Some thoughts on the color RED

Since Father's Day is coming up this weekend and my father's favorite color was red...

From photo a day

From photo a day

From photo a day

From Singles 2009

I love this lamp. It hangs in the newly remodeled lobby of Kevin's office building...right above these very mod/retro black and white pocket chairs. Can anyone look at this and not think "sushi"?

Sounds - dusk at Chermside

They're lorikeets.

I haven't heard this in forever...

Well, at least not since Sunday night.

Funny, I looked up the lyrics this morning. I guess when you "know" a song when you are 12 or 13, you hear things and understand things differently. For the last 30 years I thought it was a song about a dog named "Bailey".

Still, a catchy canine tune... but maybe a bit disturbing.

You give me the creeps
When you jump on your feet
So get down, get down, get down
Keep your hands to yourself
I'm strictly out of bounds

From photo a day

...but I still want you around.

Time for a little Show tUne!

Put on a Happy Face!

Walking through the city yesterday

Because I am trying to rectify an inconvenient paucity of neutrophils, I found myself walking along Ernest St...when I found these. Since, June in black and white month - my salute to winter - these are, ahem, in black and white.

They look good with a blue sky, too.

A turn of phrase

"You hide your feelings like a cat in a spin dryer."

Clete Purcel in James Lee Burke's "Sunset Limited"

Sunset Limited

From Singles 2009

"The guy who was crucified against the barn wall?" he said. "The reason people don't buy conspiracy theories is they think "conspiracy" means everybody's on the same program. That's not how it works. Everybody's got a different program. They just all want the same guy dead. Socrates was a gadfly, but I bet he took time to screw somebody's wife."

I really enjoyed "Sunset Limited". Maybe it was because I read it in larger chunks over the course of only a week, but it certainly felt much more coherent than the last couple Burke novels I read. But, I really need someone else to read this (and soon) so I can ask a basic question...why all the Christian symbolism? What does it mean that "Jesus" has two children? What am I supposed to take from their behavior? their character? (I did try to find a discussion of this on Google, but gave up quickly. One writer posed most/all of Burke's work as "Christian" because they are about "redemption". While Robicheaux is obviously a good Catholic man, I don't think that redemption in and of itself defines or is exclusive to Christianity.)

"Cause you got an obsession over the man we stretched out on that barn wall. You gonna do right, no matter who you got to mess up. It ain't a compliment."

Now, for a little game. Can you pick out the killers? and who ends up dead?? Hint: some are killers, some die, some are both, and some neither. I guess that isn't much help. And, for the record, this isn't a complete list of characters.

A. Billy Holtzner: When I walked out the front door the man in the reclining chair had turned off the bug light and was smoking his cigar reflectively, one knee crossed over the other. I could feel his eyes on me, taking my measure. I nodded at him, but he didn't respond. The ash of his cigar glowed like a hot coal in the shadows.

B. Alex Guidry: I looked into the rearview mirror and saw him watching me from the end of the shell drive, his legs slightly spread, a leather riding crop hanging from his wrist.

C. Adrien Glazier: Her handwriting was filled with severe slants and slashes, with points in the letters that reminded me of incisor teeth.

D. Willie Cool Breeze Broussard: Cool Breeze looked like two hundred pounds of soft black chocolate poured inside jailhouse denims. His head was bald, lacquered with wax, shiny as horn, his eyes dropping at the corners like a prizefighter's.

E. Meagan Flynn: It was sprinkling now, and she wore an orange silk shirt and khaki slacks and sandals, her funny straw hat spotted with rain, her hair dark red against the gloom of the day, her face glowing with a smile that was like a thorn in the heart.

F. Swede Boxleiter: The shots had been taken from an upper story or guard tower with a zoom lens. They showed him moving through the clusters of convicts in the yard, faces turning toward him the way bait fish reflect light when a barracuda swims toward their perimeter.

G. Archer Terrebonne: When you dealt with Archer Terrebonne, you simply accepted the fact that his gaze was too direct and personal, his skin too pale for the season, his mouth too red, his presence too close, as though there was a chemical defect in his physiology that he wore as an ornament and imposed upon others.

H. Ruben Esteban: ...he answered, his eyes focused on the backs of his square, thick hands, his mouth curling back in neither a sneer nor a grimace but a disfigurement like the expression in a corpse's face when the lips wrinkle away from the teeth.

