Change Doesn't Always Happen Life Story #10

Look at this shirt in the photo above. It looks pretty pathetic and used doesn't it? Looks like it has quite a history---maybe it was worn when painting a few walls, washing a boat or two? It will not surprise you when I write that my husband does not throw anything away if he thinks there may still be a use for it. It may surprise you that I know the exact age of this shirt --- 35 years old this July.

This shirt entered our lives in 1972 when we were living in Palau, Micronesia. It is a shirt made by my own hand. There are no shirt stores on Palau, or at least there were not any stores like that when we lived there. I was quite the little homemaker back then and for hubby's birthday and in anticipation of a potential trip back to the states in the fall, I made him a couple of shirts. I French seamed them if you notice that kind of thing. It still fits, if you note that kind of thing. It is stained but not falling apart.

I must have been a pretty good seamstress for it to have held up this long. I know that I can't sew that well today. Also, they made better quality thread back then. My husband is sweet to hang on to it this long. I am pretty sure that I don't have any clothes of my own from way back when...nor could I get into them. I think I weighed 105 at 5'5"!

Hanging on

I had another one of those awful days at the office. People coming to complain about stuff I have no control over. Other people defending their reason for not being able to do something that was technologically doable ten years ago. Finally someone concerned about public information I sent out that they didn't think should be public, although by law it is. And, of course, the 15th response to some budget defense for a budget that doesn't happen for at least three more years!

I need to retire. I am too old to get caught up in this carnival of agonies. Some days, and thankfully not every day, I HATE my job.

So I am going to do something about it! I am getting my boss to approve a shorter workweek, and my boss is amenable, being a short-timer. It will be at some financial cost , but I am so stressed that I think it will be worth it. It will also mean I have less clout with other staff, but I am tired of fighting battles.

I am asking the retiremnet people to crunch the numbers and if they are not too painful I am going to trade time for money. Anyone else done this?

After a day like today I will have several sleepless nights before I get back to normal.

Johnny Depp and My Grandson

What does Johnny Depp have to do with my grandson? Well, pay attention and I will draw the lines.

Hubby has been on travel for quite a while and so, like the typical person I am, I spend a lot of time channel surfing when he is gone. I can watch 15 minutes of something and then jump to something else for a short time and then onward to the next batch of schlock. Once in a while I do find something that I watch to the end. But without hubby, who approaches everything very linearly (I don't think that is a word.), I don't have to stay on one channel. Linear...lines?...yes, I am getting to drawing them, patience.

I was hanging ten with the remote when I came across the biography of Johnny Depp. He is one of the most interesting actors around these days as well as sexy in a very odd but acid-taking-intellectual way. I had to stop and watch the interview and the biographer's comments. While watching there is always this little voice in the back of my head that keeps saying "He's just BS-ing everyone. He isn't really like that."

As I watched I told myself (with hubby gone I talk lots to myself---even out loud many times), "He never steps out of character from interview to interview, so maybe he is true blue."

Then he said the following (which due to my age and memory skills I clearly paraphrase.)

"It all about family. I mean hanging out with them. If it is a 12-hour-day of Barbie, than so it is. That is what it is all about."

See, he IS BS-ing! I just spent an 8-hour day keeping my grandson out of trouble while his parents packed up their house for the upcoming move. We did 1 hour of trains, 2 hours of push the cart around the park/playground, 5 minutes of swinging, 1 hour of trains, 30 minutes of hide-and-seek, 30 minutes of attempted lunching, 30 minutes of watching High-5 on TV and 1 additional hour of wandering from room to room and finally a drive in which he fell asleep. The return from the car in 20 minutes meant he was still sleeping in my arms as I sat down on the sofa and parents assured me he had to stay there in my arms. So there was another 2 hours of napping--which in spite of my tone here really is heaven on earth.

Now, please try to counter my argument.

1) No child that I know does 12 hours of ANYTHING unless there are medical problems.
2) No parent or grandparent could remain sane if the child did 12 of hours of anything.
3) 2 hours of any activity while fun quickly becomes enough for any adult with a brain!

I want a video of Johnny Depp playing Barbie with his child for 12 hours on YouTube.

Some Pathogenic Thoughts

This may be a little graphic for some of you. Those of you who have reached that time in your life where nothing shocks may get a chuckle.

At our house we have been doing lots of 'brush clearing.' This is now a national cultural thing with the examples set by our illustrious leader, and my husband and I are eager to be the true patriots and try our skill. (Actually we have been doing this for years in many countries and states and probably considered ourselves somewhat the experts.)

You may remember my recent photo showing all the red lines on my sexy legs from the wild roses but not showing the poison ivy's wrath that appeared a few days later. I don't think our illustrious leader gets that down and dirty, because he never seems to have any scars or weepy sores to show off.

Anyway, since my hubby is partially retired he gets to play in the jungle (forest) more than I. I was able to wangle a working-from-the-house day today and was focusing on a nasty database entry at about 7:00 in the morning when hubby shuffled out of the bedroom scratching his you-know-what and looking around surprised the sun had come up already.

He started the conversation (after "Good morning.") with "I think I have a little problem."

"What?" I asked not taking my eyes from my laptop screen.

"I found a tick down here." He was pointing to that nether region which is so venerated by the male of our species.

Me: "Oh?" Now realizing I was going to have to take a work-break.

"Yeah. I got it out, but I think there is another one down in the same area. Can you take a look?"

"Can I get my camera? This would be great for my blog!"

"No." he groaned. Then he hit his head on the lower wall groaning again while he lay down on his back on the floor and assumed the position. The reason he hit his head is that men don't usually get to assume 'the position.' There he was with his pants down and his legs spread eagle and his hand on one of the two orbs pulling it aside. Sure enough there was something brown and round and small next to some red skin. It didn't look like it had legs or a head, though, but at my age, I can't see anything smaller than a pea.

"Do we have a magnifying glass down here at the house?" I asked.

He pointed to the paperweight on top of the desk where I had recently been working. I don't have the right computer to resize---so photo will be high res. How apropos is this crab, don't you think?

Well, to make a long story longer, I actually still had trouble pulling the little brown dot away from the skin and eventually realized it was a skin tag...amazing the pain a spouse will let you inflict when he thinks you know what you are doing.

Later at lunch I went out to weed the beds for about ten minutes and when I came back inside found that I had a number of bites on my legs. I mused out loud..."Great, now I will get both Lymes disease and West Nile virus. They will never be able to diagnose how I died."

Hubby smirked..."Maybe we could get Dr. House to help."

For those of you who do not watch TV this is an egocentric, genius, pathological doctor who solves the most ridiculous medical cases each week, usually after he inflicts lots of pain on the patient while belittling his attractive interns.

(My scenario would be, after he removes about three organs he would solve my diagnosis.)

Making Do with What You Have

I have always been addicted to flowers. I love planting bloomers and I love putting out those plants that provide something I can cut to bring inside to keep the outdoors alive. With new shrubs that are too small to trim away blooms (rhododendrons, roses, etc.) at the new house, I have very few plants that I can cut. Those few the deer are helping to prune. So I planted a few perennial sunny happy daisies. Each plant different and blooms about two weeks apart. These were the first to bloom thus far, and yes, I cut most to bring inside and then had to pad the whole display with ornamental grasses and wild grass seed heads to keep it less anemic. It was the best I could do for our weekend eating.

Check out the Room Without Walls for more fun spring stuff.

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!