Nuts!

When we had sidewalks poured in the backyard about two years ago, the stepping stones they replaced were picked up and stacked in front of the garden shed to wait for me to decide where I wanted to use them.

They're still there. Unless I'm actively thinking about what to do with them, I don't even notice them anymore. Apparently, someone does.

The other day I saw Levi pull up short as he was trotting past them. He stopped, sniffed, then stood on his hind legs and stretched to sniff the top of the stack. When I walked out to see what had captured his interest, I found this little mess:

While I've been looking for squirrels to photograph in the treetops, it seems at least one of them has come down from the trees and enjoyed a pecan picnic lunch atop my stepping-stone version of Lookout Mountain.

I wish I hadn't missed that shot.

Is Somebody Trying to Tell Me Something?

Coincidences never fail to pique my interest. In fact, when their timing knocks me over the head, I always wonder if the universe is trying to get a message to me.

This afternoon I took a break from cleaning to sit outside with a book and toss the ball for Gimpy and Levi. We were out there no longer than fifteen minutes, so, subtracting the minutes I spent throwing the ball, my reading time was limited. I'm currently reading Darkness, My Old Friend, an enjoyable mystery by Lisa Unger. At some point in that brief time outside I read the following passage about a phone call from a former police officer (Jones) to an officer still on the force (Chuck):

. . . "In the meantime can I give you her tag number?" he said. This was the real reason he'd called Chuck. There was new license-plate-recognition software. Using security and CCTV cameras that were all over the place, cops could track plates now. It was something that was happening very quietly, under the radar of the media and civil-rights groups. As a civilian, Jones didn't have accesss to that anymore, and the technology was so new that he didn't have a private contact. "Maybe you'll get a hit on her vehicle somewhere?"

I hadn't heard about that technology before. Even after I read about it, it wouldn't have been of particular interest outside the context of the book, had it not been for what happened next.

I brought the dogs back into the house, gave them a treat, washed my hands, and sat down at the computer for a quick Facebook check. Instead, realizing I hadn't yet read the local news this morning, I clicked on the link for The Advocate, Baton Rouge's newspaper. The lead story, right above an article about the Super Bowl, was titled "Extra 'eyes' aid deputies." It reported on the same type of surveillance technology I'd read about less than twenty minutes earlier in a book published in 2011.

What a coinkydink.

Now that I've read the newspaper article, I do find the technology and the controversy surrounding its use interesting. If it pops up on my radar again, I'll pay attention, though I can't imagine that this is anything I'd ever need to know about.

So. How do you feel when this type of coincidence occurs in your life? Do you immediately write it off as the random chance it probably is? Or--for at least an instant--does the hair on the back of your neck stand up and give you a little woo-woo moment?

Home Decor

My stepsister, Donna, is an interior decorator. Her last visit here was her third one, and she felt comfortable enough by then to offer a couple of helpful tips. I can't remember the specific words she used, but to paraphrase what she told me, I was being too careful about where I placed things, too lined up and squared off. She said things look prettier, more natural, when they're placed more randomly. She picked up a few objects from here and a couple from there, juggled them around, and showed me what she meant. By golly, she was right.

From that time until now I've been very careful not to move those items when Swiffer-dusting them. Now that I'm in deep-cleaning mode, though, I wanted to give all those objects, plus the flat surfaces they sit upon, a thorough wash and wipe. That meant taking everything down.

Hm.

I understand the theory of randomness, but I don't yet trust myself in the practice of it, so I photographed these two arrangements before dismantling them:

The photos were helpful when it was time to put everything back; however, since photos are only two-dimensional, I had a little trouble recreating the various depths at which Donna had placed the objects. Using the pictures as reference, I moved several items back and forth an inch or so at a time until I thought it looked right. There. I'm done.

It's a satisfying feeling to know that all these things have been situated so precisely at random.

Making Progress

Parts of my house are positively sparkly now, other parts show progress, and the den is  still dusty enough to look like the people who used to live there left and moved away in the middle of the night--years and years ago. I'll stick with the job as long as it takes and hope to get it all deep-cleaned before the shiny parts need polishing again.