I. Harpo Scruggs: The movement caused him to pucker his mouth and exhale his breath. It touched my face, like the raw odor from a broken drain line.

J. Lila Terrebonne: She was light-hearted about her profligate life, undaunted by hangovers or trysts with married men, laughing in a husky voice in nightclubs about the compulsions that every two or three years placed her in a hospital or treatment center. She would dry out and by order of the court attend AA meetings for a few weeks, working a crossword puzzle in the newspaper while others talked of the razor wire wrapped around their souls, or staring out the window with a benign expression that showed no trace of desire, remorse, impatience, or resignation, just temporary abeyance, like a person waiting for the hands of an invisible clock to reach an appointed time.

Can't wrap my head around this

From Singles 2009

That would be FROST encasing my car windows this morning...and silly me in a pseudo-tropical climate without a window scraper! Fortunately, the defrost setting works and I made it to my 6:15 yoga class on time.

I totally get that this is winter...but I cannot reconcile that concept with the month of June.

And, the photo is a bit of a cheat. Sorry. The windows are covered with only dew this morning...at least at 8 AM.

"Where the Sidewalk Ends"

From Singles 2009

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

While I've known the title and cover for years and years and years, I had never read Shel Silverstein's "Where the Sidewalk Ends".

So, why read it now? That would be a result of "Title Recall" played at this year's On the Beach. The book wasn't well known - or maybe wasn't known would be a more apt description - by the other players (read this as Australian players.) So, I thought I'd pick up a copy and start it circulating through Aus.

It was OK. There are some poems I liked a lot. (Like the one above - and "The Generals"). I was surprised to learn that "The Unicorn" (song) was first "The Unicorn" (poem). In general, I found I liked the poems better if I only read a few at a time and if I read them aloud. Still, some that didn't work for me - I didn't like the cadence (or found it awkward) or the "smart alecky*" attitude and on some I had a problem with the rhyming structure. Maybe it is because I know them better (I love you long time) I much prefer the poems of Maurice Sendak: particularly "Chicken Soup with Rice" - brilliant!! and Robert Louis Stevenson: "A Child's Garden of Verses".



*Had to check the spelling and found synonym: weisenheimer. Haven't thought of that word in forever...probably not since my mother called me a weisenheimer!

Chip crimes

From photo a day

In Queensland it will soon be required that all new pets are microchipped. This means that despite the fact that we've all been implanting microchips since time began, (well, sort of) we have to be instructed, evaluated, and certified. I did all this yesterday, as well as get lost.

So, all this talk about microchipping (and doing of microchipping) stimulated me to find out what I needed to do to register Zelda's chip in Australia. I figure (reckon) that no one is going to call either Avid or Home Again in the US if they find her wandering the streets of Brisbane. (And, even if they did, I am no longer residing in either Fayetteville, NC or Cleveland, OH!) I contacted the Australian Animal Registry and got the necessary paperwork.

Step 2 fill in paperwork including reporting her chip number.

So, I took her with me to work on Saturday evening to read her chip.

Zelda has....shhhhhhh....two chips.

I know. I know. I know. I know. That is ILLEGAL in Queensland - maybe ALL of Australia.

The problem was that I had given her a Home Again chip but when the time came to immigrate to Australia, she was required to have an Avid chip. So, she has two.

Neither of which scans.

Now, the dilemma. What do I do? Another illegal (illegaler?) chip??? Try to dig out old chips?? (How would you find them if you can't locate them with a scanner?)

Supposedly there are multiple format chip readers out there and maybe one of those would read one (or more) of Zelda's chips. My plan is to visit a couple of other clinics this weekend to see if anyone can read her- including animal control. But still, what if one of them will? What is the chance that this is the place she gets taken to when she needs to be reunited?????

First day of Winter

From photo a day

Yes. You heard me correctly.

And, to celebrate, I had Zelda groomed. Cunning plan - remove hair coat and she'll cuddle with me.

(As you can see, grooming is immediately followed by meditation. What you can't see, the next step is scratching at head until ribbon comes off.)

Roma Street Parklands with Kevin

This was Kevin's first trip to the Parklands. It was a beautiful May morning - sunny and cool. I enjoy sharing the garden with Kevin. I don't take as many photos, however.

