. She always went for the quiet underdogs over the showy botanical specimens. My mother was a prickly and darkly mooded person in some ways, and that is why I don't write about her much. We had our lack of meeting of the minds as I grew up, and I really think the fault was mostly hers. I say that without anger or recrimination because I know the fault is mostly mine for many other things. Among her children I was the showy specimen, more attractive and louder than the others and moving boldly into others spaces like some crazy spreading wildflower with too strong a fragrance. This was just me and I couldn't change my personality for anyone. Therefore, mother favored my other sister who was the quieter one and certainly the more generous in spirit. Like the kinnikinnick both were the sturdy ones while I became emotionally vested and overwrought in stuff of little consequence. And yet, both have passed on, one certainly way before her gentle time.

Therefore, when selecting plants for my landscaping I came across this shrub and felt that I needed to purchase two for the bed by the front door, as homage to that woman who, in her own way, made me what I am today ---whatever that is.

And also I must remember the other important mother in my life...my daughter. And above is an image I created just for her that "madonna of all things small." (Hard to believe she is 6 months pregnant with that figure!)

I am off on another adventure with my daughter and son-in-law and husband, so may not be posting unless hubby has access with his laptop. BUT I wish all the mothers strength, love and understanding and command that all the kiddos be there for mom even though she is a pain in the butt sometimes!

What Goes Around Comes Around

I got my questions from Maya's Granny, the deepest of thinkers in Alaska.

Here are my questions to answer:

1. Name one thing that you wanted to be when you grew up that you didn't become, but that has shown up in other ways in your life. Tell us about it.

I wanted to be an actress--loved the melodrama and was convinced I could really act. I even minored in drama in college. This skill shows up ALL THE TIME in my life. Timing of ones lines is, of course, everything.

2. What one thing would you change about yourself if you could?

I would be more mellow and more wise in the grand scheme of things. I tend to dwell on stuff that isn't all that important. If I could fly up high and get some perspective I would be a better person.

3. What is the most important thing to find in a friend?

Loyalty. Through thick and thin and even when you screw up.

4. Tell us about one thing you did before you were six years old that is in some way typical of you still.

I got my fingers pinched in a door when saying goodbye to an Uncle as I was leaning forward. My mother thought she saw it and I fought back the tears and pretended that I had not gotten hurt. I tend to hide my vulnerabilities to this day.

5. If you could grant three wishes, who would you grant them to?

Boy this is a hard one! Off the top of my head I was going to grant the President of the U.S. the wish--as a generic ruler here--not really thinking of my good 'friend' Bush. But clearly re-thinking this decision in that I cannot crawl inside the heart or mind of a future president. So, I am going to cheat and grant one wish to three different people:

My son.
My youngest brother.
A random young soldier in Iraq.

OK: Your turn readers. (I will be on travel this weekend...so be patient if I don't get back right away! Also, remember, I can be ruthless.)

1. Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.”
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

While They Were Sleeping

It is now 6:30 in the morning and I have been up for half an hour. I was awakened by the intermittent rushing noise outside, which I, at first, thought was a distant motor boat out in the bay with its sound carried by the wind. Instead I discovered it was the sound of the newly green trees waving their open flags in the first rays of the sun as gusts of wind pushed them down in arching bows.

The daughter, her husband, Xman and hubby are all still snuggled away in their beds missing the beauty of this morning. Yesterday's gentle soaking rains have cleansed the air of all softness. The morning sun is sharp, the leaves are kelly green, the bark and branches are crisp in the shadows and the sky is scattered with leftover racing clouds still dressed in their early morning gray and pink and lavender nightgowns.

Even the birds are dashing to the feeders instead of gliding.

My 6-month pregnant daughter now waddles down the stairs in blurry-eyed search of a cup of milk for Xman. I offer her coffee, but she is not ready and will return to bed and snuggle with Xman while he gets his early morning sustenance.

All are missing this magic time. This is my sustenance.

(Go here http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=849146694200968214&hl=en to see why these mornings are precious...thanks to Robert Brady for the resource.)

Lonely Afternoon Adventures-Life Story #9

It had started out as a typical afternoon on one of the remote islands of the South Pacific. It was a relatively calm day with coconut fronds waving gently at intervals and with moderate temperatures. My husband and I had headed out on the laboratory boat with another scientist to survey some wild oyster beds. The morning went fairly fast and we collected enough data to stop for an early lunch at the edge of the mangroves. I was eating my tuna salad sandwich and gazing over the stern of the boat watching an archer fish with fascination as he skulked in the shadows waiting for a meal from an unwary insect.

