Wimbledon ’99

OK, so I scanned a couple of pics from my visit to the 1999 Championships of the All England Lawn Tennis Club, Wimbledon.

This was taken at Centre Court on one of the most excellent days of my life.



And this guy could play a little bit. On the grass and elsewhere.



The Lovely says this about seeing Pete Sampras play at Wimbledon: “He makes the court look small” — even Centre Court at Wimbledon!

And she’s right (of course): Pete would hit his serve and then be at the net in, like, two steps. And he only won, like, seven Wimbledon singles titles!

: )

Personally, I am rooting for Venus Williams in this year’s women’s final, in which she will likely play Lindsay Davenport — who was only three measly points way from making it to the final today before her match with Amelie Mauresmo was suspended by rain. I like Amelie — and not just because she is “family,” although that is one of the things about her prompted me to pay attention to some of her matches.

As for the men: Naturally, I want Andy Roddick to win the tournament. And I like Roger Federer and Lleyton Hewitt, so it does not matter to me who wins that semifinal.

Closer to home: I played tennis tonight for only the third time this summer. Felt good to get the endorphins (or whatever they’re called) going.

: )

On a totally unrelated note:

Booger King Drive-Through

Booger King Drive-Through Worker: Welcome to Booger King, blah blah blah, may I take your order?

Me: Yes, I would like a chicken fingers kids’ meal, a medium frozen blueberry, a chicken Whopper — and could I get that on a bun withOUT sesame seeds?

(See, I KNOW that Booger King has alternative buns because I got one o’ those angus burgers a few weeks ago, and it was on some kinda bun with some sorta little crumbs or something on top.)

BKDTW: Uhhhhh, we could put it on two bun bottoms. That’s all we have.

(Bun bottoms??! WTF??!)

Me: Uhm, no. Just put it on a regular sesame seed bun. And I need a small Coke, also.

I drive through, pay, drive up to wait for the guy to bring me the food, take it over to The Lovely’s, get situated on the couch, open my sandwich and find that my chicken Whopper is, indeed, sandwiched between those alternative buns similar to the one my angus burger was served on.

*sigh*

Tonight’s parting thought: I am so grateful to be one day away from a holiday weekend.

Duck ... duck ... duck ...

No geese, though. At least I don’t think so.

Oddly enough, my Birds of Illinois book, courtesy of Lone Pine Publishing, does not seem to have the common duck (does it even have a proper name?) listed in its waterfowl section. Very strange, and, to me, a glaring omission. Otherwise, this lil’ handbook has already come in quite useful.

Anyway, these are from late afternoon today at the Mt. Vernon City Park. A couple of mallards (a male and a female, I believe), and then some regular run-o’-the-mill ducks.







Kinda makes ya wanna yell, “AFLAC!” — doesn’t it??!

: )

Mum’s the Word

I believe these are mums, anyway.

¡Caliente, la Parte 2!

During this evening’s watering, I failed to notice that my very first habañero pepper had arrived! Fortunately, I returned home before dark and saw it.

And smiled.

: )



I am trying to formulate my exact feelings on the Supreme Court’s ruling on displaying the Ten Commandments. Sadly, I failed, miserably, in my Communications Law class (OK, I actually got a B … but for me, that was a bad grade), primarily because I could read a case, read the prevailing (??) and dissenting opinions and STILL not know exactly what the ruling was.

Seems to me — with my admittedly relatively uninformed opinion — that the high court’s decision on this matter is rather unclear. If I understand it correctly, it’s OK to display the Ten Commandments if they are engraved on some kind of permanent monument that is located on public ground out in the middle of some field, but it’s not OK to display the Ten Commandments if they are copied at Kinko’s and tacked up on the wall of your public courthouse. (OK, I made up the Kinko’s part.)

I have written a column on this subject before. I wanted to revisit the topic; however, I have no idea when my previous column was published, and contrary to my obvious tendency toward repeating myself, I, uhm, really don’t like the idea of repeating myself.

: )

Before I go on, though, let me be perfectly clear on a couple of things:

First of all, I adore The Ten Commandments — the movie, that is. Grandma Ginny got me started watching this film when I was very young, and I have to admit it is one of the guilty pleasures in my life. I love Charlton Heston as Moses — and, obviously, as Taylor in Planet of the Apes (another guilty pleasure: “Get your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty ape!”) — and I used to watch this movie every year during ABC’s traditional showing of it around Easter (not exactly sure of the correlation there, but … whatever).

Secondly, I believe that the Ten Commandments contain some pretty good words to live by, even if you don’t happen to be a particularly religious person. Most of them are rules of common decency/respect, and if you avoid breaking any of the commandments, you will likely not find yourself in jail or divorce court — a couple of good reasons, right there, to try to adhere to them.