You aren't seeing the dahlias that still look terrific. Or, the impatiens. The chrysanthemums are past their prime. Many beds are waiting to be planted. Several of the big fig trees have been toppled lately by storms.

Falling Man

From Singles 2009

He said, "It still looks like an accident, the first one. Even from this distance, way outside the thing, how many days later, I'm standing here thinking it's an accident."

"Because it has to be."

"It has to be," he said.

"The way the camera sort of shows surprise."

"But only the first one."

"Only the first."

"The second plane, by the time the second plane appears," he said,"we're all a little older and wiser."

Listened to this one on CD. I found the book to be really compelling - though the experience was oddly unemotional. Not what I'd expect from the topic of 9-11. Part of it was the reader. (In reading text from Amazon's "Search Inside" function, I am convinced a large part was the reader.) Part of it was the character of Keith- who was in the World Trade Tower. He is introduced as he is walking away from the site. He's covered in debris with multiple small injuries and in a state of shock. This emotional numbness follows him.

Falling Man focuses on 4 people. Keith - above. Lianne - his wife who is also coping with her mother's failing health, her father's (long past) suicide, and an obsession with Alzheimer's disease. Hammad - one of the terrorists who participated in the attack. And, the "Falling Man" - a performance artist who appears around Manhattan - falling from various buildings and bridges, dressed in business attire, then hanging in the pose of one of the men photographed jumping/falling from the North Tower.

From Singles 2009

They came out onto the street, looking back, both towers burning, and soon they heard a high drumming rumble and saw smoke rolling down from the top of one tower, billowing out and down, methodically, floor to floor, and the tower falling, the south tower diving into the smoke, and they were running again.

The story shifted in focus between characters, between time (pre-9/11, 9/11, post 9/11 - and in consequence, my interest and involvement in the story waxed and waned. While I think it is fair to say this is a story of the effect that 9/11 had on people, I must say that I found the end of the book to be most riveting. It is at the end that DeLillo returns to before the beginning and follows Hammad's experience on the plane and Keith's experience in the tower. I listened to those last chapters 3 or 4 or 5 times.

The pious ancestors had pulled their clothes tightly about them before the battle. They were the ones that named the way. How could any death be better?

Every sin of your life is forgiven in the seconds to come.

There is nothing between you and eternal life in the seconds to come.

You are wishing for death and now here it is in the seconds to come.

Photo attribution - Carolyn's brother.

Airfares cheap - LA to Sydney

I get this message every week from Travelocity, or so it seems. Amazing prices. This is the time.

Just learned about Kaki King this morning. Video shot in Sydney. Are you inspired?

Ya'll come down.

The snails are on notice

From Singles 2009

All the snails. Inside and out.

I have had enough of my brave new seedlings being mowed over. From the 3 six-packs of petunias I purchased last month, only 4 plants remain. The zinnias are likewise decimated. And, those little blue flowers which I can't remember the name of - they are all the way gone to heaven. I stopped at the garden center on Thursday and perused the snail killing section - which to my dismay was very limited and all of it was toxic to Zelda and the marauding cats. I asked about getting copper or diatomacious earth - but was met with quizzical looks. I didn't think I had just hallucinated these options, so I looked for snail info online. They are there - as was a page from California instructing how to take snails from garden to plate.

Of course, I read that.

Then, last night, Kayla was good enough to take me home. It was raining and I had enticed her with the opportunity to gaze upon my sad, sad, sad aquarium. She says she's seen sadder - but then set me up with a plan. She thinks with some plant food that some of the plants will come back. One, in particular, she pointed out had good root structure. (I had to tell her that was the plastic plant.) She rescued my sinking heater and told me how to set the temperature. (I'm not sure why I thought that it was just something you plugged in and then adjusted the twisty-switch until the resulting tank temp was what you wanted. Dementia, maybe.) She taught me how my filter worked. (I bought it with the tank and without any sort of instruction/care guide.) But, first off, I have to buy some stuff to kill the snails in my tank.

They're getting a reprieve today, however. No time for buying snail-be-gone or beer. I'm still at work at 4:30 waiting for my shepherd to wake up after surgery...

Woke up this morning with this

with this playing in my head. Though, technically, it wasn't live.

thanks Tim.

Graffiti

Haven't posted any lately. These all live together near the Cultural Centre.

I only have one word for you...

From Singles 2009

Happy Birthday Dear Mother!

From Mom and Auntie Visit Brisbane!

