The Bad News Bears

Just watched (most of) The Bad News Bears — the original 1976 version, not the Billy Bob Thornton version (though the trailer for that one has been known to make me laugh out loud, particularly the “Nice hustle!” part). Walter Matthau is wonderful, and I really adored all those Bears, and I have to admit: I had actual tears in my eyes when Lupus caught that deep fly ball toward the very end. And how ’bout Courtship of Eddie’s Father’s Eddie walking off the field in that great scene between him and his movie dad, Coach Turner?

Chico’s Bail Bonds: “Let Freedom Ring”

: )

Can’t believe it took me 31 years [Edit: Uhm, make that 29 years!] to see this movie.

Certainties in Life

There aren’t that many, really. Death and taxes, according to ... who, Benjamin Franklin? Or could it possibly have been Mark Twain?

I am in the process of making my own list of “Certainties in Life”:

1. Life is not fair. The sooner you accept this certainty, the sooner you will understand that, while life is not fair, it truly can be beautiful. In spite of or maybe even because of all the disparity.
2. Almost everyone you know will disappoint you in some way. It’s human nature not to be perfect; we are bound to fail, at one point or another, and in doing so, we often fail the people we care about most. I believe it’s important to realize this about others; it takes a heck of a lot of pressure off them if you know, going in, that somewhere along the line, they are very likely going to let you down. (Not to say you shouldn’t expect and even demand the best from the people you get close to ... just be advised that, despite their best efforts, they might not live up to everything you had hoped for. Which usually is actually your problem, not theirs.)
3. If you really really want me to do anything for you, do not start and end the conversation by calling me “Diane.” My name is Diana. I will answer to “Di” and any of the various nicknames I have had over the years — most of which have come from my mom ... and most of which I would never reveal, except perhaps under the influence of truth serum. I am even so polite that I will answer to “Diane,” usually without correcting you; however, I will automatically file you under the category of People Who Can’t Be Bothered to Learn (and Use!) My First Name, and I will decide, at that moment, that nothing you ever ask of me will warrant even the possibility of consideration.

: )

Damn, I’m tired, and it’s not all that late, but ... it’s been a very long week. And I am very much in need of a vacation. (I could use a month; I’m getting a week. Life just isn’t fair.)

Doggie Catnip High

I got my cat high. On a green-and-white stuffed doggie filled with catnip.







DISCLAIMER (for all the people in this universe who take the world a little too fucking seriously, sometimes): I do not use drugs — well, except for an occasional handful of ibuprofen and/or acetaminophen. I do not condone the use of drugs, though I most certainly do not condemn anyone else for using them — unless, of course, that person plans to be driving on a road on which I or anyone I know and love happens to be traveling, also. I do not drink alcohol very often — not because I do not like the feeling of being intoxicated (I do!), but because, generally, drinking (gerund!) so much as a swallow or two of a beverage containing alcohol makes me feel like shit the next day. No animals were harmed in the posting of this post.

: )

Pink and White

Found these this evening. Don’t know what they are (yet), but I like ’em.

Lightning, Part 2

This post is not about my grandfather.

: )

Here in the Midwest, we are on the verge of snapping what seems like it has been a 3-week heat wave, and I could not be happier. Well, I take that back: I could always be happier. Couldn’t each of us, one and all, be a little taller? A little thinner? A little richer (as if I could ever even hope to be rich, let alone richer)? Just a wee little bit happier, no matter how gleeful we happen to be?

Anyhoo, there appears to be a storm approaching. The wind has picked up, and ever since just after dark, the sky has been lightninging. (Is lightninging a word? I can — and have! — used it in a sentence!) Just before dark, however, I spent about 50 minutes longer than I intended out at Wally World, waiting for the 1-hour photo to print me up a couple of 8-by-10s. Which were not ready in an hour, as promised, so I ended up getting the prints for free.

Or, rather, I got the prints for free PLUS the $57 or so that I spent getting Wal-Marted (yes, it’s a verb — or, in this case, possibly a gerund or a participle, I don’t remember which; OK, actually, of the two, it would be a participle: gerunds and participles may both end in -ing, but of the two, only a participle can end in an -ed ... plus gerunds function as nouns, participles as adjectives ... so, yeah).

Oh, noooooooooo, I don’t miss teaching English at all! (By the way, the word teaching, just then: gerund!)

And now, as I type: Rain falls and thunder booms. Perfect!