Truthfully, I’m not quite certain how these rules and regulations have been narrowed down to 10. When I looked up the Ten Commandments in the King James Version of the Bible that I, uhm, borrowed from my parents (thus, apparently, violating at least two of the commandments!), I was pretty sure I counted 11. I guess the wording threw me off a little, so I switched to the red engraved Revised Standard Version Bible that was presented to me on Aug. 26, 1973, by “the First United Methodist Church for entering third grade,” according to my mom’s printed notation inside.

Here is what I found, highlighted in blue, in Exodus 20: 1-17.

And God spoke all these words, saying,

“I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage.

“You shall have no other gods before me.

“You shall not make for yourself a graven image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth; you shall not bow down to them or serve them; for I the Lord your God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children to the third and the fourth generation of those who hate me, but
showing steadfast love to thousands of those who love me and keep my commandments.

“You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless who takes his name in vain.

“Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work; but the seventh day is a sabbath to the Lord your God; in it you shall not do any work, you, or your son, or your daughter, your manservant, or your maidservant, or your cattle, or the sojourner who is within your gates; for in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested the seventh day; therefore the Lord blessed the sabbath day and hallowed it.

“Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long in the land which the Lord your God gives you.

“You shall not kill.

“You shall not commit adultery.

“You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.

“You shall not covet your neighbor’s house; you shall not covet your neighbor’s wife, or his manservant, or his maidservant, or his ox, or his ass, or anything that is your neighbor’s.”

I have no problems believing in and attempting to follow the Ten Commandments on a daily basis. OK, so I’m a little lax about the sabbath day ... and occasionally I have been known to let slip the Lord’s name (though I’m not altogether certain it was in vain, ’cause I’m telling’ ya, I was really really mad!) ... and every once in a while, I see something like a neato car or a really cool house and think, damn, I wish I had one-a them! ... and yes, there are times when my mother and I absolutely do NOT see eye-to-eye. Still, though, it makes sense to me to make the attempt to live life according to a set of principles or guidelines or some kinda code or something ... though, I would have to say, my code would probably not be exactly the same as this particular list.

And even with this list, I have to wonder about all of the other instructions and what-not from throughout the rest of Exodus and various other parts of the Old Testament, some of which is mostly ignored by many followers of basic God-centered religions, and parts of which are brought up only for use in discussions featuring what I like to call “situational ethics/morals.” For example, I am constantly amazed by the number of people who quote Scripture, chapter and verse, when it comes to the topic of, say, homosexuality, but certainly aren’t going to follow “the letter of the law” when it comes to some of the seemingly more archaic rules set forth in the Bible.

Bottom-line: Do I think the Ten Commandments should be posted at the county courthouse, or the local high school, or even the city park?

No, I do not.

Learn these rules at home and/or church, and put them into practice in your daily life. Don’t act as if you need a list of the commandments, in clear view at all times, in order to remember them, or that having them posted will suddenly make all non-believers “see the light.” Don’t pretend that putting up these rules in public places cannot possibly offend or trouble anyone else because the fact is, not everyone believes the same as you or I or anyone else.

Personally, I would rather see something a lot simpler posted here and there, on subway walls and tenement halls, or even on water towers and silos — something with the same underlying principle that, essentially, serves as a reminder of what the commandments seem to be all about, anyway:

“Try to be as good a person as you can possibly be, always, in all ways. And believe and love with all your heart.”

’Nuff said, dontcha think?

: )

Blah Blah Blog

I love when I read about a New! and Improved! feature on Blogger, only to realize that I have been using that New! and Improved! feature on my bloggity blog for, oh, only about as long as I have had a Blogger bloggity blog.

: )

Though I notice the Add Image feature does offer more functions ... and yet, when I just attempted to use it: Major fuck-up!

And I am not at all pleased with the sudden scrunched-up look of all my little words in the text of my online journal (sounds SO much more serious than bloggity blog). Something is DEFINITELY not exactly right with the leading (at least, that is what we call it in the news biz), but I will have to worry about that another day.

This is from my trip to The Ville.



Hydrangea

This is from this morning at work.



Hydrant

Today the local fire department announced that next week, it will be testing all of the hydrants south of West Main Street and west of South Main Street. Which sounds a little confusing, until you tell yourself, Hmmm, they must mean all of the hydrants in the southwest quadrant of the city. (Mr. Defend, my high school algebra AND geometry teacher, was right: We WILL use math in The Real World!)

Anyhoo, I went searching for the perfect hydrant for as some artwork for the story. I quickly came to the conclusion that this town has THE ugliest fire hydrants I have ever seen. So I decided to find the best-looking one I could find.

This one sorta resembles an actual firefighter, I have decided. Covered with foliage.

: )

I remember when I was a kid, back in The Ville, they painted all of our hydrants like actual cartoon characters. I seem to remember a Winnie the Pooh hydrant ... but then again, I could be hallucinating.