Celebrating the fun of my mom! I love this photo - it captures the playfulness and glee that I associate with my mother. She is such a good sport. If we were in Ohio and crawling around the claustrophobic, ultra-packed space that is our storage unit, I could show you other photos of her posing as a chicken, or a pumpkin head, or as snoopy, or... She's the inspiration and most of the labor behind our family Halloween costumes.

I love you, Mom. Happy Birthday!

In Memory of Junior

From Singles 2009

I told him his feet stinked.

"Maybe they really smell sweet," he says. "Think about it."

I told him he was crazy.

"No, no, no. Think about it," he says. "you know the whole existence, the very whole existence exists in our minds and in our minds only. I been thinking about this....Wait a minute," he says. "Listen. I mean all beliefs about everything are in our heads, not out there in the world. Tha's where everything is and always will be unless we take our brains out our heads, so that means that what somebody believes is their whole world. See?"

"No, I don't. What is this Philos'phy? Psycho'gy" Tate gets off on this crap sometimes. But I hadn't seen him this looped in fifteen years. "The difference between me and you, Tate," I said, "is I know stuff, and you know about stuff. Hit on that, you want to talk some philos'phy. Hit on that."

"Shit, Faison. You damn redneck," he says...

I re-read "In Memory of Junior". I read it the first time in about 1992. I was living in Wooster, Ohio teaching at The College of Wooster and I'd been there long enough that I had moved from Claudia's post (and office) to Anne's office - but not her position since she was in education. Anne was still there in Kauke hall - just up on the third floor. That move didn't get in the way of our lunch dates, however. It was about this time that we shared students. I was teaching a child development class (eegads) which was required for education majors. We were very amused by one young woman who called her Dr. G while I was Mrs. D.

At the time that was very funny. Sort of like this book.

Maybe it was because I knew enough of the story that I wasn't surprised enough to be as amused. Maybe my sense of humor has changed. Maybe it doesn't work as well when you read it in 3 page increments over 2 months. Maybe it is all the foul mood I've been in lately.

Anyway, the book starts out with a graphic presentation of the Bales family tree. You need that. There are lots of characters and they are, for the most part, related. Glenn and Laura, his second wife, are both bed-ridden and waiting to die. Whoever dies last will pass the property onto his or her children (Faison and Tate)/child (Faye). There is also the first wife (Evelyn) - who ran off leaving her 6 mo old infant, her brother (Grove) who wants to be buried in NC - now, grandchildren (Morgan and Junior) as well as assorted neighbors and friends. The story is told in first person narrative, though every few pages the identity of the narrator changes.

It isn't really a high action sort of story. It is more like you are listening in on a family reunion with folks gossiping about each other. They do tell some amusing stories and Edgerton has certainly captured their voices well.

That quote above by Tate - that is the sort of things we psychologists think about. But, what I really love is Faison's responding criticism of his brother.

"You won't ever get over going to college, Tate, you know that?"

Damn. It is a curse.

Bee Dogs

From Singles 2009

Several years ago Kevin sent me a link to the Bee Dogs website. Little did he know that Zelda and I had already been indulging in beedog-ness way before. Wayyy before. Anyway, I've always intended to send in one of Z's bee photos - but it was only today that I followed through! (This stimulated by the link on the Pet Photo Booth Project site.) Zelda is no half hearted bee dog, as you see. She embodies bee-ness...here doing a little pollinating.

If you've never considered bee dogs, you might want to take a look at the website. Bee dogs are legion.

We are famous!!

From Singles 2009

or soon to be...

Each week we receive an online newsletter about what's happening in Brisbane. On Friday one of the featured events was the Pet Photo Booth Project. Zelda and I were of one mind.

We had to be there!

Fortunately, they had an opening. Saturday at 4 PM.

Saturday was CONSUMED with preparation for this! Zelda had to get an embarrassing Ann-cut and a bath. Kevin and I debated whether to wear our "Ned Kelly" masks, or black droopy dog ears, or our red and black face masks, or our Australian flag masks or... I must say, the stress got to be a bit much for me. I can be very, very silly.

We ended up just wearing shirts and ties. (I had suggested we wear bridal gowns, but the practicality of finding gowns, especially a gown that would fit Kevin - and then drugging him to the extent I could dress him in it and yet he could stand for a photo shoot...)