: )

So, back to my story: After Wal-Jack, I drop by The Lovely’s to drop off THE BEST photo ever taken of her grandson. On my way home, I notice this fabulous lightning behind huge thunderclouds all across the northwest sky, so I think, hmmm, perhaps I should head out to the lake and see if I can capture it on film. Or, rather, disk.

After several attempts and capturing NO IMAGES WHATSOEVER, I decided to call it quits. At just that instant, however, I somehow managed to take a picture of some lights near where I was shooting.

And then I went a little crazy.

: )

I titled these ink-blot fashion.

Di Lasso’s the Lights

O, Christmas Trees

!!!!!! (What Woodstock Says ... Sorta)

Old-Fashioned Bicycles

Almost Di

W — but NOT as in Bush!

OK, that was fun: A half-assed grammar lesson and a slightly psychotic barrage of digital images.

Wonder what kind of mischief I can get into tomorrow?

: )

P.S. Kudos to Greg Maddux for recording his 3,000th strikeout tonight. I adore Mad Dog!

Mid-Summer Blues

Ah, I dunno. Perhaps blues is overstating it a bit. But to say I am completely “out of it” is a pretty accurate assessment.

And to make matters worse: I have already lost whatever train of thought I might have had when I opened this blog page!

: )

Oh, yeah: Cubs win! Cubs win! Again! Three in a row, baby, including 2 out of 3 against the St. Louis Cardinals. And yes, I just so happened to be in attendance for last night’s game ... most of it, anyway (the lack of sleep from which is part of the reason for my current out-of-it mental state) ... enough to see the Cubs come back from a humiliating 3-0 deficit (on 3 first-inning homers by the Cards) and take a 4-3 lead later in the game, at which time my Cards-fan friends were suddenly ready to leave (yeah, the Cardinals tied the game in the 9th and then the Cubs won it on a Neifi Perez grand slam in the 10th).

Ultimately, however: Who cares about baseball, at least when your team is 12 games out? OK, maybe it is now 11.5 games out or something like that, but still. Talk to me when they’ve got it down to 3, and maybe then I’ll be interested.

Maybe.

(I feel as if I am not interested in anything at the moment. Which makes me quite less than interesting, in my opinion.)

Something about watching a recap of Lance Armstrong’s finish yesterday makes me think I might want/need to start riding my bicycle again. I have no excuses, really, other than the old standbys: “It’s hot out!” (yes, it has been hot, but it will cool off, eventually) or “I don’t have anyone to ride with!” (honestly, I haven’t looked all that hard to find someone) or “I need a new bike!” (all I really need are new tires — actually, only new inner tubes, which I bought today at Wal-Jack) or “It’s hot out!” (see above).

: )

Maybe all I really need is a break.

Tour de Lance

Lance Armstrong is amazing. His achievement of winning 7 Tour de France championships is one of the greatest accomplishments in sports, ever.

Actually, it is one of the greatest accomplishments by anyone in anything, ever.

Cardinals 2, Cubs 1 (11)

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

(I am SO ready for the football season.)

: )

The cacti or succulents or whatever they are, are settling in nicely.

Those top 2 are kinda spiny!

: )

Full Moon, Chapter 7

Yes, there is a full moon tonight, but the sky is cloudy. Not heavy clouds — I saw a bright star (or perhaps it is a planet) in the Western sky — but enough that I did not feel like waiting around for the moonrise.

Instead, I went to the car wash. And came home with a couple of quasi-abstracts. (Actually, these are from the Spot-Free Rinse.)

: )

And right now I am half-watching a show called Sex Change.

I am fascinated by transgendered people. Oddly enough, I do not know any — even though, even in our small little town, there actually is (at least) one person who has had a sex change. And she has been to the news office, but I was not there, so I have not met her.

I do not find transgenderism freaky or bizarre or all that out of the ordinary. I do feel a strong sense of empathy for anyone who feels, at the very core of their being, that they are not the gender/sex that they appear to be.

What could be more difficult?

On another tangent:

The heat index today and yesterday has been well over 100 degrees, yet there we all were, playing tennis. I perspired more today than I have in a long, long time.

It felt amazingly good.

And now I am watching The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. And I still do not totally get it ... but perhaps I am not supposed to. I do think Kate Winslet is particularly lovely in this film, as is Kirsten Dunst (at least her character is, anyway), and Jim Carrey is wonderful. Even without being all Jim Carrey-like. (I actually never liked him until my sister revealed to me that she was a huge Jim Carrey fan; somehow, that prompted me to reconsider. Turns out she was right: He is very funny. And, let’s be honest: Kinda cute!)