Personally, I think all fire hydrants and all fire engines should be red. Fire-engine red, preferably.

: )

OK, now I need to go obsess over my text for a bit.

Some Musical Notes

So, anyway, my last few days have featured the same basic CDs/songs on my playlist:

1. Devils & Dust by Bruce Springsteen (favorite songs, so far, are “Reno” and “Leah”)

2. A classical music CD with “Canon in D Major” (I also listen to “The Four Seasons” by Vivaldi and whatever Song 2 is titled; I believe I might have played that one, also, at one time or another, in band or on the bells or something)

I have not been writing down my first song of the day lately, but I have a couple of doozies (sp?) from earlier this week: “I Can’t Fight This Feeling” by REO Speedwagon (not that I’m saying this is a bad song ... though I still crack up at the thought of the video, with that little guy running around in the guy’s head) and “The Adverb Song” from Schoolhouse Rock — yes, the “Lolly, Lolly, Lolly, get your adverbs here!” song.

Yesterday I landed on a decent station whilst driving to The Ville; however, it was a station that played a bunch of songs in a row and then never said who the singers were, which I find highly annoying. Peter, Paul and Mary’s “Puff, the Magic Dragon” was playing as I cruised toward the Route 16 turnoff — and durrrrrrrrrn that Patti for previously having mentioned the “A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys” line because, yes, it made me well up, too. Shortly after I turned toward home, though, I heard the familiar saxophone intro of one of my favorite songs of all time: “Diana” by Paul Anka! Needless to say, I cranked the volume and sang as loud as I could, all the way into The Ville.

: )

The weirdest musical moment of the trip occurred somewhere near Cowden when I heard some woman whose voice I didn’t recognize singing “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands” ... only every time she said “hands,” she sounded like she was saying “Hans” — as in:

Hans: I am Hans.
Franz: And I am Franz.
Unison: And we are here to pump *clap* you up!

Needless to say, it made me smile. And wonder.

Red Moon

I spent a good portion of today in my car. And while my destination — Meredith’s visitation — was not exactly what I would have wished for, I was determined to see what I could notice on my way there and back.

When I pulled off for a potty break (and a Snickers!) at St. Elmo, I noticed the smell of freshly oiled roads.

I can remember times when Mom would be driving us around, and we’d end up on a country road, and all of a sudden she would take a turn onto a road that had just been oiled ... and she would grumble and the white rocks would clank against the side of the car, and afterwards, oil would be all over the sides and bumpers, and sometimes even the hood.



This is the Thompson Mill Covered Bridge. I have not been here since ... geez, I cannot even remember when. Suffice it to say I was a high-schooler last time I saw this bridge, possibly a college student. I was rather disappointed to see that the inside was nearly covered with graffiti.
Seriously: Where’s the thrill in that? I must be missing something.

Anyhoo, the last time I was at this covered bridge, or perhaps the next-to-last time, my fellow youth group members and I had ventured up from our campsite. We were canoeing the Kaskaskia, which we did 3 or 4 times, and we had set up camp at a spot in the river where there was this old oak tree. Or maybe it was an elm, or some other kind of tree (like I remember ... as if I know my trees, even if I did remember). Point is, the tree had a rope hanging down from its biggest branch, and one by one, each of us took a turn swinging out over the river and dropping into the water.

Karen took a few turns, too, but for some reason, she wouldn’t let go at the right time; instead, she’d swing out as far as she could, twist around and somehow end up dragging her whole lower body through the water before finally releasing her grip on the rope. After doing this 2 or 3 times, her legs were completely red!

:o

On this day, one highlight occurred as I was driving around a blind curve and looked ahead and saw a couple of horses and a big barn. (I think the horses might have been hugging ... if horses can hug.)



And I kept noticing wheat fields. I swear, I have never noticed them before; now I find myself looking for them, in no small part because of that Le Petit Prince reference. My favorite part about this photo is the detail, despite the fact that I shot it from my car.



I had a difficult time making cell phone calls during my drive through this part of the state; I wonder if it had something to do with the local technology?



So, anyway, the whole day was building up to tonight’s strawberry moon. I figured that I would happen upon it during my drive home after the visitation, and I was hoping to pull off the interstate, set up somewhere safe and attempt to take some pictures of the full moon.

I had no idea when the moonrise would take place, however, ’cause I didn’t bother to check The Farmers Almanac online. I was thinking sometime after 8 p.m., which would be just about perfect.

We were in line for more than an hour at the visitation. There were TONS of people there, including several I had not seen since high school (even saw one of my two MAJOR crunches from senior year!), so the event was less sad than I would have expected.

I left the funeral home feeling somewhat full of wonder. So many people showed up to pay their respects to this beautiful woman; I wonder if she had any idea how many lives she touched?