The photographer's first question - whose dog is it? left us a bit confused. Zelda is our dog. Yes, I had her first (before I had Kevin) but Zelda likes Kevin more. Seems they have had issues where the couple photographed with a pet have later broken up and then there has been some sort of unpleasantness about the image uniting them in perpetuity. (What is it with Australians and their breakups? These are the folks who do library damage and photo-pick-up mischief to each other!) As a consequence, they took several photos of the three of us and then more of just Zelda and me. (Later I wondered if the problem arose because Kevin and I sport different last names. If we'd been in wedding gowns, this never would have come up, I'm sure. They'd have been speechless - it would have been that cool.)

In another 4 to 6 weeks we are hoping to receive a copy, a digital copy, of a photo from the shoot. Some of these photos will be collected in a book - and we hope Zelda makes the cut - with both of us.

Our background - cactus in the desert.

What's playing in my head this morning

Feldenkrais

From Singles 2009

I think this is an interesting process but each time I go to a group lesson I am frustrated or disappointed. Well, no. The first time was OK - it was just the last two.

For those of you who have never heard of F, this is a school (I guess you'd call it) of movement study with the aim to assist people to learn the most efficient, effective, pain free way to move (and be still) and in doing so reduce pain and improve function. It occurred to me recently that rather than returning time after time to masseuses and acupuncturists and chiropractors (who I haven't actually been to since I hurt my knee in 1994!) for my neck and shoulder stiffness and migraine headaches, it would make more sense to see if I could learn what I am doing to create them. And, in doing so, can this be changed.

So, I have no real beef with F, I think they may have something to help me, it is just these last two lessons were disappointing. First, they instructed me to remove my glasses. Then, they talked to me in Australian. I guess it is because I am such a visual person, I can't understand what I'm hearing as well when I can't see. (Does this happen to anyone else?) Plus, I can't follow visually what you are demonstrating if I can't see you. (I KNOW this would be common.) So, I was very frustrated.

My last class was given by the instructor for "Bones for Life". She was very good (= let me keep on my glasses) although I did find her singing little bone songs to be a bit silly. She was making a very good point about where on your foot you place your weight when walking or lifting up the body (though I cannot distinguish between my 5 toes, or at least the 3 in the middle). Then, she started saying things that as a veterinarian I have to say were just not right. She started talking about hooves. It may be 10 years now since I last saw a hoof or treated a hoof, but I certainly remember the anatomy of horse hooves, cow hooves, and pig hooves - which are not the same - though maybe the latter two are not called hooves. But, anyway, even if we need to restrict ourselves to horses, the hoof is not located between what would be our big toe and the second digit. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Horse hoof = third digit.

Unless they lied to me in school. "What is the chance of that???" she wonders.

(Note- photo from wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Equine-dist-forelimb-bones.png)

"Jesus Out to Sea"

From Singles 2009

I took my mother and auntie to the local library so they could get some materials with which to entertain themselves while I was working. Naturally, I checked what was on the shelf by James Lee Burke. The only item available at Chermside at that time was a collection of short stories.

This was the first time I'd read any of Burke's short stories and I was surprised to find many of the characters I'd met in his novels. Not Dave or Clete or even Bootsie, but some of the "bad guys" - lesser bad guys really or men who knew the lesser bad guys. Even if I didn't know the person, I recognized some familiar names: Guidry, Hollister, Pougue, Sonnier... These names, the familiar Louisiana and Montana locales, the alcoholics and the war vets shouldn't have surprised me. He's just writing about the folks he knows "at home" in his novels. Eventually, I looked at the index and found that some of my recognition stemmed from the stories actually being excerpts from novels! Glad I had already read those novels!

But on our block - and that is all we ever called the place we lived, "our block" - the era was marked not so much by a distant war as it was by the presence of radios in people's windows and on their front porches, the visits to the block of the bookmobile and the Popsicle man, and games of street ball and hide-and-seek on summer evenings that smelled of flowers and water sprayed from garden hoses.

Three of the stories followed boys- 10, 12, 14 years old...something like that - set in New Orleans during WWII. No one is named Dave and none of the family experiences match Dave's, but you can see something of Dave's "stand up" character in the young protagonist, Charlie. The stories are Charlie's stories - and told in first person like all Burke's stories.

Our next-door neighbors were the Dunlops. They had skin like pig hide and heads with the knobbed ridges of coconuts. The oldest of the five boys was executed in Huntsville Pen; one did time on Sugarland Farm.