: )

Cake for Breakfast

Is it wrong to eat cake for breakfast?

: )

These are from yesterday morning and evening.

Raindrops on Hibiscus

Blue Vervain

Partridge Pea or Wild Sensitive Plant

(I do not know which it is ... only that it is one of the two.)

Spotted Knapweed

I also shot a picture of a deer on this night, but it did not turn out. I happened to see him (her?) as I drove out of the primitive camping area, back to the blue vervains that I had spotted on my way in. The deer was off to the right side of the road and stood there, looking at me, as I snapped a shot through the windshield. Before I got out of the car, the deer turned and scampered back into the woods. It did not run away until I was making my way across the road, and suddenly I heard this Fooooooshhhhhh! Fooooooshhhhhh! sound.

I looked around and saw the deer bounding further into the woods, back and forth, a little like a downhill skier, swooooooshhhhhhing down a mountainside.

: )

Projects

Right now, my biggest project — aside from getting this chaotic house in some sort of order (I have recently decided that I might actually like to entertain sometime, as bizarre as that might sound!) — is getting prints made of my best photos.

I have this tendency — and I suspect I am not alone, judging from what I have read — to save (almost) all of my photos, or at least the best ones (when I remember) to my hard drive, in various randomly labeled folders, to be printed “at a later date.” Trouble is, that “later date” never seems to arrive, and in the meantime I find myself occasionally printing out a shot or two, as needed for a frame or a collage or perhaps just because I am wondering how the photo will look, printed, as opposed to onscreen. And I still have inkjet issues; I mean, the Lexmark X83 does an adequate job WHEN IT CHOOSES TO PRINT, but I still wonder how these prints will withstand the test of time.

I know, for example, that one woman ruined a studio 8-by-10 that I printed for her by spitting on it (not because she did not like the photo, but because she happened to spit when she was speaking). Obviously, a random drop of water or perhaps even intense humidity, over time, will most certainly affect the quality of the ink on those prints from the inkjet printer.

Anyhoo, I keep debating whether to buy a dye-sublimation printer — which, apparently, is the process used by my beloved Kodak printer found at nearby Wal-Mart and not-so-nearby Target. In a perfect world, I would have one of these printers (and a lifetime supply of paper and cartridges and whatever else you need) sitting in my back bedroom/studio.

(Hey, some people buy arcade-style video games for themselves; why can’t I have a full-size discount store-style photo printer??!)

Oh, yeah: I can’t afford it.

: )

I also don’t think I can afford a regular dye-sub printer, at least when you compare initial investment and price-per-print: A buck-fifty for the printer and then supplies, which push the per-print price to a minimum of 50 cents, as opposed to somewhere in the 20-cent range at the photo labs ... the only real drawback being that I have no control, during the printing process, of exposure, contract, etc. — all those things that I like to be in control of!

: )

Wow, I am totally babbling. This I do when I have all kinds of stuff running through my head and really don’t know what to say about any of it. (Ever have days/nights like that?)

I know I am in the process of letting go of something, and while the thought of actually doing so makes me so very sad, deep inside, I know, somehow, that it’s for the best. For me. Yet I also know that this is something I can never truly hope to have, actually, until I am able to let go — which seems to me that it might just be a roundabout way of hanging on!

On an unrelated note: For someone who has developed an appreciation of all the pretty colors in different flowers, I wonder if it is odd that my favorite plant, still, is the pencil cactus?

Of course, it does have a little bit of color!

I found some more wildflowers tonight, but right now I feel like getting out of here.

Lightning

I found out that one of Grandpa Bob’s nicknames was “Lightning.” Not because he was especially dangerous or quick, or even because he had some kind of bizarre white streak in his hair, but because, apparently, when it came to work, he was extremely slow.

Cousin Karen told me she’d heard that when Grandpa worked at the Oliver Farm Equipment Company, which was located just a couple of blocks east of Grandma Ginny’s house in The Ville, he had quite a reputation for taking his own sweet time at work.

“They used to call his name over the intercom: ‘Lightning, bring those blueprints up to the front office’ — and you could hear them all the way down at Grandma’s house,” Karen said. “Then, 15 minutes later, you’d hear them say, ‘Lightning, bring those blueprints up to the front office!’ again!”