It's embarrassing to hate housework as much as I do, and I don't know where that comes from; my mother and grandmother weren't like that. I enjoy having everything neat and clean, but doing the work required to keep it that way feels like torture. There are just so many, many more interesting ways to spend my time.

Have you noticed that they don't write novels or make movies about women doing housework? There's a reason for that: no one would read them or watch them. If housekeeping is even mentioned in a novel, it takes up less than a paragraph of the entire book.

So here I sit, stalling, feeling put upon because I have to do what most people take in stride and what seems even to me to be a reasonable activity. I feel childish for resisting it. You'd think I'd have made peace with it by now.

Anyway, it's time for a Saturday Song Selection, so I'll post one that feels appropriate, then get back to work.

The song is "Dark as a Dungeon" by Tennessee Ernie Ford.
Thanks to millsbrothers for posting the video on YouTube.
Click here to read the lyrics.

Now Comes the Real Challenge

It was easy, during the rainy, nasty month that was January, to immerse myself in blogs, books, and photography and turn a blind eye to the build-up of dust that threatened to take over my house. Undisturbed dust doesn't bother me, except for the unkempt appearance of it, but dust in the air from cleaning and vacuuming wreaks havoc on my allergies, triggering vertigo that sometimes sends me reeling off to bed.

But we've had so much rain. So much tracked-in mud. The dogs can't help but get it on their feet when they go outside. On warmer days I've hosed them off on the back patio, and on colder days I've put them on leashes as they've come inside and marched them directly to the bathtub. It was important to tend to the dogs before dealing with their muddy footprints, and some of that mud dried and drifted into the air before I could mop it up. Drifted onto walls and floors and tabletops and books and blinds, not missing any damn thing.

No box of Swiffers is up to this job. It must be picked up, wet-wiped, vacuumed, from ceilings to floors. I wonder for the thousandth time, should I dust first or vacuum first? And I can't tell that one way is better than the other, so I dust an area, then vacuum it, and I wipe and rewipe, wash and wash again, put silk plants in the shower and hang them out to dry. Levi and Gimpy keep trying to get me to play ball with them. I block them off behind the indoor gate, pop a Benadryl to combat the dizziness, then move around the room a few feet in a clockwise direction from where I left off, and do it all over again. I think perhaps I'll finish the entire house by March.

But . . .

Before I let the dogs out for the first time this morning, I looked out the window and saw robins. Lots and lots of robins. I made Levi and Gimpy stay inside for an extra minute so I could try to get some close-ups:

The huge flock was scattered over three adjacent yards. Once I let the dogs out, the ones that had been in my yard quickly relocated just beyond the back fence:

Happy to see the robins returning, I took a few moments to watch them, then raised my eyes to this morning's beautiful mackerel sky:

Spring is on its way. I can see it and feel it. The mud in the yard will dry up, the dogs will be able to run outside freely--and cleanly, and all the work that lies ahead of me over the next few days will be behind me.

I feel hopeful now. I can do this.

Mirror, Mirror, What the Heck?

One-a-Day Photo Challenge

Day Thirty-One:  You, Again

Well, I'm ending this month-long photo challenge the same way I began it, taking my own picture in the bathroom mirror. This time I am still in my bathrobe, and I did take the time to put on makeup. For the sake of variety, I  also moved to the other end of the vanity and took off my eyeglasses.

Actually, I left the glasses off out of curiosity more than anything. I wear them all the time and depend on them so much that I no longer knew what I look like without them. Seeing myself in the mirror when I'm not wearing corrective lenses is a fuzzy, soft-focus experience, like watching Doris Day movies or Diane Sawyer on the evening news: I can't see the things I'd rather not see anyway. The magnifying mirror I use to put on eye makeup is too small to view more than one eye at a time, and the eye in that mirror is always being stretched taut to keep mascara from clumping in a crevice.

That's why I was so surprised to inspect this uploaded shot and see so many deep, crepey laugh lines. I mean, I knew I had some--everybody my age does--but I hadn't realized it's just a matter of time until I'll be able to hide  small objects in those folds.