The water in this area was shallow, only two feet deep, dropping gently to about four feet toward the open ocean before reaching the boat channel. Brushing bread crumbs from my swimsuit, I stepped around the outboard and holding the top of the motor housing slipped over the back of the boat for a cooling swim after lunch. Hubby and the colleague decided to motor to the other side of the mangrove peninsula to the mouth of a river in search of some innocuous biological event that I have since forgotten.

Once the sound of the outboard had disappeared behind the mangroves, I realized how quiet it was with just the sound of my hands in the water and the insects on the island. Other than the boat just a short distance away, I could imagine I was the only person on the planet. I poked in the soft sand with my toes and watched the sea birds in the distance and listened to the lapping of the gentle waves against the mangrove roots. I was concentrating on retrieving a terebra that I had unearthed with my big toe when I thought I saw the shadow of something on the surface of the water beside me. I looked up but only saw the gently rippled gray surface of the water. I looked down at the sand again, replacing the mollusk and slowly worked my way toward the open ocean until the water came to just below my shoulders for a complete cool down. As I looked toward the horizon I once again caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Suddenly, being all alone became somewhat unsettling. I started scanning the waters around me and in a few minutes a gray dorsal fin broke the surface about ten feet away and swam a foot toward me and then moved away disappearing beneath the surface.

I was guessing by the size of the fin that it was a small gray reef shark, maybe just over two feet in length, surveying the area. In less than a minute, he returned. Initially, I was fascinated by this typical behavior when he started circling me ever so slowly. The concentric circles made by the dorsal fin that broke the surface of the water were about six feet away and getting closer. I wasn't afraid of such a small shark until I remembered he also wasn't afraid of me. He was a “teenager” out for an experimental event. I had felt the sandpaper skin of a shark with my hands not that long ago and realized if he swiped me it would hurt and possibly draw blood, not a good event in shark country.

The boat was too far away to hear my call and the prevailing breeze would have pulled my voice away anyway. I also was too embarrassed to admit I needed help against such a little guy. I moved carefully, walking backwards toward the mangroves, and scanning the surface of the water around me as I did so. There was no place for me to get out of the water and the water wasn't shallow enough to prevent the shark from swimming directly at me. I decided to throw caution to the wind (avoiding thinking about water snakes or crocodiles among the tangled tree roots—both of which existed in these parts) and stepped up to carefully balance on the larger arching mangrove roots as I leaned against the trees. Leaves and blunt branches poked my head and shoulders as I squatted in precarious balance. After about ten minutes of this yoga experience the shark became bored and left the area.

As I sat balancing awkwardly on the roots in my bare feet I began to survey the mangrove jungle and did not realize I was in store for a second adventure of the day. Behind me I heard a weak squawking noise that I must have missed earlier in my mild panic to eliminate the shark bait. I couldn't see where the sound was coming from over my shoulder, and so, gently entered the water and walked behind the first section of mangroves to another sandy space behind the first patch of trees. About a foot above my head I saw the cause of the noise. A small blue heron had become caught in the mangrove branches. His head was caught in the fork of a branch and while he flapped and squawked ever so weakly, his position and weight had trapped him. His outspread wing was the only thing keeping him from hanging himself.

Wary of his long and sharp bill, I realized that I was going to be responsible for his rescue. I tried to balance on the roots but couldn't get high enough to grasp him safely…safely for him and for me. The eye that stared at me was still clear but his movements were very weak. He must have been there for hours. I watched a few minutes more trying to think of some way to lift him from the branch. I was starting to panic for him. I called to my husband. My call was lost in the great expense of water. I walked around the trees and to the front of the island and putting my hands to my mouth called, hooted, and whistled toward the mouth of the river.

It seemed that a lot of time passed, but eventually I heard the outboard and soon I saw the boat approaching. My husband could see I was trying to convey some emergency, and when he kicked off the engine, I explained the plight of 'my' heron. After I lifted myself aboard we poled our way to the back of the mangrove and were able to get close enough standing on the side of the boat to reach and eventually release the bird. Actually, my husband did most of the gentle pulling and lifting while I provided encouragement. We placed the bird carefully, with hands on bill, on a tree root and he paused getting his balance. Like the shark, he too left us shortly for another clump of mangroves and the pursuit of another meal. I didn't mention the little shark adventure until after we got back home.