: )

Speaking of lightning: It is raining here, tonight, for the second Monday in a row. I love it!

: )

On the way to see the puppies Saturday, I noticed, again, all kinds of chicory growing along the highway. I told Delra I was going to have to take some pictures of it on our way home; she seemed less than thrilled, but what could she do? I was the one driving!



Then we got to the end of Aunt Janie’s lane, and to our left, we saw this glint of pink. I threw the car into park (it rolled just a little, giving Delar a bit of a scare) and scampered off to the top of the hill to see what kind of flower it was.

Turns out it is something called a Deptford pink.



I nearly fell as I was coming back down the hill. Debra wasn’t even looking.

The Cooler

A couple of years ago, the best restaurant around was a place called Five Guys — the staff of which consisted, I think, of two or three guys and a woman. Their main business was catering, but they also were open for lunch and dinner, and served a variety of sandwiches and salads, with specials each day. They also served pizza, for a while.

At first, Five Guys was located in a town six miles south of here. They usually took 10 to 20 minutes to have our order — which almost always consisted of two Italian pasta salads (lettuce, pasta, onions, black olives, tomatoes, pepperoncinis, mozzarella, ham and salami) — ready, so it worked out perfectly: The Lovely could call in the order, and by the time I drove down there, the food was ready to go. No waiting. Perfect!

Occasionally, I would order a pastrami reuben, which came with a side order of German potato salad. Or a cooler sandwich, which included hard-boiled eggs, avocadoes, Swiss cheese, tomatoes (I think), alfalfa sprouts and a slightly tangy sauce, all on rye bread (I think ... damn, it has been a while). We had a sandwich very similar to this at a little cafe in Linz, Germany; I believe it had cucumbers on it ... or maybe that was Five Guys, I dunno. Durn them, for closing!

: (

The employees of Five Guys were adamant about NO SUBSTITUTIONS for or omissions of items on their sandwiches and what-not. And they were kinda crabby about it; in fact, they were a little like the guys who work at the Billy Goat Tavern in Chicago — the one they spoofed on Saturday Night Live with the “Cheeseburger! Cheeseburger!” and “No Pepsi. Coke!” (or was it, “No Coke. Pepsi!” Hmmm, I think it might have been!) and “No fries. Chips!”

(I always order incorrectly, just to hear them say all that. I love the Goat — especially their thick-sliced kosher dill slices. Yum, yum!)

: )

Tonight I fixed my own version of the cooler sandwich:

1 avocado
1 medium tomato
2 hard-boiled eggs
3 slices of Wonder light wheat bread
Hellman’s mayonnaise
Salt

Peel avocado and cut into narrow strips, lengthwise. While eggs are boiling, place tomato in water for a few seconds and then take it out; this will make for easy peeling (unless, of course, you prefer to leave the peel on the tomato ... which I do not). Cut tomato into thin slices. When eggs are finished boiling, rinse with cold water, peel and rinse again. Cut eggs widthwise into thin slices. Toast bread. Layer mayonnaise, eggs, avocadoes and tomatoes on two slices of toast, sprinkling a little salt on the eggs and tomatoes as you layer. Place one of the loaded toast slices on top of the other, and then place the remaining slice of toast on top of that. Smoosh it all down with your hands so all the eggs, avocadoes and tomatoes do not fall out! Slice sandwich diagonally (twice, if you want the club sandwich effect) and serve with chips or fruit.

This was pretty tasty. Might be good with some Swiss cheese or bacon in there, or perhaps some cucumbers or crsp lettuce for a little crunch.

: )

Hate Crime

Just watched and am now rewatching tonight’s Queer as Folk. And — spoiler alert! — the big event that I had feared from watching last week’s previews was, indeed, a bombing at Babylon, which was hosting a benefit/rally against Proposition 14, an anti-gay piece of legislation that has been a focal point for several episodes now.

OK, I realize this is all fiction; however, what with the recent explosions in London and the general chaos in Iraq and Afghanistan (and elsewhere), I can’t help but think it is timely fiction, at the very least.

Of course, when I hear of some randomly unrandom explosion, I think of Cutter and how he died. And I am sad for that, and sad for these characters on this show that I have grown to love.

Sad for the world, in general.

And pissed, naturally.

And last night, for the second time, I watched 1984. I don’t remember liking it all that much the first time I saw it, even though I had really enjoyed the book and was totally psyched to see it when I heard the Eurythmics were doing the soundtrack. (Perhaps I was irritated that they hadn’t included all of Dave & Annie’s songs IN the film??!)