I looked at the rest of the photos. My eyes appeared much less wrinkly when I wasn't smiling or when I was wearing my glasses. Since I have no desire or intention to give up laughing, my plan for the future is to buy each successive pair of new eyeglasses with thicker frames than the previous pair. Maybe that'll work.

**********

This is the last day of the One-a-Day Photo Challenge. I'd like to thank Alison again for encouraging me to join her in it. It's been both a good experience and a good lesson. In much the same way as I've been seeing the face but not the wrinkles, I've been seeing the metaphorical forest in my immediate surroundings and ignoring the trees. Not to mention the limbs and the leaves and the bark and the birds and the squirrels. This challenge motivated me to pay closer attention, to observe and appreciate the details. To zoom in and focus, with or without the camera. I hope that will become a habit.

A Purty Little Thang

One-a-Day Photo Challenge

Day Thirty:  Nature

Mother Nature watered her plants for a while in the wee hours of this morning, then turned her spray nozzle up to "blast" and hosed down everything as if it had deliberately played in mud while wearing its best clothes. She banged things around with loud claps of thunder for hours, letting us know with no uncertainty that she was in a no-nonsense mood. I, for one, stayed in bed and kept out of her way. I didn't dare let her see a smile on my face. But secretly? I was happy, happy, happy!

Now that she has settled down, I can tell you that Mother Nature herself makes me happy on a regular basis. She does it with hills and mountains, streams and oceans, trees and flowers, clouds and sunsets, full moons and twinkling stars, and every living creature I've ever encountered (except for a few kinds of bugs and spiders, indoor mice, and Fox News reporters). I'm especially happy today because she put a certain squirrel in a certain tree just as I walked underneath its branches in search of a photo for today's "nature" challenge:

When I sat down at the computer this morning, I knew exactly what I wanted to say. And I've said it. I've written enough. I should probably stop right here.

But . . . at the risk of negating any good, nature-appreciation feelings this post may have engendered, I hate to waste something silly that I wrote down yesterday. I was mulling over what I ought to say about the squirrel picture when I realized I'd begun thinking in verse. And worse. I was hearing those rhyming thoughts in the voice of a neighbor who lived across the street from us in Georgia.

Now, I'm warning you, things are about to get cornier than ever, so my best advice is to stop reading right now. But if you're bound and determined to travel with me all the way to Silly City, then read on, and read in a slow, twangy drawl:

About Takin' the Pitcher
One little squirrel was settin' high up in a tree
A-lookin' like hit was just a-waitin' thar fer me,
So I pointed up my lens, as quick as I could be,
And I tuck this here pitcher fer all y'all to see.

. . . and . . .

What I Know about Nature
Now, I know that a tiger is a gret big jungle cat,
An' I know th' earth is round, never mind if hit looks flat,
An' the squirrel in the tree? Hit's the cousin of a rat!
(But hit's a purty little thang, so don't you bother none 'bout that.)



**********



P.S. In rereading these verses this morning, noticing their rhythm, I realized that they can be sung to the tune of The Beverly Hillbillies theme song. You want an earworm? Go ahead and try it. I dare you.

P.P.S. I'll make no apologies for any of this. Silliness is in my nature.

Where the Cold Things Grow

One-a-Day Photo Challenge

Day Twenty-Nine:  Inside Your Fridge

The most interesting thing inside my refrigerator is a pot of chili--not interesting to you, I'm sure, but it holds my attention at suppertime. Other than that, you can see a variety of cool drinks, condiments, and salad dressings, plenty of eggs, cheese, and apples, a bag of salad greens, a tub of cottage cheese, little cups of pineapple tidbits, little cups of sugar-free Jello, and a can of whipped cream to top off the Jello.

I can't guarantee that none of the salad dressings has passed its expiration date, but at least nothing in here is growing blue fuzz. Unless it's the cottage cheese. Maybe I'll just toss out the rest of that without opening the lid. 

Lovely, Indeed, but Not So Dark and Deep

One-a-Day Photo Challenge

Day Twenty-Eight:  Light

Across the road from my house stands a tangle of trees and vines that appears deceptively dense at nighttime and during most of the daylight hours. In late afternoon, however, for a few magic moments, the sun angles its rays into the clearing on the other side of the narrow patch of woods and lights it from behind, making it glow like a Tiffany lamp.