I Won, Well, Sorta

I started a fight with about a thousand wild roses and a few hundred honeysuckle vines and just a dozen or so large grape vines that were trying to bring down my tulip, dogwood and oak trees. In spite of the picture above, I have won the first battle. Yes, I know, there are many more to come. I will know in a day or two if the poison ivy got in a few swipes. Only one little tick and a beautiful lizard after all that tromping through the woods. We were wary of copperheads, but didn't disturb any from wherever they were hiding. Gee, I make my yard sound like a dangerous jungle!

We also moved the pile of rocks and pile of bricks that the builders had left behind to a less obvious place. That move disturbed a few dozen beetles.

Above is the first bloom on the lovely clematis that I planted near the front door. It is so fulfilling to start to see the plants come out of dormancy and open their blossoms.

My weekends are so full trying to get the yard in order that I have little time to think of problems at work or otherwise. I guess this is a good thing. It is kind of a scary thing also, because I am afraid that when I retire the sudden lull will be like hitting a brick wall. I better have something lined up. Any ideas?

Referral to Me

Click on the link to Room Without Walls on the right side of this blog for a new post on my other blog.

Two Sunny Questions

A quiz at the Room Without Walls.

Taking a deep breath

Life has been a little crazy recently. Nothing bad, but I am still doing two jobs at work and both of them have become a little more demanding. I am trying hard to please everyone and come home at the end of each day exhausted. No room for photos, poetry, or thinking about my little guy. Next week is even crazier, but I am taking Friday off and that is when I am going to regroup.

Life is so weird. I was getting depressed at work because I didn't feel I was being used effectively. Now I am being drained of every minute of the day, every idea in my brain cell, and given every bit of paperwork that I can handle.

I am such a little bureaucrat. I actually used a bunch of acronyms in a meeting the other day, and I didn't throw up! Only a few more months of this idiocy. Can you believe I work in a Federal office that STILL doesn't have a firm budget. Also as a Federal office we are required to get everything spent by June when we do get it.

It won't even begin to talk about the mess with Congressional earmarks.

Homage to the Salt of the Earth

Who was this man, the salt of the earth?
The foundation of each day for me and others?
His day was never filled with fire or passion.
His day was always the same.
His day was one foot in front of the other.
His day was being there, without complaint and without recognition.
His day was meeting his responsibilities without expectations other than Friday's paycheck.
Other's were smarter and richer, and yet, he was without greed or envy.
He left each morning before the sun came up with that black lunchbox packed by Mom and in his gray worn work clothes.
Sunday fried chicken, the baseball game, his sons on the floor reading the Sunday Post, this was his happy reward.
I remember his quirky smile when we discussed the concept of celebrity.
He would cross the street for a friend but never for a famous idiot.
I remember his uncomfortable smile if we talked of God.
He dropped out of school in the sixth grade and became a man at 12 to save his parents' farm
With his final soldier's paycheck, he paid off that mortgage.
He had faced the War and survived keeping all the ugly memories to himself.
He raised five children and saw them all go to college with money made by hard labor.
He always felt intimidated by those with formal education.
Yet his children who were all well-educated knew they never could be as smart as he.
He was part of that great generation who went quietly into that good night.
That great generation that only asked for a roof and a meal and a healthy family.
That great generation whose sacrifices we cannot even imagine.
He knew good from bad and right from wrong by feeling in his gut.
I will never meet his stature, he raised the bar very high.
I can only hope to hang on to his values, to pass them on as best I can, in this crazy world.

Bird Brained

This little fellow (a titmouse) showed up on a regular basis over the weekend. He (she?) would stop at the deck chair and look at his/her reflection in the deck door windows. I was able to stand next to the window to photograph without bird dismay.

Eventually he/she hopped to the door handle to admire the reflection. There was much cheeping and panting and heavy breathing, so I think it was in love with its image.

Eventually this led to much flapping of the wings as the bird tried to attack-mate-meet with the image it saw. It would fly up and down the window pane tapping with claws and beak until either my husband or I attempted behavioral managment and chased it away. I even threw out some frozen peas that had hit the kitchen floor to see if I could bribe it.

Without fail it would come back and the process would start all over again.

Here I swear he is watching the TV on the wall!!
(For more birds go to the Room Without Walls.

A Dance of Love

Robert Brady, Claude at Blogging in Paris, and Chancy have all written recently about the pollen or yellow desert dust or air born stuff and in some cases the resultant allergies. Their posts brought a recent but slightly different image and experience to my mind.