The patriarch of the family was a security guard at the Southern Pacific train yards. He covered all the exterior surfaces of his house, garage, and toolshed with the yellow paint he stole from his employer. The Dunlops even painted their car with it.

Like the Robicheaux novels, Burke matches a beautiful city (and these stories are set in Dave's "golden age") with the stain of evil: the loss of innocence, gangs, bullies and child molesters. In these short pieces Burke still takes time to color his bad guys and in doing so elevate them from comic book villains. Vernon Dunlop is a bully - but Vernon is an abused kid, too. Benny "Bugsy" Siegel is struggling to learn the yo-yo from Charlie and Nick. When Vernon Dunlop's dad chases off the Cherrio yo-yo man and busts the favorite nun for drinking, it is Benny Siegel who comes to Charlie's aid. Charlie's "love-interest" is a girl from a New Orlean's mob family - and it's this family that removes the molester from the park.

Two stories feature a former professor, widower, living an isolated life of his choosing on a property abutting a national forest in Montana. (Interestinly, these are not told in the first person voice.) You'd think it was the same guy...but his name changes between stories. Well, he is the same guy. He has an almost indistinguishably different back story, he lives in the same place, and he has a history of his involvement in situations turning, lets say, dark.

Albert starts to tell Joe Bim all of it - the attempt he made on the biker's life, the deed the sheriff's deputy had done to him when he was eighteen, the accidental death of his father, the incipient rage that has lived in his breast all his adult life- but the words break apart in his throat before he can speak them. In the silence he can hear the wind coursing through the trees and grass, just like the sound of rushing water, and he wonders if it is blowing through the canyon where he lives or through his own soul. He wonders if his reticence with Joe Bim is not indeed the moment of absolution that has always eluded him. He waits for Joe Bim to speak again but realizes his friend's crooked smile is one of puzzlement, not omniscience, that the puckered skin on the side of his face is a reminder that the good people of the world each carry their own burden.

Two stories come from people associated with Katrina: "Mist" and "Jesus Out to Sea". In "Mist", Burke's protagonist is an alcoholic, drug abusing woman. In "Jesus Out to Sea" he follows one of his mob guys brothers, Tony aka "Johnny Wadd" from "A Morning for Flamingos", as he and his buddy wait in the rising waters of New Orleans. Wait for rescue.

The color of the water is chocolate-brown, with a greenish-blue shine on the surface like gasoline, escept it's not gasoline. All the stuff from the broken sewage mains has settled on the bottom. When people try to walk in it, dark clouds swell up around their chests and arms. I've never smelled anything like it.

The sun is a yellow flame on the brown water. It must be more than ninety-five degrees now. At dawn, I saw a black woman on the next street, one that's lower than mine, standing on the top of a car roof. She was huge, with rolls of fat on her like a stack of inner tubes. She was wearing a purple dress that had floated up over her waist and she was waving at the sky for help. Miles rowed a boat from the bar he owns on the corner, and the two of us went over to where the car roof was maybe six feet underwater by the time we got there. The black lady was gone. I keep telling myself a United States Coast Guard chopper lifted her off. Those Coast Guard guys are brave. Except I haven't heard any choppers in the last hour.

...This is the Ninth Ward of Orleans Parish. Only two streets away I can see the tops of palm trees sticking out of the water. I can also see houses that are completely covered. Last night I heard people beating the roofs from inside the attics in those houses. I have a feeling the sounds of those people will never leave my sleep...

I was in the US at the time Katrina struck New Orleans and I heard many stories - mostly on the radio, cause I'm mostly a radio (NPR) news person. But, it wasn't until I read this story that I actually felt the horror of the situation. (The same thing is happening now as I listen to Don Delillo's "The Falling Man" about 9-11.) I'm not sure why that is. Is it the personal involvement of the imagination that comes with reading? Is a "story" able to creep around emotional boundaries we (I) erect to protect us from the ugliness of life? Am I aberrant? Maybe it is just the magic that Burke can wield with his words...

You know what death smells like? Fish blood that someone has buried in a garden of night-blooming flowers. Or a field mortuary during the monsoon season in a tropical country right after the power generators have failed. Or the bucket that the sugar-worker whores used to pour into the rain ditches behind their cribs on Sunday morning. If that odor comes to you on the wind or in your sleep, you tend do take special notice of your next sunrise.

