family style

Tonight I teased Lou for knowing how to treat his women right--my mother and I, that is. We were out for a fine evening, being wined and dined in style . . . true to our family's style: it was a busy day for us all, you see. My work day ended slightly early, as I had to head out a bit before usual for a doctor's appointment. Mom was accompanying me for the exciting outing, after her weekly dump run. Rendezvousing in the Hannaford's parking lot, we consolidated cars and continued for the hour commute to the clinic. A few directional issues later, we were headed back to our planned meeting point.
Lou had gone from work to the nursing home to visit his mother and, afterwards, he joined us back in the parking lot. Thanks to cell phone correspondence, our evening was well synchronized: Lou hopped from the subaru into the jeep, I doled out the plastic utensils from the back seat, and we ate our pita chips and pasta salad in the grocery store lot, Lou in his srubs and mom with her hair still damp from the pool. First course in our "progressive dinner.
Our intended next stop was down the road to the donut shop, to use a gift card . . . but it had already closed for the evening, here in our bustling metropolis. So we settled for a convenience store, where we got hot chocolate from the vending machine. Lou and I ping ponged potential lyrics for our own version of "Hey Diddle Diddle" while Mom gave her order at the Quik Stop. We debated the effects of the new tax law instated as we lingered there in the parking lot. Then, polishing off the last of the date bar we passed around to split between us, we headed back to the grocery store, split into our respective vehicles, and wound along the country roads, home to the pets and people awaiting. Just another day . . .
Funny the sorts of things that make you muse on how sweet it is to be a part of a family :-)

in that blue canoe

After watching folks out and about on the lake today, I figured I had better get out there too . . . in that blue canoe :-)

a blue canoe . . .

. . . and the morning light made this too lovely of a sight to resist: I ran past it . . . then raced home, grabbed my camera, and returned before the photo op had run away :-)

yesterday's poem

Inspired by a contest being run by a local Ice Cream Parlor, I wrote a poem for my stepdad for Father's Day. The subject was "What flavor ice cream would your Dad be, and why?" This is what I ended up with . . .
*Note: circumstances portrayed are entirely fictional ;-)

Ode to a Flavor

"If you were an ice cream, Pop, what flavor'd you be?"
"Why, plain old vanilla, I reckon," said he.

Raising my eyebrows & frowning, I turned,
And looked at my Mama, so serene & so learned.

"Mother-Dear," said I, "what do you say on this one?
You've always been right, judging from who's lost & who's won . . . "

"Surely," she said then, "I know just the one:
Rocky Road, I would think, and this here's the rea-zun:

It suits him quite perfectly, I'm sure you'll agree--
A bit messy, a bit nutty and, I guess, well, rock-y" ;-)

in the [farming] flesh

After I made my daily purchase [swiss chard], I was pleased to glimpse my radish-bearing, farming friend behind the shed. After snapping this shot, I called out to her that I had "gotten" her this time on film. She laughed and replied that so long as she looked happy she didn't mind . . . I replied that she needn't fear as, so far as I am concerned, she always looks perfectly, contentedly cheery.

hettie & herb

The afternoon's encounter with a delightful couple, with tales to tell, prompted this photograph. This photograph, in turn, prompted its own story: as I requested permission to capture them on film, Herb launched into the rousing account of a high-speed chase along the River Thames, back during the 2nd World War . . .

back to the farm

. . . this time camera in hand, prepared to provide a proper visual aid of the day's agricultural selections.

radish-ly radiant

1 bunch swiss chard $1.25
1 bunch lettuce leaf $0.75
1 lb rhubarb $0.75
_______________________
Total $2.25
(plus 1 bunch radishes $0.75)
New total $3.00

So I scrawled on a piece of yellow notebook paper in a little blue shed this afternoon, as we deposited our change in the aluminum tin.
Mom and I discovered a farm. Then we saw the sign for produce. And what we found inside left us open-mouthed with the thrill of a happy discovery: a bountiful harvest of the most beautiful vegetables you could possibly imagine. We were mildly disappointed when we saw that the radish bin was empty, save a few small wilted leaves.
But as we walked out, a stunning picture came towards us: a small sprightly woman in rubber boots, leather gloves, and a farmer's sunhat. In her hands she held 5 bunches of gloriously scarlet and strikingly huge radishes. She was a sight for sore eyes, and I told her so. But as I did not have my camera in hand, I had to rescind my spontaneous request to take her picture. Later today, mom obliged my plea for a substitute holder-of-the-radishes . . . beautiful, no? :-)

the nose knows

Day 2 was spent with another friend, who has a curly-headed little one named Jack. Before I departed this morning, Jack was kind enough to inspect my car for its travel readiness. He pointed knowingly at the hood and told me his expert diagnosis. After wards, his mother enlightened me as to what he was telling me . . . this, he was saying, is the "nose" of my car. But of course it is :-)

becca's blooms

Night 1 of my road-tripping adventure was spent with my friend Becca and her kindly hospitable household. Becca is, quite simply, beautiful. She also happens to be a gifted gardener. Consequently, I spent the evening enamored with her glorious blooms. Her roses smell like my Oma's garden. And her cabbage plants have the most perfectly cabbage-patch-like baby spheres. So I could not resist snapping this shot of Becca and her cabbage patch kids :-)

a family photo

I did a family photo shoot for a friend today and, after the "normal" family photos, I did a few randomly inspired shots . . . not surprisingly to me, these were the photos that I ended up liking the most: here's a sample :-)

and the livin' is easy

I made an unfortunate discovery recently, after a few horrendous photos: my camera lens, it seems, has gone on the fritz. But this has ended up leading to a highly fortunate outcome--I have discovered the joy of manual photography . . . and, consequently, a bit of an obsession with experimentation.
So today I snagged a moment for a photo walk. And the obvious choice of a destination, in my mind at least, was the carousel; my suspicion was that I just might happen upon some perfectly summertime-ly subjects . . . I think I did :-)

a bit of earth

Can it be true? Dare I hope that the bud shall blossom, that the fruit shall flourish? Could I have miraculously managed to nurture such a delicately vegetal life?
I do dare . . . do choose to hope, against reason, perhaps, that this small sphere signifies some small seed of a successful gardener within my unlikely-exteriored self . . .