During the drive home, I kept searching for the moon. I remembered the time I had looked for it whilst driving home from Whale Rider, and how I had glanced up and seen it, right in front of me, this deep, dark red just over the black horizon.

Same thing happened tonight: I drove around the curve just south of Mt. Vernon, looked up, and there it was. Fortunately, I was only a few miles from the college, so I exited the interstate, drove to the college, parked in the east lot and set up my mini tripod on the hood of my car.

A couple of people pulled up to ask me if I was taking a picture of the moon. I told them I was trying to, and eventually they moseyed on.

And I got a few. And at least one good one.



Just as I had finished shooting, I put my stuff in the car and looked out toward a corn field and saw what I believed to be A SKUNK slinking along the edge of the field! Granted, the varmint was several feet away; nevertheless, I quickly (and quietly) shut the car door and waited for it to scurry well past before I started the car.

And no, I did NOT attempt to take its picture!

: )

Tonight

I thought this, the first day of summer, might turn into a good night for a drive to the lake. My ulterior motive was to find a place to set up for a moon shot; after all, the strawberry moon is only one night way, so I had a feeling it would be close to bursting tonight. As I expected, this was a good night, and my drive took me past the old coal mine (I am still a little fascinated by its resemblance to a dilapidated amusement park) before I had to make an unexpected jaunt to North Marcum.

Along the way, I had seen several deer standing alone in the various fields that I passed, feasting on the new crops. Man, I could never shoot a deer myself, yet I can see how the animals could devastate a field throughout the course of a summer ... so I guess I can understand the obvious need to thin the herd.

Still ... when I pass by a deer and it wags its white tail ... I dunno. I guess I just like ’em. They’re cute!



I ended up on the west bank of the access area — the opposite side of where I had planned to park and wait for the moonrise — and I noticed the sun was reflecting off the water as it set.



I just kept shooting and shooting, probably 25 to 30 photos in all. (THIS, by the way, is what I love most about digital photography!)

: )



The clouds are what made this sunset, really. I mean, yeah, the sun was an obvious factor, but the clouds muted the light just enough.



I waited on the moon for a while but gave it up for dark.

Today’s Column: For the Love of Music

Music has almost always been an important part of my life, from my days of singing along to “Sugar, Sugar” by the Archies when I was a toddler, to my various stints in choirs and bands during junior high and high school, to right here and now — when, at any given moment, I am quite likely to burst out in song. (Ask my co-workers.)

I have many people to credit as being musical influences in my life, most notably my mom with her collection of Glen Campbell, Ed Ames, Jim Nabors and Dean Martin records (thankfully, she also mixed in a little Simon & Garfunkel, occasionally!), and my dad, who turned me on to Elvis. The list even includes Miss Swank, my fourth-grade music teacher, who told me that, according to “the test,” I was lacking in rhythm skills (in other words: Forget about the drums!) but had a mouth suited for instruments in the woodwind family.

My stepdad told me he’d always enjoyed the sound of the alto saxophone. I’m not so sure that included “the squeaking, squawking sound of a fifth-grade band student learning how to play the alto sax”; nevertheless, thanks in no small part to his suggestion, that’s the instrument I chose and played throughout my band career.

There are others who had an effect on me, of course, but the greatest influence in my musical life was a woman named Meredith Dove, who passed away on Saturday after a battle with cancer.

Meredith served as director for vocal and bell choirs in which I was a member. Her influence was profound, not necessarily because she was the best musician or even the best director — although she was an extremely talented pianist and organist who lent her skills to our church on a regular basis, and, as a director, she was nothing less than brilliant in her knowledge of music and in her ability to motivate — but because she loved music so much.

Music was as much a part of her existence as the air around her: She lived and breathed music. If you sang or played for her, you knew this.

It made you want to sing and play your best ... and it made you love music, too.

I spent most of my time with Meredith as a member of the Trinity Ringers handbell choir at the First United Methodist Church in Shelbyville. Meredith donated the bells to the church when I was in high school, and it wasn’t long before our choir was performing during Sunday services on a regular basis. Soon, we were invited to play for special events in the community; people were fascinated by the spectacle of the bells — their visual beauty and their delightful sound.

After I left for college and then, later, ventured off into “the real world,” I would join my fellow former bell-ringers once a year to take part in a Trinity Alums Christmas Eve performance. We would get together for a practice session, learn a couple of songs and then play them as part of the service.

Eventually, I no longer took part in these performances; still, I always looked forward to seeing and hearing the bells.

As with most of life’s lessons, I never realized, all those years ago, how much I was learning from playing the bells. And from playing for Meredith.

I learned that music is rarely a solo act. Yes, you can sing in the shower or in your car, by yourself. You can even sing to yourself; in fact, I would venture to say that most days, most people, myself included, actually wake up with a song in their head. (I recently began taking note of this phenomenon, jotting down the first song I think of during my waking moments. Try it sometime!)