It's easy to imagine barefoot young girls, wearing flowing white dresses and floral crowns with pastel ribbon streamers, joining hands and dancing in just such a clearing as this one, when the light is exactly like this. I know they must do it the minute I turn off my camera and turn my back.

Cheese and Crackers, Crackers and Cheese

One-a-Day Photo Challenge

Day Twenty-Seven:  Lunch

Here at Casa Linda, lunch, like breakfast, is pretty much the same every day. I'm not a picky eater, and I like to keep things simple. 

This is my typical lunch: some kind of cheese, some kind of whole-wheat crackers, some kind of fruit. What isn't typical is the plate in the photo. The plate is there to make it pretty for you.

Normally, I wrap up the cheese and crackers in a paper-towel bundle, grab an apple or banana or cup o' fruit, a diet soft drink, and a book, then head outside. If the weather isn't nice enough for that, I eat at the table in the den, where sunshine can stream through the glass of the storm door and give at least a hint of a picnic.

Plain food seems to taste extra good when it's eaten in the fresh air. Birds sing, breezes blow, Levi and Gimpy romp nearby, and all's right with the world. Then again, lunching indoors has its good points, too. In here, at least, I'm not expected to throw a tennis ball between bites.

Those Colored Glasses

One-a-Day Photo Challenge

Day Twenty-Six:  Color

The house we bought when we moved to New York in 1973 had a large, L-shaped swimming pool. My girls were thrilled, even though it would be months before the weather would warm up enough for them to swim. When we sent photos of the house to our relatives, we included pictures of the backyard and the pool.

My mother-in-law was obviously thinking about the pool area when she picked out our Christmas gift that year. She sent us six of these bright plastic glasses:

I've always liked these. I like the way the light shines through them and the way they fit in my hand. They're sturdy, so they don't tip over, and they hold exactly the right amount of something cold and delicious.

My mother liked them, too. She first saw them when she visited us in 1978, after we had moved from New York to Georgia and again from Georgia to here in Louisiana. It didn't take her long to scout out a store that sold them and get a set for herself. From then on, when I visited Mother in East Texas, I drank from the same kind of glass I preferred at home. Mother's glasses came home with me thirteen years ago, shortly after she passed away.

The glasses aren't as transparent as they used to be, a result of forty years of dishwasher etching, but their bright jewel tones are as rich as ever. The red one on the top row has a  tiny chip in the rim, just big enough to worry with my finger while I hold the fat glass in my hand.

That one is my favorite. It always seems to be the flawed things that have the most character.

**********

It's already Saturday again--time for another Saturday Song Selection. I was delighted to find this video that fits today's theme beautifully. The song is lovely, and the children's artwork is so special it may cause happy tears.

The song is "Colors" by Grace Potter and the Nocturnals.

Thanks to kidkongdw for posting this video on YouTube.

Click here to read the lyrics.

I Used to . . .

One-a-Day Photo Challenge

Day Twenty-Five:  Something You Made

Today's photo prompt hit me in the face like a splash of cold water. What do I have that I've made? And when did I stop making things? 

I used to make clothing for my daughters and myself. I used to paint bold designs directly onto walls in my house. I used to make Christmas ornaments and paint bright pieces of fruit on carved wooden plaques to hang in my kitchen. I hooked rugs. I painted still lifes in acrylics; they weren't masterpieces but were decent enough to frame. I did crewel embroidery, using stitches so tiny and distinct that a cluster of them realistically represented a woven basket or a fern or a flower. I used to clip pictures from newspapers or magazines and sketch enlargements of them for the sheer fun of it. Pictures like this one I found tucked away in a folder of old poems: 

I don't do any of those things anymore. The last thing I sketched that I liked was a picture of Butch as he slept a few feet away from me. Knowing he'd move as soon as I did, I drew with what was available: a ballpoint pen and a folded paper towel. It was a good enough likeness that I wanted to keep it, but paper towels, I soon learned--especially those that have been folded to keep crumbs from spilling--get tossed in the trash without a second glance.