Anyhoo, this time I really enjoyed it. Despite the fact it was on from midnight to 2 a.m., which totally fuct-up my day today.

: )

I nearly jumped off the couch when Winston said, “We are the dead.” And Julia said, “We are the dead.” And the voice behind that picture on the wall said, “We are the dead!”

John Hurt was amazing in this film.

Sexcrime

Can I take this for granted
With your eyes over me?
In this place, this wintry home
I know there’s always someone in

Sexcrime
Sexcrime
Nineteen eighty-four

And so I face the wall
Turn my back against it all
How I wish I’d been unborn
Wish I was unliving here

Sexcrime
Sexcrime
Nineteen eighty-four

I’ll pull the bricks down
One by one
Leave a big hole in the wall
Just where you are looking in

— The Eurythmics

Morning Glory

I knew my red hibiscus was going to bloom today; I had no idea about my new yellow one, fresh home from Grandpa Bob’s funeral.

The red one is from Grandma Ginny’s. Just between you and me: I’m hoping not to add any more hibiscuses (hibisci?) to my collection any time soon.

Which is kind of funny (as in funny/strange, not funny/ha-ha) because just Thursday night when I was stocking up on chips and Cheetos and bubbles, I spent a good several minutes in the plant department at Wal-Jack, debating whether I needed a new hibiscus plant or not. I mean, they had some pretty ones, and I always feel like I should “rescue” one or two by bringing them home ... even though we all know my track record with plants. But, ultimately, I decided not to.

Anyhoo, Grandpa Bob and Grandma Ginny were married at one time but then were divorced for many years. They were amicable enough in their final years, once they realized, I guess, that they were at the mercy of their daughters and simply had to get along, at least long enough for Thanksgiving and/or Christmas dinner.

“Virginia was a good housekeeper,” Grandpa Bob said at one family gathering. “She kept the house — and everything in it!”

(I don’t think I’ll set the plants too close to each other. You never know.)

: )

Just an Ordinary Day

I am home now, and I am exhausted.

Sad, yet happy.

Drained, yet renewed, somehow.

In the midst of the visitation/funeral sadness, my sister pointed out that Grandpa Bob looks like me, and vice-versa, in this photograph. When we were toddlers, of course.



Robert Norman Cresswell

“It’s your eyes,” Debra said, pointing.

And Cousin Karen agreed.

Speaking of my cuz: She introduced us to the newest members of our family.



Her Name Is Lola (L-O-L-A, Lola)



Lucy (in the Sky with Diamonds)

On Plants & Tennis

I won a tennis match tonight (barely: 6-4, 7-5; but, more importantly, our team won 3-0) and then I planted some succulents.

All in all, a good night.

: )

I went searching for pencil cacti, online, over the weekend, and happened upon this place, which apparently is based in San Diego but specializes in sending cacti and succulents via Internet orders. I found this 3-for-1 deal with free shipping that included a euphorbia tirucali (my beloved pencil cactus), an aloe breviflora and a sanseveira gracilis (not absolutely sure of the spelling on this one; the Web site has 2 different ways, and I am too lazy to look it up!), so I placed my order, and the plants arrived, in perfect condition, on Wednesday.

I have a thing for the pencil cactus plant. I bought a pencil cactus at a plant auction at EIU one time when I popped in to visit Patti; I was fascinated by this green, leafless plant that was called a cactus but really did not look like any cactus I had ever seen before. Turns out it is actually a succulent, but what do I care?

I have tried to grow this kind of plant, with intermittent success, 2 or 3 times; hopefully, I will have better luck with this one. (I think I tend to be an overwaterer.)

Managed to stick my fingers 3 times with the gracilis (it is sharp!) but got them all potted.

Photos soon ... once I have gotten to know the plants a little better.

: )

Everyone’s Gone to the Moon

My mom and stepdad got back from vacation today. They’d been gone more than a week, on a trip “out west.” Mom called me midway through the journey, when they were at some town that starts with a K in Wyoming (I think it was near Jackson Hole, but I could be mistaken). I wrote down the name of the town, in fact, but now I cannot find it.

It is not usual for my mom to call me whilst she is traveling. Apparently, she called me this past Sunday, too, but I had the ringer on the phone turned off and missed her.