For the most part, though, music involves more than one person. Sometimes thousands of people, sometimes a tiny group, but almost always, at least two: the performer and the listener. The performers often consist of many parts — the various musicians and their instruments that comprise a symphony orchestra, for example — while the number of listeners can vary from the small audience at an intimate live performance to the several million people who might listen to the songs on a CD.

When you are in a bell choir, you usually play one or two bells (some people can play several at a time, but I would have never been able to keep up!). If you happen to be playing middle D and E — which was right about where I was, most songs — your notes usually were involved mostly with the harmonic lines; every once in a while, though, you were part of the melody. Either way, if you forgot to play your notes or, almost as bad, played them on the wrong beat ... well, needless to say, without all the right notes in just the right places, the song would sound just plain wrong!

(And don’t even get me started on the time a song began and, instead of having in front of me the F-sharp bell I was supposed to be playing, I somehow managed to end up with the regular F. That mishap resulted in THE worst moment of my musical career!)

Thankfully, I also learned from Meredith that while practice may not always make perfect, every once in a while, during a Sunday morning performance or even a Wednesday evening rehearsal session, it gets you pretty darn close.

Meredith used to work us, hard but gently, during our practice sessions. In the early days, much time was spent on technique — learning how to hold the bells properly, mastering the basics of bell-ringing, picking up special skills as we went along. We played some very simple songs in the beginning; gradually, we added more difficult numbers to our repertoire.

After we had been at it for a while, Meredith told us about a song she was hoping we would be able to learn in time for a special upcoming performance.

“This is one of my favorite songs,” she said. “It’s a beautiful arrangement, and I know it will sound so lovely on the bells.”

The song was “Canon in D Major” by Johann Pachelbel. You’ve probably heard it, as it has been featured in various films, pop music and even some TV shows. (I like to think of it as “the song from ‘The Wonder Years’ that Kevin Arnold practices and practices for the recital, over and over, but then totally messes up during dress rehearsal and ends up quitting piano lessons.”)

This was no easy task for our young bell choir, either, but, somehow, Meredith believed that we were up for the challenge. She gave us our bell assignments, and we went about learning the song — a classical piece which, when performed by an orchestra, starts out with the lower strings playing a rather somber harmonic line and then adds violins and violas in a vibrant, almost festive melody as the song moves along.

The same principle applied when we played the song on the bells: Starting out with the lower notes of the large bells that the boys played (I would have needed two hands just to lift one of those bells!) and ranging on up through my middle bells to those at the very tippy-top of the scale.

I don’t remember how long we worked on that song; all I know is, it seemed as if we practiced it forever, to the point at which we felt as if we knew it backward AND frontward — and even then, when the day arrived for us to play it in church for the very first time, we still wished we had a few more weeks to work on it.

I don’t recall much about that actual performance, either, except that once the song started, we all knew that we were taking part in something very special. The bells playing harmony kept the tempo steady throughout; the melody continued to add notes and volume and build toward that final note, on which we all played.

From start to finish, and on every single one of the notes in between, you simply knew that you were taking part in something that was just about as close to perfection as possible.

When we were finished, Meredith quietly signaled for us to lower our bells and lay them on the table. Then the smile she’d had throughout the song grew even bigger. She clasped the sides of her face with her hands and told us what a wonderful job we had done.

She was so proud of us, she had tears in her eyes.

Twenty-something years later, I have tears in my eyes, too. I am so proud to have played for her.

Thank you, Meredith, for sharing your love of music.

The Last Day of Spring

This is the moon on the last day of spring.



And to think: According to my calendar, the moon is not even officially full ’til Wednesday! (My calendar calls it a “strawberry moon” ... whatever that is.)

: )

Today at work, whilst I was editing photos, I took a closer look at one of my shots from Saturday’s concert and realized that I had managed to snap an inadvertent self-portrait (of sorts) in the bell of a trombone. Now, I have turned up in photos of mirrors and those mesmerizing crystal (??) yard balls and even in the pupil of Shannon’s eye, but I can confidently say this is the first time I have ever “seen myself” in the bell of a trombone. (At least I think it is referred to as a bell; I am not altogether certain, having been the player of a saxophone — obviously, a member of the woodwind family, not the brass family. Though, now that I think about it, I guess a saxophone has a bell, too. Huh.) Anyhoo, I love what you notice sometimes when you really stop to notice things: That’s me, behind the lil’ flash, more or less. (So much for my oblivion theory. Again: Huh.)

: )

Some shots from yesterday, mainly ’cause I’m in the mood to post but not necessarily in the mood to write anything personal, and besides, I have a story to write for tomorrow’s edition that I would like to get finished in the solitude of home, before the night gets too late or my eyes get too droopy, or both.