Twice in the past few years while hiking I have experienced what to me was a special and marvelous event. It was unexpected, quiet, and very subtle; and had I been looking the wrong way, I would have missed it. I probably had missed it many other times in my life. The first time I saw this natural phenomena was on a hike in the Colorado Rockies. We had just crossed a ridge and somewhat out of breath had paused just below the crest to look down into the next valley of firs and pines and junipers. It was a quiet spring day except for the call of the jays and the occasional spring breeze that touched the evergreen branches.

I was staring at the tops of dozens of elegant pine trees. Then just below their tops, and without warning, a puff of yellow dust covering yards of space flew from one tree drifting like tiny sparks of life down the valley and across the other trees. Less then one second later the next tree released its pollen and so on down through the valley just like a wave of golden phosphorescence. The magic was in the timing and the silence. It was clandestine and confidential as if I was observing the lovemaking between the trees, which in a sense, I was.

I observed this same phenomena when I was in the desert in Arizona recently. We were hiking back into the valley and paused to gaze back at the trail while standing under an Arizona pine tree. Then just above my head the pine tree released a golden shower across the area. The thing I noticed this time was there was no breeze, no air movement that I could feel although clearly the air was moving above my head. I touched the pine branch above my head to see if I could release more pollen and nothing, not one little spore, was released.

I did some research on the process and the science indicates that there is "no explosive dehiscence" in the process. Maybe not, but they "talk" to each other in some way. It is some dance of love that we cannot understand and it is sacred when you see it.

Sick of Being Sick

I came down with a sore throat two Sundays ago after spending the two days before holding hands with my favorite little guy who was running a temperature and had a runny nose. He shares everything! I was down at the new house and didn't have any mouth wash or vitamin C for the sore throat so spent the afternoon gargling with rum--really--probably not the best approach.

I nursed a little temperature and upper congestion early in the week, and then feeling better, went to work last week for two and a half days, then totally lost my voice at the end of the week and stayed home once again. I pushed myself over the next weekend, because I really wasn't feeling all that sick, just not sleeping well at nights due to coughing.

I had to go to work this week as two new 'head' people have come on board and I am doing work for one in an Acting position and had to debrief him and the other is a new supportive person to my other program, so felt I had to be there. I was also asked by my boss to coordinate a new project that may be like pushing jello uphill since no one seems to have a vision for how this project will contribute in any way to our colleagues and 'customers' needs but everyone wants their name on it so that they get visibility. I am trying to bring some semblance of reality to this...but may end up producing something flashy and useless as my illness has compromised my energy and diplomacy. I have been pushing and pushing at work and now feel I need to reboot.

Soooooo, today I am calling the Doctor after having another rough night, and while intellectually knowing he probably can't do anything, at least I hope to rule out bronchitus or pneumonia. Maybe he can give me drugs. I have caught two -- maybe three -- illnesses this year that seem to be due to my love of a grandchild who is building his immune system the hard way. This reminds me of the first two autumns that I taught in the public school system. I was sick on and off for weeks as I caught each child's germs.

Lived-In Look

The Painting Contractor Chickie may appreciate these photos. I have the wallpaper guy in all week putting up wallpaper in the front formal room---we really are using it as a quiet room rather than a formal room as we are the farthest thing from being 'formal' folk. Anyway, I did pick a wine and gold abstract design and the room did take on a plumish color after we painted it ourselves. I was surprised, but I think that I will like it. I do not have any furniture for this room so will have to find something that goes with plum wine? At least if people spill their drinks, it will blend. Hubby painted the trim on the bay window and deserves an award for that work.

And below the wallpaper guy has taken on the dangerous job of completing the kitchen. (I really like him and his work style, by the way.) Thank goodness we put up the pictures already so that he could just rehang them! It also is a strange wallpaper. I bought it because it was a faux finish pattern...but it ended up looking like a birch bark canoe I am thinking. Oh well. And, yes, we are going to re-paint the living room to better coordinate. The great butter yellow just doesn't go so probably something called "bagel". Wallpaper guy has agree to paint the high harder walls and we will paint the easier stuff. I have to put up the two samples this weekend and decide.

As you can see from the photo below of the master bedroom, we are really getting settled in now and developing that lived in look. I had to make curtains for the masterbath as I was tired of feeling strange walking around in the nude even though no one within miles can see in and no one would look twice if they did! I was going to sew the curtains and then got lazy and just used the iron-on tape and they came out pretty good, even if they do look a little cheapo!

The two framed harp shells are from something I did in Indonesia when I was working in batik. The colors don't really go anywhere in the house, but the frames were so nice and matched and so we decided to put them up in the masterbath. Yes, they ARE too far apart, but between my cold and the difficulty of hanging stuff at the end of a long day, we just decided to live with it!