They spent the last part of their vacation at the Mall of America in Minnesota and then drove through Wisconsin before returning to The Ville this afternoon. My mom headed out to visit my grandpa, as is her custom; he lives in a home with 3 or 4 other elderly folks.

Mom went in the house, said hello to her father and then went to the bathroom to wash her hands. When she came back into the living room, he was dead.

My grandparents are all gone now.

I feel oddly alone at the moment. And, of course, I am alone ...

And Nina just sang: “And I am not alone / as long as my love is near me”

... but in reality, I am never truly alone, for there are always my thoughts.

And how fitting that that particular line played, from the song “Who Knows Where the Time Goes,” about which I have gushed before. And in reality, I was playing this CD to listen to Nina Simone’s version of “Everyone’s Gone to the Moon.”

In my life, I knew all four of my grandparents, but I knew my grandfathers least. Grandpa Dido died when I was in second grade, and Grandpa Bob died when I am 40. I know that my maternal grandparents were both extremely funny people (this post gives some idea), so I credit them with contributing to my sense of humor — which, all things considered, could be my saving grace. On the other hand, my dad was fucking hilarious, so I guess I am lucky I got it from both sides.

I am a lucky girl.

Ring-Billed Gull Landing

Sunflower at Mona’s

Watermelon and Vine

Which reminds me of a song that Kara used to sing, but I think I will save that for later.

: )

All-Star Tuesday

Caught a bit of the Showtime documentary Same Sex America this evening. It focuses on several couples who were among the queer folks who traveled to Massachusetts — which I, as a kid, referred to as “Massa-two-setts” — to get married last year when the state boldly decided to allow gay marriages.

The show made me smile, mostly; it was neat to see how joyful people were. My favorites were these two white-haired women, probably in their seventies, who had been together for God-only-knows how long, who were finally able to have their union recognized as a legal marriage.

In Massatwosetts, anyway, where apparently more people than not are unafraid of what allowing two consenting adults (who just so happen to be homosexual) to wed will do to the “sanctity of marriage.” To the “bonds of holy matrimony.”

Several months ago, this whole issue had me in tears whenever I would allow myself to think about it for too long. Nowadays, it simply tears my ass with boredom.

I think marriage, in theory, is a beautiful thing. I believe that most people, in their hearts, want to find that one person to be with, to start a family with, to share their lives with. Obviously, if a man and a woman want to have children, it makes sense to get married; it also makes sense for two men or two women who want to have children together to be able to get married. (OK, I acknowledge the fact that somewhere, somehow, they are going to need a little outside help along the way ... but the desire to have and raise children is certainly not something that is exclusively a heterosexual trait.)

Take the kid thing out of the issue entirely, however, and you still have the basic premise: Two adults who love each other and want to be legally committed to one another should have that right. Period. The notion that a gay marriage undermines the sanctity or the holiness of a straight or regular or normal marriage is, as The Lovely might say, “a buncha crap.” And yes, I know there are people who can quote Scripture (and verse!) on how God thinks fags are sinners — and again, I find this to be a highly selective and potentially dangerous (and probably quite wrong) practice, as there are all kinds of archaic rules throughout the Old Testament that practically no one today could ever hope nor be expected to follow, as I may have mentioned in my Ten Commandments tangent.

And granted, it has been a while, but I remember reading a whole lotta stuff about love in that New Testament. Matter of fact, it seems to me that love is what Jesus was all about: “Love your neighbor as yourself” — which is such an excellent way to approach the world, every day ... although, admittedly, if you have no self-esteem whatsoever, then, well ... OK, maybe it’s not so easy to love anyone ... but still, even if you hate yourself, I don’t think that gives you the right to hate everyone else, too!

: )

Spare me the “love the sinner, hate the sin” crap, though. If you’re gonna love me, then love me unconditionally — no secretly thinking you’re any better or any more sin-free than I am just because I like girls and you like boys. And don’t tell me my love could ever be less real or less important or less legal, of all things, than anyone else’s.

Several months ago, an acquaintance of mine was discussing the topic of gay marriage. He claimed that he was in favor of something called a civil union but did not think gay people should be allowed to get married in the traditional sense (i.e. in a church). Moreover, he said he simply could not understand why marriage was an issue with so many homosexuals.

Strangely enough, not long before that, this same guy had married the woman he had been living with for the past several years. Apparently, he had, at some point, realized that he and his girlfriend loved each other and wanted to make their commitment legal, so they got married. Why could he not understand how any two adults would want to do the same?