A Couple of Coneflowers



Coneflower’s Core



Rose of Sharon

Too Delicate for My Own Good?

My friend also said the Internet is evil.

I agree that it can be, thanks to some dastardly ne’er-do-wells Out There, who thrive on capers and hijinks and general mayhem, hacking into others’ bidness and stealing things they have no right to steal ... which, actually, would be anything that does not belong to them.

However, the ’Net can also be a very fun place to play. And meet people who might have similar interests but very different perspectives (than my own). And keep in contact with people with whom I, as a not-so-great-keeper-in-contact kinda gal, manage not to stay close with via other forms of communication (cards, letters, telephone calls, etc.).

And kill a few minutes on a lazy Sunday afternoon, on which the Cubs have just been swept and the Cardinals are on their way to sweeping. Somebody, somewhere, is very happy about all that.

And it ain’t me.

: (

I may have mentioned this before, but I planted these lil’ suckers because, several years ago, one of my co-workers had a habañero plant, and it was the most beautiful plant I had ever seen. And of course the actual habañero peppers were the best part of all: They were about the size of a big grape, in colors of green and orange (and maybe red, if you left them on the plant long enough, I don’t really know). And hot! I sliced off a smidgen one time with my X-acto knife and put the sliver on my tongue, and HOO-CHIE-MA-MA!!! Damn, it was hot!!!

Too hot for someone as delicate as I, obviously.

: )

Sunday, Muddy Sunday

I played in the dirt for a little while this morning, not long after tumbling out of bed. I decided it was time to replant my hibiscus and this chaotic, root-bound philodendron that The Lovely gave me a couple of years ago.

And I want to say I had fun, but ... I am not all that fond of getting mud caked on my hands and under my fingernails (and when will I learn to remove my rings before messing around with dirt?), so I tolerated it and then came inside and washed up.

I do not like to have dirt under my nails. Matter of fact, I have no use for fingernails whatsoever, and I try to keep mine trimmed down to the “quick” (not sure that is the technical term, but that is what Grandma Ginny always called it). I can see why people like to keep their nails filed and polished and even “professionally manicured”: It looks nice, and I personally strive to have hands and nails that always appear to be and, in fact, are clean. However, I will never be able to understand the allure of having extremely long fingernails — especially extremely long, fake fingernails.

I have the same outlook on fake eyelashes.

; )

I must be selective as to whom I inform of my relatively newfound passion for/obsession with flowers. I discussed it last night with a friend, and she gave me one of those looks that sort of said, “Uhhhhh ... okayyyyy?”

“Aren’t flower pictures kinda boring?” she asked me. “I mean, don’t you need people in there or something?”

And I had to agree that I do prefer to take pictures of people; in fact, I have 49 photos I snapped during last weekend’s babysitting adventure alone — at least half of them good enough to frame, if I dare say so myself! — to prove it.

It’s just that, sometimes, I notice something about a flower that I want to capture on film. Or disk. Or whatever happens to be the technology du jour.

I spent at least 35 years of my life not even noticing some of the most basic aspects of the world around me. And it took a colossal fuck-up and some serious introspection in order for me to “wake up” and start noticing the little things, as well as trying to see the big picture, too.

Do I find photographs of flowers boring?







Hell, no!

: )

Yertle?

You never know what you might see whilst driving down the streets of this town.



Upon further inspection, I noticed that this turtle had left a trail as it moseyed through the yard and down to the sidewalk.



Which reminds me: I do not believe I have ever read Yertle the Turtle. Or, if I have, it has been so long ago that I do not remember it.

[Time to break out some Dr. Seuss.]

On an unrelated note:

I began listening to Devils & Dust by Bruce Springsteen during one of my drives to the lake earlier this week. And the first time through, I found myself thinking, Hmmm, nothing too spectacular on here (I mean, with The Rising, there were songs that stuck with me at first listen; same with Born in the U.S.A.).

Second time through D&D, I found myself thinking, Hmmm, these songs are so easy to listen to ... the lyrics, the melodies, the instruments, his rough (yet mellow, somehow) voice. And I have not even looked over the words to the songs just yet, but I have to say: I really really like this album. And I am only on my third time through, but already I have had a couple of the songs running through my head at various times.

This makes me happy.

: )

Keep Your Face to the Sun

Keep your face to the sun, and you cannot see the shadow. It’s what sunflowers do. — Helen Keller

: )











OK. That’s it for me, for one day!

: )

Today’s Question:

How do you eat your corn on the cob?



I have noticed there are basically 3 methods:

1. Row by row (a single row at a time, or multiple rows, all the way across)
2. Round ’n’ round (eating a mouth-width at a time and continually/continuously turning the cob until you have basically circled it)
3. Haphazardly (no real pattern whatsoever)

I eat mine row by row, which is why I listed that method first. I actually eat 4 rows at a time, end to end, before moving on to the next 4 rows.