For what we did outside go to the "Room Without Walls" blog.

Rome wasn't built in a day

I have finished planting some portion of the two front landscape beds and I am still fighting a nasty cold, So I decided to rest and watch some television. I am watching a program called "Impossible Islands", a National Geograhic show. This show is about that enormous palm shaped artificial island being built with oil money in Dubai. The island is a palm tree shape offshore which will be a luxury resort and ocean city. The engineering aspects of this monumental task are phenominal. Using a private satellite is the only way they can get the curves on the palm branches accurately curved. Tons and tons of rock are taken from the inland and delivered on a 24-hour-a-day schedule to build the breakwater which I see slowly takes place before they can deposit the sand for the actual island on the inside of the breakwater.

This whole enterprise is mind boggling. The narrator explains that enough rock to build two pyramids was used for the breakwater. Tons and tons of sand are dredged for the island. Environmental issues have not reared their tenuous head yet on the show, although I admit I am watching from the middle of the program. Somehow, though, while I have personally listened to Arabs criticise the way Americans waste petroleum resouces, this argument is not being applied in Dubai.

The engineer that they interview sounds as though he is American. Why do I think that Halliburton is involved somewhere in the massive distribution of money?

Lots of engineering problems are discussed such as stagnant water during the finish of the breakwater (no biologists were clearly consulted in this engineering nightmare), being built in an earthquake zone, and problems with newly deposited and uncompacted sand.

"22 hotels--3 mile island--two years to complete phase one--400,000 apartments and shopping malls." All of the houses are sold in something like three days with the most expensive going for 1.2 million dollars. They keep adding and expanding and as I watch this I wonder why anyone would want to live on a crowded busy island with the business of Miami...wouldn/t a tiny island with a small cottage be so much more lovely?

In a world with starving people, weapons of mass destruction, and new disease challenges every day, this whole project is such a waste of resources and time to me. If I were a Crown Prince, I would like to think I could spend my money in better places. For centuries leaders have built temples, palaces and pyramids to insure eternity of their memory and to show their power.

If you get a chance to see the show, it is most fascinating!

Free lunch

It appears that everyone likes a free lunch prepared by someone else and also likes to eat outside with a view. (Home sick today, so this is all you are going to get.)

Barking up the Right Tree

According to an article I found on the Internet (the pentultimate location for research information) there are "probably 118 species of native trees," This was stated by Robert Zahner, coordinator of the Arizona Register of Big Trees. "Approximately half of those are endemic to the desert Southwest, which means they occur only in southwest New Mexico, southern Arizona, and southeast California, and also, of course, in Sonora, Mexico. Nineteen species are endemic to Arizona, which means their national champions must be in Arizona" he says. In spite of this information I still could not find the species name of these beauties below. Of course, since I did not take pictures of the leaves, I am at a bit of a disadvantage. But while these photos may frustrate amataur botanists, the beauty below should give artists lots of inspiration. (As in my prior post, the photos have been reduced in size, but if you click on them, they are still pretty inspiring.)

















This last little guy gets honorable mention because he is hanging in there!!

Hold your breath now

There was so much beauty on that Arizona trip to Sedona that I think I took over 300 photos. I deleted a few, but the natural beauty of this harsh land lends itself to the most amateurish of us. The weather was variable and one day we even got caught in a light rain and I had an umbrella in my back pack which I used. It was exotic being in the desert during a light spring rain.

If I was a geologist I would point out that "Major depositional episodes occurred in the later Paleozoic, Paleocene, Miocene and Quaternary periods." According to the local tourist page this beauty was "formed from ancient deposits of limestone, mudstone and sandstone when this area was the west coast of a still emerging continent." Hey were are talking 2 billion years here folks. Think about that as you smoke your peace pipe and gaze out over the valley and watch the bluejays perform their mating swoops. We are such a little teeny tiny blip on the surface and in the grand scheme of things. And while we are quite lovely, we don't hold a sparkle to this beauty.



Sometimes you will see granite that formed from the volcanic explosions that has layered over the exposed red sandstone. The exotic presence of this violent geology seems to attract psychics and spiritualists from everywhere. They feel the overwhelming presence of locked time and try to grasp its meaning, share its energies, explain its strength, feel its vortexes. But we are too small and we try too hard (and the commercial exchange of money for this is most annoying).

I reduced the size of the pictures, so I apologize if the digital rendition is compromised. And where you may ask does the red come from?...iron oxides.