I found this perplexing and odd. And highly annoying.

In my heart, I do not believe that allowing gay people to get married is something that hurts the institution of marriage. I believe that things like divorce — caused by things like infidelity and jealousy and boredom and miscommunication (or a complete lack of communication) and incompatibility and just the plain, simple, inescapable fact that sometimes, two people outgrow each other — are what hurt the institution of marriage.

And, hey: I’m not even saying I want to be institutionalized!

However, don’t try to tell me I should not have the right to.

: )

This is a bloom from my runt geranium, the one that’s had only a couple of flowers this summer.



For some reason, I am finding it difficult to shoot the color red. I mean, it looks cool, but it also tends to bright-out or something.

Vietnam Rain

Today, Hurricane Dennis is pouring much-needed rain over us. A mostly warm, drizzly kind of rain — rain like I have seen in every film I have ever seen about Vietnam.

Of course, I have never been to Vietnam, nor do I know anyone who has ever been there. So, whether this is actually anything at all like Vietnam rain ... I simply cannot say.

I do know that I will probably forever be somewhat haunted by and ever-so-slightly obsessed with anything having to do with Vietnam, and Cambodia, too, mainly because of the bits and pieces and flashes of memory that I have from watching the news, as a kid, and hearing the words that I could only attempt to visualize — as I do, with words, sometimes: I see them, which is part of the reason, I believe, that I am a good speller — and seeing the images of helicopters and jungles and soldiers and caskets.

And never any rain, actually, now that I think about it.

Me, in a Nutshell ... or, on the Halfshell

I have begun my spring cleaning. (Better late than never, I say.)

In the midst of tossing out various stuff in my bedroom, I notice a shoebox. Hmmm, those shoes are in the car, I remember, so I decide to go get the shoes so I can put them in their box and stow it in the closet.

Before I go to the car, I think, Hmmm, might as well water the flowers/plants while I am outside. As I am filling up the water jugs, I notice some shears amongst some other kitchen gadgets, and I decide, Hmmm, I should trim the dead blooms off the geraniums, too.

I water the plants and trim the blooms and then, as I am looking over the habanero plants (NOT habañero plants, which I have mistakenly been writing!), I notice what I believe to be a baby praying mantis or maybe a grasshopper (guess I need me a bug handbook, too, Lone Pine people!) Then, naturally, I have to run inside and see if I can get a few shots of him ... or her ... or whatever.

: )

I carry my camera, shears and water jugs back inside. After I am inside for a few minutes, I ask myself, What did I go outside for, anyway?

I realize that my shoes are still in the car.

On my way out the door, I think, Hmmm, might as well take out this bag of garbage, too.

: )

The Lottery

Roger got me thinking about the lottery.

Actually, as I typed that title, I got to thinking about that short story we had to read in — what, sophomore English? — called “The Lottery,” which I believe was written by Shirley Jackson. And if you have not read it: Cover your eyes! Spoiler alert! In this story, the villagers all take part in a lottery, once a year, and the tale is filled with all this great tension, and when you get to the end, you find out that the “winner” of the lottery gets STONED by their fellow villagers!

(And not the “good” kinda stoned, either!)

: )

I buy a Lotto ticket, occasionally, and every once in a while, I will get a Mega Millions ticket — the one with the Powerball, gotta LOVE that. I always get a “quick pick,” mainly because my lottery ticket purchase is almost always a whim, right when I am standing at the counter, buying a Coke or a bottled water, usually, and also because I have a tendency not to fill out the little ticket thingies correctly when I do them, and ... well, that’s just embarrassing — kinda like the time I spoiled my ballot during an election because I accidentally voted for, like, 4 candidates when you were only s’posed to vote for 3 or some nonsense like that.

I have a theory, though, that your odds of winning the lottery (a random drawing) are increased by having a (randomly selected) quick-pick ticket ... although The Lovely assures me that your odds are pretty much the same, either way: Not good.

I did win the lottery one time, however. Well, I matched 4 numbers, which meant I won $69.

I took a couple of co-workers to lunch at Pizza Hut (I offered to take the whole office, but they all had other plans!), and then I blew the rest of the money on something silly like gas or groceries.

: )

I would make a great millionaire, I have decided. Yeah, I would actually have to buy a house (finally!) or 2: one near Chicago so I would be close enough to have coffee with Patti every morning for at least a few months out of the year, and another in the Keys. And a hot car like this one, mainly because I saw it being reviewed just tonight on some show on PBS, and it looks like it corners well. And the most kick-ass camera I could possibly find, and a whole slew of other electronic gadgets. And shoes!