The photo above is roasted corn, which is/was, in a word, awesome. Plus you get to hold it sorta like a light saber, which is/was, in a couple of words, very cool.

(I am so incredibly easily entertained, sometimes.)

: )

If at first you don’t succeed ...

Go out and shoot some more!

: )









Peach Day Lily Series



Easter Lilies in June



Orange Explosion

(I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m feeling MUCH bettah!)

: )

Razzem Frazzem

Plugged in my camera at work today, and all of my photos from last night:

GONE.

Man, I love modern technology ... NOT!

The most irritating part is I had some great shots from Sessner. OK, maybe not great shots, but they were pretty damn good.

And I also had a picture of a combine, harvesting wheat from the fields I discovered last week. Not like I can retake that one!

: (

Oblivious

Sometimes, it’s better that way. Seriously.

: )

OK, all things considered, I think I am dissatisfied with this season of The Shield. Even though, after almost every episode this season, I found myself thinking, Glenn Close deserves an Emmy; she is the best actress on television. (Next to Tyne Daly of Judging Amy, of course ... and possibly her former Cagney & Lacey cohort, Sharon Gless, who kicks major ass as Deb on Queer as Folk.)

Matter o’ fact, there were times I thought, Glenn Close is actually too good for TV. I must admit, ever since I saw her in Dangerous Liaisons and then as the gay servicewoman in ... whatever that made-for-TV movie was, I think it might’ve been called Serving in Silence, I’ve always thought she had a certain dyke-appeal, even though she apparently is straight (a couple of other actresses, off the top of my head, who fall into this category: Jamie Lee Curtis and Halle Berry ... don’t ask me why, especially about Halle, ’cause I know she’s ultra-femme, but ... I dunno, there’s something about Ms. Berry, aside from the fact that she’s just plain gorgeous).

Anyway, apparently, Glenn won’t be back next season — which I found out, pre-season finale, from Tee-Hee, who had seen Ms. Close on The View earlier that day, at which time Glenn revealed that, after just one season on The Shield, she was not going to be returning next season because this will be her daughter’s senior year of high school or some such something-or-other, and she was going to be wherever the girl is, with her.

Criminy. Making a career decision based on what might be best for your kid; can you even imagine? How unique, in this chaotic jumble of a mixed-up world in which we (most of us, anyway, at least most of the time) reside.

: )

Anyhoo, I thought the whole money train plotline from the last couple of seasons had definitely run its course/played out/fizzled, so I was glad to see it go. And there was some good tension between ASS-eveda and the creep-0 who assaulted him and him dealing with/acting out on the rape ... and the guy who played Antwon (sp?) Mitchell absolutely rocked ... and there were some funny moments with the strike team, and a nice lil’ subplot with Dutch dating Vic’s (ex?) wife ... but overall, there just didn’t seem to be that much going on inside the characters this season.

Plus, we spend the whole season finding out (a little bit of) what makes Monica Rawling (not sure if it’s actually Rawling or Rawlings or Rollin or Rollins, but ... close enough!) tick, only to have her ass get fired in the finale.

And: Not enough Claudette (CCH Pounder).

So, overall, I will give this season’s efforts a C+ ... and the plus is ONLY because I’m feeling rather generous at the moment.

: )

Tonight’s photo: Flowers & Cows

Nada

Meredith is dying.

And I want to write something really profound about her kindness and her generosity and her sweetness, and how she is one of the best musicians I have ever known, and how she infused her love of music into everyone with which she has ever come into contact, but right now ...

Right now, it is a little difficult to type, with tears in my eyes and sadness in my heart.

More later, in no small part because I really wanted to ramble on about the season finale of The Shield, but then I chatted with my mom and found out the news about Meredith and now I simply cannot write about anything.

Just yet.

It’s not even summertime yet!

How is it that it seems as if summer’s half over — yet, according to the calendar, it has not actually even begun?

: )

Today I was thinking of Wimbledon, which will begin next week. My favorite event of the summer. I went there in 1999, and I have photos a-plenty, but right now the living room is dark, and I am not certain I have said photos on a CD, and there is zero chance of me scanning anything right now, so ... take my word on this: Wimbledon was/is awesome.

My friends are going again this summer. They, too, went in ’99 and actually did the queue thing, in which people line up and stay overnight to try to have a chance at getting tickets. And they did get tickets — front row of Centre Court, the most excellent tennis court in the world! And they switched tickets with us for a while, so we all got to see Pete Sampras (who only won, like, 7 Wimbledon championships) and Venus Williams (who has won 1 or 2 herself) play on that very court.