These days "something I make" is likely to be no more complex than meatloaf or soup or a salad, and the only thing I ever draw is a conclusion. It feels like all my creativity leaked out a long time ago, while I wasn't looking. Sadly, I never even noticed it was gone.

Will You Accept This Rose?

One-a-Day Photo Challenge
Day Twenty-Four:  Guilty Pleasure

I missed the entire first season of The Bachelor by choice. The promos didn't interest me. Then, near the end of the second season, my sister mentioned that the latest bachelor was from our hometown in Missouri, so I tuned in to check him out. From then until now (the 17th season) I've seen every episode. And also every episode of The Bachelorette,  Bachelor Pad, and (so far) three special wedding events. 

I know. I can't believe it myself.  

I can't think of a single redeeming quality of this show, yet there I am again, every Monday night, sitting on the sofa in front of the TV, dinner plate balanced on my lap and diet soda handy on the table right beside me. And I'm happy that the show is coming on. And happy that it's two hours long.

So why do I watch? I used to tell myself that the fun thing about the show was trying to predict who'd be the last bachelorette standing. These days I go online and read spoilers, so I know who the "winner" is almost from the beginning. And still I watch. So, no, that part's fun if you have more self-discipline than I do, but that's not what has me hooked.

Here's what I think it is:

I enjoy people watching. As an introvert, I've spent plenty of time lurking near the periphery of parties and other social gatherings, just listening, watching the other people there, paying attention to their facial expressions, body language, behavior in general, trying to detect their true natures. And I think that's what appeals to me about The Bachelor: It's a great opportunity to observe total strangers and make judgments about them. Those judgments might change from week to week, depending on how the show is edited, but it's affirming to know by the end of the season that I picked out the "good people" early on. What makes it better than real life is that my judgments, right or wrong, have no consequences--for those strangers or for me.

One part of the show I especially like--and maybe the part that generates the most guilt--comes at the end of each episode, when the bachelor passes out roses to the bachelorettes he wants to keep around for a while. I love watching the women's faces while they're all lined up, waiting to see whether they'll get a rose or get dumped on national television. How wicked is it to get such a kick out of watching them squirm?

I am not proud of this, but I'll keep watching anyway. It could be worse. At least it isn't Honey Boo Boo.

A Relative Term

One-a-Day Photo Challenge
Day Twenty-Three:  Something Old

My house is full of old things. I've been thinking about them, trying to decide which one to photograph for today's post. You've already seen some of the oldest items I have: the letter written to my great-great-great-grandfather in 1858, my great-grandmother's family bible  from the late 1890s, the bone-handled knife that was my grandparents' wedding gift in 1919. I haven't yet shown you my grandfather's WWI army enlistment document or the pouch of rations booklets my great-aunt saved from WWII, but those deserve respectful posts of their own someday.

So I looked around. And decided, finally, on this:

I first became acquainted with Frances Denney's Interlude in 1967, and it immediately became my favorite scent. I wore it for years and years and years, never tiring of the fragrance or the frequent compliments it generated.

It's still available, apparently. The bottle hasn't even changed much. And it's still drawing rave reviews. It tickled me to read some of those reviews and see that they were as much about memory associations as they were about the product.

When I came across this old bottle of cologne in my house, I was surprised to find it. I had  stopped wearing scents in the early '90s, after grass and pollen allergies suddenly expanded to include other people's colognes and aftershave lotions. According to my calculations, that makes the bottle of cologne in the photo more than twenty years old.

Old is a relative term, don't you think? Twenty years seems ridiculously old for cologne, but you see the cracked-glass lamp that's behind it in the picture? That lamp was my mother's. I don't know for sure how old it is, but I dug around a little bit yesterday and found it in a snapshot dated December 1960. And that walnut table the lamp is sitting on? That's actually the Danish Modern cabinet of a sewing machine, a gift from my father when my younger daughter was ten months old, making it 48 this month. The lamp and the sewing machine are much older than the cologne, yet I don't think of them as being past some unspecified expiration date.