(I would try not to go completely insane buying stuff. I now have at least 2 friends who subscribe to the theory of “Less Is Best/Less Is More,” and gosh knows I have more crap now than I know what to do with.)

I would try to take care of my family and my friends, best as I could, invest the rest and then find some causes I truly believed in and donate to them. I would travel, and I would write and take pictures.

A shitload of money would be cool. No, I don’t need money to be happy: One of the happiest moments of my life occurred on a random afternoon/evening back in college, when Patti and I had each spent our last dime on a pitcher of beer apiece and we were down to our final few swallows, and 2 girls walked by our table (one of them carrying a nearly full pitcher) and said, “We have to leave. Do you want the rest of this?” and we gleefully accepted it.

: )

But a lot of money might buy a person some extra time. No, you don’t get to live any longer if you have money all of a sudden — but think how cool it would be not to have to measure your life by the amount of time spent at work? (I saw a clever commercial awhile back, in which the narrator says something like, “There are 40 hours in the work week ... but there are 48 in the weekend!” I really liked that way of thinking.) And think how great it would be not to have to spend any time worrying about how you are going to pay for something?

And for the record: I don’t mind at all having the winning numbers in a $50 million lottery and having to split it with, like, 10 other winners. Why the fuck should I care — it would still be $5 million! And I also couldn’t care less about having to pay half of it in taxes; I mean, hell, we’re still talking about $2.5 million.

I could live on that. I could live very well on that.

: )

If I had a million dollars, I would probably have a flower garden. I might even attempt to grow roses.

Friday Night Shots

This was a very long week, despite the fact that, work-wise, it was only 4 days long.

Tonight was a very good shooting night. Unexpectedly so.

: )



Leopard Lily (not its technical name!)



Blue Hydrangea



Perching Spider



Echinacea Closeup



Coneflower Arrangement



Postmaster-Approved

I Hate the World Today

* Cue the guitar riff from the opening few seconds of that great, great song called “Bitch” by Meredith Brooks ... which I have on a mix from Jaxx called Her Name Is Rio ... if only I could lay my hands on that CD at this particular moment ... and of course I canNOT ... which makes me hate the world even more ... *

: )

Actually, that is a lie. I do not hate the world. Matter of fact, I love the world and many of the people in it, and I love my life. I love the fact that I have a family that loves me, and friends that love me — and, more importantly, they all put up with me (you might not know it to read my words, but sometimes, yeah, I can be a little difficult) ... and I love that I have a woman who, for reasons that remain a mystery to me, loves me and actually gets me — and believe you me, that ain’t easy! ... plus she even thinks I’m cute (she’s presbyopic, by the way). I love that I have a job in which I am surrounded by co-workers who, down to a person, try very hard, almost every day, to do their best; heck, let’s be honest, in today’s economy, I love having a job — and it’s also cool to do the kind of work that, more so than not, touches people in a positive way, mostly.

I love that, occasionally, someone will tell me they like something I have written or a photo I have taken. Personally or professionally.

I love that I am 40 and am pretty much intact, mentally and physically and emotionally. Yeah, I have come to terms with the fact that I am never, ever going to win Wimbledon, but I can still get out on the tennis court and play a little, and I can actually still get better, if I ever put my mind (and body!) to it. Intellectually, too, there is always room for improvement, and spiritually — to be perfectly honest, I feel like I have only just begun to tap into my spiritual side.

And I love this Songs That Make Me Smile CD, and especially the way my car has perfect acoustics. Almost as good as my shower.

: )

That being said: I hate the way some people think.

And at what point does a person decide that it might be heroic or powerful or exciting or maybe even fun or “right” to blow up a bus and a few subway trains? How can anyone who would do something like that have any love for anyone or anything?

I am a reasonably intelligent girl, but I surely do not understand this way of thinking.

And it makes me incredibly sad to realize that, while I find the events of today in London to be horrifying, I am honestly not shocked.

I hate that I have become unshockable when it comes to “world events.”

: (

I have a few more thoughts on a couple of other topics, including wistfulness and loneliness, but right now I am just too tired to think, let alone type.

Issues

At the moment, I am having printer issues.

Ah, to have unlimited amounts of money to spend on all kinds of gadgetry!

: )

Rose of Sharon Hibiscus