in the act

In case you have been inclined to disbelieve my tales of such oddities as green eggs and shameful egg-thievery, I humbly submit this photographic bit of evidence to you, the jury: this is me, today, caught in the act of said green-egg-theft . . . um, would that be caught green-handed? :-)

it's just a piece of paper . . .

. . . but I must admit to being rather fond of it :-)

a bit of my own

Recently I have begun to compile some of my photography, finally organizing my messy hard drive into something coherent enough to pull together on Picasa. While doing so, I realized I had some scanned images of artwork I have done, so I thought I'd be brave enough to post one here :-) This is a portrait I did of one of my students in Zambia. It was also my first foray into the world of pencil crayons, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that I liked the medium; in the past, I have always gravitated more towards pastels and oils if doing anything more than line sketches . . . so I post this with the qualification that I am by no means a true visual artist--only a dabbler!

a "master" competitor

My grandmother rushed off directly after dinner tonight: as we had lingered over the tomato plants beforehand, we were left with little time before her choir practice by the time we sat down to eat. So left to amuse ourselves in her absence, my grandpa and I decided to scour the house for that missing box of dominoes. Oddly enough, when PaCharley triumphantly emerged from the den he was holding not one, but 2 boxes of the "missing" game.
Having played much more recently than I, PaCharley entered into the game with the self-appointed role of instructor; and, consequently, he spent the entirety of our 2 rounds patiently laboring in his task of tutoring me in all the ins and outs of the game.
Soon thereafter, as my grandpa had to concede to my resounding triumph, I consoled him with the fact that, this being my first game since graduation, he could not begrudge the win of a "Master" . . .
Having entered into the Golf Masters lottery for years now, longing to win those coveted tickets, I am perhaps naively choosing to believe that this is an adequately convincing consolation :-)

bloom & [hopefully] grow

After spending the beginnings of this planting season longing for all variety of gardening delights, this morning was a strange gift. I should perhaps first explain that I have had 2 particular leanings: one being perennials. Not trusting my gardening prowess, I have loved the thought of not counting on one summer alone for the plants to overcome any damages I could have inflicted during the first season. The second leaning has been towards vegetables; or, possibly more to the point, towards anything I can put to practical use, be it herbal of vegetable in nature. Mind you, I am also inclined to find a bouquet of fresh flowers to be sometimes just as "practical" as more obviously useful greens . . . but I digress. Back to the story at hand, I finally broke down last week and purchased a single Basil plant. This was about all I could fathom splurging on, seeing as how I imagined my black thumb to be destined to doom anything it had touched. Shortly thereafter, a good friend bequeathed 2 of her tomato plants to me. I was immensely proud of my paltry little garden, especially since a good number of bulbs managed to bloom from last year as well.
But this morning I was visiting a neighbor and commented on how lovely her yard looked, with its proliferation of vibrant, fuschia poppies. She explained that she had planted a few last year and that they had just taken root, and taken over since then. I replied that, "one could do worse than be overrun by perfectly purple poppies." She laughed and then pointed to the wheelbarrow filled with uprooted blooms, begging me to take some. I obliged, and promptly lined my deck with a row of these hopefully brilliant lovelies.
Shortly thereafter, I was planting again . . .
Passing by another neighbor's house, I was stopped, called over by an unknown voice. She hesitated a moment and then asked if, perchance, I would be interested in some tomato plants. Would I? I gasped at the question. Of course I would! It turns out that she runs a mail-order nursery from her home, This year she had planted more tomatoes than usual, from seed, anticipating high sales. But no one seemed to want these, so rows of perfect little plants, of all varieties, were doomed to the dumpster! I warned her of my own bad history with gardening but we decided that they were better off with a not-quite-certain death by black thumb than they would have been with a certain dumpster death.
So in one single day--my "Sabbath" as it were, the day in which I long for solitary work after the happy but tiring nature of worship-leading and church responsibilities--I have been graced with all manner of garden-ly gifts . . . with a boon of blooms :-)

this means war

Pardon the poor quality of this photo. My intention today, however, is not to produce award-winning photography; I am inclined, rather, to document the war that I have declared today. The adversary? Slugs. The weapon? A nice, frothy cold one. That's right . . . the gardening expert informed me that a mere soap solution was child's play when it comes to slugs in the garden. I had to break out the beer. It seems that slugs have a taste for it, more so than their appetite for my garden greens. So they will drink the beer I so kindly poured for them and then, I suppose, forget about all their woes . . . so long as they forget about my Sweet Basil, I will be quite content . . . may the best taste win :-)

in the eye of the beholder

The current canvas, unfinished . . . I can post the finished product as well, if you all in blog-land are interested. But I will not be too hurt if this particular masterpiece does not have you clamoring for an update :-)