Old cologne, on the other hand, has an ick factor. I wouldn't wear it even if I didn't have allergies. Nevertheless, curiosity got the best of me yesterday. I threw caution to the wind, took the lid off the bottle, and took a big whiff. You know what? It smells as good as I remembered.

Thinking Outside the Shoebox

One-a-Day Photo Challenge
Day Twenty-Two:  Your Shoes

At the bottom of the photo above are two pairs of shoes grabbed from my closet at random. ("Random" in this case means they were at the top of the heap.) These are representative of the shoes I wear now: always flat, almost always with non-skid soles.

At the top of the picture, lined up carefully and lovingly on an overturned basket, are a few pieces from my collection of four-inch shoe sculptures. Those represent the kind of shoes I always imagined myself wearing.

Heh.

Reflections and Connections

One-a-Day Photo Challenge

Day Twenty-One:  Reflection

In this photo the northeastern corner of my den is reflected in the dome-shaped glass that covers a wedding portrait of my great-grandparents, Dora and Joe Elliott. Seeing them this way, with my bookshelves appearing to be behind them, makes me feel as if I've captured an image of their spirits standing together in my home. I know that isn't true, but I like the idea of it anyway.

Today is Dora's birthday, which coincidence escaped me until I began writing this post. She was born this day in 1871 in Neosho, Missouri. Her grandson, my mother's youngest brother, was born on her 65th birthday in 1936 and was also named Joe. Five years later, on Dora's 70th birthday, my mother worried the family (according to her later recollection) by not showing up for their double birthday celebration. That was the day she eloped with my father.

How's all that for some reflection?

The Way Love Grows

One-a-Day Photo Challenge
Day Twenty:  Someone You Love

The brand-new photo snapped for purposes of today's challenge is this one, showing my hand holding a Christmas card:

The delightful boy in the picture is my great-grandson, Owen. He's the someone I love. His mother, my granddaughter Kalyn, took the photo on the card. She's someone I love, too. Kalyn's mother is my daughter Kelli, whom I also love.

Love, in a heart where it exists at all, expands effortlessly and boundlessly to encompass each new generation, each new child. It's like magic, the way love grows.

Tootsies

One-a-Day Photo Challenge

Day Nineteen:  Sweet

These little newborn shoes are yellowed with age and flattened from fifty years of storage, but every time I see them I remember the tiny feet that wore them when they were brand new. How pink those little tootsies were. How soft when I pressed them to my lips. How sweet, those perfect baby feet with their nibbly toes.

********

Basking in thoughts of babies, I'll dedicate this week's Saturday Song Selection to both my daughters, precious baby girls who grew up to be bright, beautiful, loving women. I wonder if they've known, as they've navigated their lives so far, that they've held my heart in their hands every step of the way.

___________________________________________________

The song is "For Rosanna" by Chris de Burgh.

Thanks to Winsford MM for posting the video on YouTube.

Click here for the lyrics.

Grab Your Coat and Get Your Hat

One-a-Day Photo Challenge
Day Eighteen:  Something You Bought

While I was Christmas shopping for others, I bought this knit cap for myself:

It might make you think I'm a sports fan. I'm sure that if I were a sports fan, I'd join the throngs who cheer for LSU, but the truth is I've never been interested in sports. Unless you count gymnastics and figure skating.

This cap was the first one I saw on that shopping trip, and I'm a big fan of warm ears.

Nourishing the Enemy

One-a-Day Photo Challenge

Day Seventeen:  Water

Frankly, I'm sick of water after nearly two weeks of rainy days. This morning, waking up to the beauty of early-morning sunshine streaming in through lace curtains, I breathed a sigh of relief and felt my face reshape itself into a big grin. Thank goodness for a dry, sunny day!

Minutes later, outside with the dogs and the camera, I took a few shots of the puddles of water still standing in the backyard; they're shining like glass today but didn't photograph well. I thought about taking a short drive to snap a picture of a still swollen canal or bayou, but (now that I don't have to) I avoid getting out on the roads during morning rush hour. 

In the end I decided to post this close-up of water droplets on one of the several varieties of weeds that are trying to take over my lawn. The rain has been good for them. They're looking greener and healthier every day.