The next lesson is on botany and involves tree bark...yes more photos of tree bark that are like Monet or Pissaro paintings. I can hardly wait!

Early to bed, and better yet, early to rise!

There is a bit of tension between those folks who are up bright and early like eager squirrels ready for their daily nut hunt and those who role out of bed late wondering why their gray matter is so sluggish and why they can't find the coffee pot.

I am a squirrel and usually up at 5:15 getting my shower, dressed and then making a quick cup of French Press java to carry with me as I walk the few blocks to the office. I left the apartment at 6:00 this morning, and everything went as usual, until I reached the steps up to the parking lot. Something was odd...what was I missing...oh.. yes, that great cup of coffee had been left on the kitchen counter.

I was over half-way to the office, so, since my walk takes me right by the Caribou Coffee store, I decide to get a cup from them. The lights were on low toward the back of the store, but the door was unlocked. There were two people ahead of me waiting for their order to be taken, and the two java vendors were busy setting out all the carbohydrates for "breakfast on the run" and getting the paper cups stacked. They seemed to take their time taking orders. First the woman in front got her coffee. I wasn't paying much attention when the man in front of me got his coffee. Good, me next.

"I want a 16 ounce Fireside." I looked at the young man in the dreadlocks behind the counter.

He turned and proceeded to fill my order while I reached for my wallet.

He handed me the coffee and then shook his head. "No charge. Technically we are not open, so it is free this early."

Geese mareese, I have been way too efficient in the mornings...making my own coffee and all.

Where were you when?

Remember when the Dixie Chicks got trashed for speaking their minds? Where in the h*** was Donald Trump then? The master of the opportunity, oh yeah, he speaks out now??

Weather or not

"Everyone talks about the weather but no one does anything about it." ...or so it is said. (The Parks Ranger said this was a rare purple flower...can't remember if he said the name and I simply cannot find it on the Internet. I stumbled across it several times while hiking, so methinks it is not that rare.)

Well we can't say that anymore about the weather...can we?


Guess who is changing the global weather, big time? Yep, we are. We are talking more about the weather because we are doing something about it. Not proactively, but certainly reactively.

Those of you who are not able to afford beachfront property, if you live less than a mile from the coast just wait.


Above are photos of some of the first blossoms that I was able to photograph in the Arizona Sonoran desert. This is the third year of a major drought that has confronted the flora and fauna.

Below is someone I have only seen in cartoons. Catching this shot was a 3/10s of second feat with my head cranked backwards in the front seat of the car. Therefore, it is not a great photo. He CAN run!

Water and the surface of living things.

As a human being I have been told many times to make sure to drink lots of water because it makes skin look better. This directive does not seem to apply to desert trees. Look at this beautiful bark below on this sycamore.

No water and yet the bark of the Manzanita or Mountain Driftwood is like flowing red ribbons in the desert air.

Below the trunk of the same species gives you a better look at how lovely the deep brown-red bark can be with access to so little water.

Here is a Manzanita lifting weights!

I think that this is the Alligator juniper below. It was tall and shady along one of the hiking trails we took. It's bark looks just like the photo...sharp and rough.

And finally the bark below is the underside of the roof (restored) of a traditional house for the Sinagua (meaning without water) Indians that started extensive agricultural communities in the valleys, on the hill sides and at the tops of hills and disappeared suddenly from the Arizona valleys many many years ago.

Travel is REALLY so much fun! LifeStory #8

I have to admit that I have traveled LOTS and LOTS in my life. I have traveled across the United States, throughout ASIA and even somewhat in Central America and Europe and Northern Africa. This was due to a promise I made to myself as a young girl that I would see as much of the world as I could, come hell or high water. And, after all of these trips, the airlines has lost my luggage only once. This was on my first trip to my new in-laws in Florida. I didn't panic too much because at 24 you can still look good in clothes that you have been wearing for 24 hours. With the luck of being young, the very next morning a van arrived at my new in-laws door and dropped off the suitcases intact and locked.

I was watching the Today Show a few weeks ago and they were talking about lost luggage. The guest expert was providing tips for when the airlines lost your luggage. He repeated the word "when" and emphasized that he did not say "if."