The Lovely and I got our tickets a different way: Over the Internet. And lemme tell ya, it was a little scary ’cause I didn’t go through a ticket broker; I actually found someone — through a Google search, no less! — who had Debenture tickets for Court 1. (Debentures are the only ones, supposedly, that can be transferred ... whatever that means.) So this guy and I e-mailed each other back and forth, and I gave him my credit card number for 4 tickets (2 each for the first Monday and Tuesday), and he told me he would have them delivered to the Henley House Hotel, where we were staying, on the day we arrived.

Naturally, I had a lot of anxious moments between the time I paid for the tickets and when we got there. Plus there was the whole turmoil of the trip over there: Spraining my ankle on the Metra train into Chicago, and then spending 8-plus hours on a flight with absolutely no way to elevate my leg ... and then, when we finally made it to London, we were so exhausted we could not even think ... but: The tickets were there, as promised.

: )

Ahhh: “Back on the Chain Gang” is playing during the closing credits of this week’s Six Feet Under — yes, yet another show I have “discovered,” only to realize it is now in its final season.

Grrrr!

: (

And now, something that made me smile this evening, so I simply had to go back and shoot it:





My first sunflower of the summer!

: )

Adventures in Babysitting

Kameron has hit the age at which, when he wants you to do something, he grabs you by the finger and leads you wherever he wishes you to go. He did this a few times yesterday whilst I was babysitting: When he wanted me to sit beside him on the step just outside the patio door, when he wanted something out of the pantry (mostly cookies), when he wanted me to come up the stairs and into his bedroom, where we played “Pile the Stuffed Animals on Di,” an activity that included Kam walking back and forth to his toy box to bring stuffed animals, one at a time (until later in the 3rd Round of this game, by which time he was carrying 2 or 3 animals at once), and set 7 or 8 on me and then put his arms up and started jumping up and down a little bit, so I’d lift him up there amongst the menagerie.

Sometimes, though, instead of grabbing your finger, he grabs ’hold of your shorts.



We had a very good day together.

: )

Finally managed to spend my Amazon gift certificate from Tee-Hee, which means I am now the very happy owner of 69 Love Songs by the Magnetic Fields and Devils & Dust by Bruce Springsteen. Which means I have now listened to “All My Little Words” 5 times (in only 2 trips across town) and will probably listen to it at least 100 times this week; yes, I love it that much.

Have not yet opened D&D, and I have not read/heard anything about this album, so I have no expectations other than it is by Bruce, so I am certain to love it ... or at the very least, portions of it. I certainly loved The Rising.

Friday Night Rain

Another long day, relatively exhausting day — but tonight, just a few moments ago, actually, not too long after I had polished off a couple of slices of THE BEST pizza (a medium thin crust with sausage) in this town, from a somewhat new place called Cathy Ann’s:

Rain began falling. With a low, non-threatening rumble of thunder every few minutes.

I have nothing to do — well, OK, this entire house needs to be cleaned/straightened up, but there is no way that is going to happen tonight — and nowhere to be. Just me and the TV, with films nearby if I need them, and CDs a-plenty and the stereo (everything is off at the moment, though, while I listen to the rain — everything but the computer; matter of fact, the only light in this room is the harsh glare of my monitor and some green indicator lights on various gadgets, as well as some outdoor lights coming in through various windows).

I am tired but alert.

I am missing one of my friends tonight. Oh, I know she’s out there, and I’m pretty sure she’s OK, but I miss her when she’s not around. Just sayin’.

I feel as if I am in complete Summer Mode. Which is not always a good thing, but somehow, it really doesn’t seem all bad, either.

And I need some new tennis shoes. Not actual tennis shoes; I have a pair of shoes to play tennis in. I need some good gettin’-around shoes — some running shoes, actually, or perhaps some cross trainers. Or maybe some of those hiking shoes, like those ACG-style shoes by Nike.

’Cause, you know, sometimes I actually do go outside and stomp around a little bit.

: )

I believe these are Black-eyed Susans, from my drive yesterday evening.







Oh, and I finally got me a hay-bale shot. And a barn — which, as I drove past, looked to be a VERY cool barn because it was quite old and rustic (?? — not sure that is the word I am looking for) and appeared to have some great gaps along the walls and ceiling, so it would probably get some really awesome lighting at different times of the day — but of course it had a big ol’ No Trespassing sign on it.

Someday, though, I might get brave and simply ask: “Hey, mind if I shoot your kick-ass barn?”

Who could refuse me?



My girl really likes this plant-covered silo. Reminds me, ever-so-slightly, of some of the old buildings where I went to school, including the dorm that I lived in, which was partially covered (that is an oxymoron, isn’t it? I mean, how can something be partially covered? It’s either covered, or not covered ... right?) by ivy.

And then, of course, there’s Wrigley Field.

Again, though, this is a silo. And a fence. And a tree. And some other stuff.