If you live and travel long enough the world changes and your luck changes. Upon our arrival at our airport in the early evening this past weekend, we noticed a large number of people waiting for their bags at one baggage claim. We lined up like penguins and waited and watched as the intermittent and sometimes static aluminum delivery belt went round and round. After 20 minutes my husband realized that our luggage had not made the transition from Phoenix to Denver to Columbus and to our final destination. (When you travel on 'points' you get to see a lot more of the country than you can imagine or actually want to see.) . Shortly after my husband's realization, there was an announcement on the loudspeaker system that the baggage officials (hiding behind the speakers) were very sorry but they did not know where the luggage from the Philadelphia flight was. They were working on it and they asked for patience. About 50% of the people moaned, groaned and wandered off. We were not on the Philadelphia flight and while wondering how an airline can lose all of the luggage on a flight, we became more concerned about our sweaty but well-packed clothes.

We were rewarded almost an hour later with a blue form to complete regarding our missing luggage. (One of the wives asked her husband if this meant they would get a free flight---she hasn't traveled much I was thinking.) I walked the length of the entire baggage claim area which is about two football fields and I hate to tell you that I saw hundreds and hundreds (not exaggerating) of suitcases and bags that sat on the floor forlornly alone next to baggage claim areas on that Sunday evening. The dozens of strollers alone made me sad for the aching arms of mothers and fathers in our nation.

The announcement that we had been recently moved from yellow to orange in our homeland security settings (much like the settings on your oven) did not assure me in any way as I saw all these potential lethal weapons of mass destruction sitting on the floor as far as the eye could see.
Thus, we went home and to bed.

Hubby got a call at 1:00 P.M. on Monday. "This is United. Are you going to be home for the next 4 hours? " When he answered "Yes." they hung up. They were either planning on delivering luggage or robbing us. So, he waited patiently.

Five hours later I was home and had eaten dinner and there is still no luggage. Hubby called the number that had called him at 1:00 and heard from a computer that they were too busy to answer the phone and to call back later. My guess is that the all-great office of baggage losers had been discovered and passengers were holding them hostage.

After this recent trip, I wondered if the wagon trains crossing the desert had it any easier? I really think that the good ole USA is getting to be more like a developing nation each and every day. It is a good thing I have traveled in the 'third' world or I would have said some of the things that were being said at the airport last night when people headed for their taxis empty handed.

Post Script at 6:00 P.M.

Hubby is currently talking to a computer.....

Now he is talking to someone who clearly lives in India or Pakistan...

Now he is listening to very irritating United Airlines music ...good choice on their part to continually remind us of the company that screwed up...

9:10 P.M. the phone rings. Our luggage has arrived and doesn't appear much the worse for the wear. I wonder where it got to travel?

Loved to Death

On some of the days the sky in the desert was an indescribable blue. Have you ever seen such a color? I didn't do any digital tweaking and for once the camera lense captured what I saw against the white bark of this desert sycamore. The green in the center is mistletoe. They must do a lot of kissing in Arizona, because it was everywhere. (Click the photot for a bigger view.)

The mornings were a cool 45 and by afternoon Sedona hills were warming to a toasty 70 degrees. Perfect weather for hiking if you layered your clothes.


We had not been to Sedona, Arizona for almost a decade and I noticed substantial changes starting with the fifteen minute traffic jam to get to the other side of the hill where we were staying upon our arrival. This place in the desert among the red rocks is being loved to death by soul searchers, mystics, retirees, real estate developers, bike riders, hikers (us), rich Californians and tourists from around the world. The year-round population of Sedona is supposed to be about 12,000 but this is followed by the statement that over 4,000,000 tourists visit each year. The city of Pheonix to the south is growing even faster.

In spite of the initial shock we were able to get away from it all and find some restorative hours studying the flora and fauna each day. We packed light lunches and extra water and always found a challenging or not-so-challenging trail to fill our day.

I still have over 300 photos to sort, but will not post them all here.

On Another Way

I will be leaving tomorrow for my Dad's memorial service. I love him too much to write about this. Most good writers get their feelings and thoughts down and come to some growth and realization as well as a beautiful written memory. I will have to write about this much later. I have many regrets and pain and just CANNOT share it. I may be a coward but I just need time. So enough on that.

Now for some random thoughts that are keeping me sane.

1. How do you think Al and Tipper's evening went and what were they thinking when they ate dinner with people who use double-sided tape to get dressed?

2. I may never retire, with today's stock market free-fall. Have you bought anything made in the United States lately? Most of my new furniture, towels and sheets came by way of China even though I purchased from U.S. firms. I guess you can't manipulate the market forever! Wonder where this leaves Bush's private retirement accounts idea?

3. I will not get a lifetime achievement award in my field (as my husband has recently gotten) when I retire unless not killing an immature twit that I work with counts as a mature gesture on my part. I am still trying very hard to kill her with kindness and this gesture deserves some type of reward, don't you think?

4. Now the US Center for Science in the Public Interest says that chain restaurants routinely serve "A 2,000-calorie appetizer. A 2,000-calorie main course. Another 1,700 calories for dessert." While I am smart enough to know the caloric dangers of eating in a restaurant and frequently split entrees or desserts with my hubby, I am a little sruprised at these numbers! Shouldn't we get a little truth in advertising on the menus? After all, this isn't a once a year visit to Roy's, my favorite restaurant.

5. Whoopee! Spring is coming. After my memorial long weekend with my family, my husband and I are escaping to Arizona using up some 'points'. Please tell me you want to see a few of the lovely photos I will take of the very unique area where I will be staying.

Then again, perhaps not....

It is just around the corner....

Devilment

Dealing With It

8:30 A.M. and Tabor was running late on an already full day. A morning doctor's appointment followed by a ten mile drive and two afternoon meetings. These days she had a second job as back-up for a departing colleague. Two jobs and her time was always overfilled. She wouldn't have been late except for the 6:00 AM phone call. That call resulted in several other phone calls all of which took more precious time. Time she didn't have. Also she was moving slowly and without energy because for some reason she woke up at 2:00 A.M. after just a few hours of sleep. She found herself lying in bed --wide awake. Never really got back to sleep.

The trip to the doctor's was way back in her old neighborhood. Morning rush hour was in full play and she had to squeeze her little car between two big SUVs. Although she was driving back to the old neighborhood, she found it irritating that the new buildings and road changes were confusing. This confusion seemed to happen to her more often these days, and it was irritating. She began to realize that her distracted mind needed to concentrate or she would miss the turn.

Arriving at the doctor's office 20 minutes early gave her time to make some calls to work to let people know of her changed schedule. Too much sympathy and chit chat. Just make sure that the right people get the changes. Just need to get through this day.

She liked this doctor and had gone to him for years. He asked how she was and she provided the usual 'fine.' He didn't really want to know and she didn't really want to start the conversation. Four clinical breast massages later he called the nurse into the room and Tabor took the 'position.' God this was painful this time! It felt as if he was inserting pointed knives. Tabor bit her lip as tears streamed down her face. Doc E. apologized and did try to be more gentle. Tabor commented that getting old was the pits. She knew if she didn't stop these tears they would flow like melting snow. Doc E. asked again if she was OK. Tabor smiled and winced.

It wasn't until she got to the technician who was taking her blood later that the how-are-you question was answered honestly. Tabor was surprised that she was able to say directly to this perfect stranger that her father has passed on last night. Now she had said it three times this morning. Once to her husband, once to the secretary at work and now to this perfect stranger. Since it didn't get any easier, Tabor decided she wasn't going to say it anymore.

Tabor dealt with things in the cliched fashion of not thinking about it, not talking about it, not retrospectively writing about it, not dwelling on it. It was over. The long battle of hospitals and IV's and feeling guilty because her brothers and sister and sister-in-law bore the heavy burden was passing. Tabor felt relief. But she wouldn't tell her family that. They wouldn't think her honest...just cold. She knew that she would be dealing with this in bits and pieces in years to come. But that was the only way she could swallow it right now.

Now for the call to the kids...Tabor realized she had to say it again.

Microclimates

Looking at the scenery from the car window as we headed down to the 'house on the rivah' we were given an interesting lesson in weather patterns. Our starting point was bitterly cold and the land was covered in about an inch of white snow covered by a crust of ice---like a white chocolate covered vanilla ice cream bar.

After we had gone about 10 miles the snow disappeared and the land was covered in a silvery glitter with dirty mounds of earth peaking through the farm fields.

Then after another 10 or 15 miles the land was clear of ice, but the trees and shrubs looked as if they had been painted with silver paint. The sun was bouncing off the sices of the branches making it look like a forest of minimilist Christmas trees.

As we reached the last ten miles, the trees resumed their normal winter gray dullness but when I looked at their base I saw broken silver bits of glass beneath the branches in a circle like a round lace petticoat.

When we reached the river, it was frozen over and mirrored even more beautifully the various sunlight angles and shades of the late afternoon. At times the view from the window was a watercolor painting. There was a small pocket at one end of the river that had not frozen over and the geese were using this area as their strategic starting and stopping point.

(By the way, Weary Hag, is back. They always come back, sooner or later...hee, hee. It is nice when friends move back into the neighborhood.)