Quick! Lets finish April!

I flew back to Australia with my mother and my auntie in tow. Our flight from Dayton was delayed which caused us to miss our connection from Atlanta to LA. Fortunately, my dear husband had put the fear of missed connections in my mind, and so I had booked us an outrageously early flight from Dayton - which allowed us to catch a later flight from Atlanta and still have way too much time to lounge around LAX. Our flight back was great. The plane was under-consumed which meant that we all had 3 seats to ourselves to spread out on. Unfortunately, this was a flight in "The Twilight Zone" and the opportunity to watch movies was predicated on paying $14 AU. (This wasn't true for Kevin when he came home. In fact, the staff on his flight didn't understand why he thought that anyone would ever have to pay. Perhaps, he should have mentioned something about William Shatner seeing something on a wing...)

My guests had a pretty modest list of things they wanted to do. Sit on the couch (which they bought for themselves) with Zelda and visit the Brisbane sites they'd seen last time: Alma Park Zoo, Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary, Australia Zoo. I added a visit to Ikea, the clock tower in Brisbane City Hall, Mt. Coot-tha, the Glasshouse Mountains and the GOMA. I hated having to work so much while they were here, but it was great to come home to people - especially people who have fixed supper.

My mother's neighbor and friend, Dixie, had sent along a small, toy bunny with the instruction that we were to take him everywhere. And, photograph him. We did. You'll see.

30 YEARS!

I received in the mail this week an invitation to my 30th High School Class Reunion. Wow. Totally amazing- though I guess it does seem like a lifetime ago that I was in high school.

I've only gone to 1 class reunion. I missed the 5th year reunion picnic in the park. I missed the 15th or was it 20th year - bowling and karaoke! I missed the 25th that sounds so important. I made it only to the 10th year. At that time I was unemployed and homeless...well, living back at home with my parents. I have to tell you, that makes an almost 30 year old feel grown up!

I don't think I'll make this one, either. Something about traveling internationally for a standard Versailles event dinner - fried chicken, beef and noodles, green beans, mashed potatoes - and going alone. Something about listening to everyone talk about grown children and grandchildren. (Of course, our first grandparent was such at the 15 year reunion. I think this is what you can an overachiever.) I just don't feel like I'm in sync with this - though, I suppose I never felt much in sync with my high school class. Still, there is supposed to be dancing. ("Is $1500 too much to spend for an evening of dancing?" she wonders. Then, she thinks, "But, what sort of music would they play?")

I did have some really good friends and some really good times. And, so, to honor the class of 1979...a slide show from senior year. (That would be year 12 for you Australians.)

I am not a Queenslander

From Singles 2009

This fact was re-established yesterday at work.

A client coming into the exam room made one of those innocuous statements about the weather....and I totally blew it.

"My, it is getting cooler." She said.

"Yes. Isn't that wonderful!" I replied.

FAUX PAW.



Note- misspelling is intentional. It is a vet thing.

Myron Hunt

From Singles 2009

My grandparents both came from large families. My grandmother had 8 siblings and my grandfather had 9. Very large and long lived. My grandfather's brother Myron just died, my mother told me. He was 97.

I'm feeling positively youthful.

"The Amateur Marriage" by Anne Tyler

From Singles 2009

She also said that when she first heard they’d found Joe’s body, she felt a bolt of something she would almost have to call anger. They made it sound as if he’d just been thoughtlessly mislaid, she said. Like somebody’s cast-off toy. When she herself had been so careful, all these years, to keep him safe and healthy.

In "The Amateur Marriage" we watch the courtship, marriage, and divorce of Michael and Pauline Anton. Michael is very controlled in his emotions and his reactions. Pauline is impetuous and talkative and reactive. They are not a match made in heaven. They are, rather, a match made in Baltimore - in a little neighborhood grocery on the afternoon of a big local sign up for service march at the beginning of WWII. Michael had no plan for enlisting until he was swept away by this exciting new girl in her red coat. He was and he did.

His time in the army was relatively brief being shot in the hip by his bunk mate during training (sorry, there I go giving away the plot! You weren't planning on reading this anyway.) His time with Pauline much longer though ultimately almost as painful.

I've enjoyed Anne Tyler in the past. Odd, quirky, everyday people. Books where my father would say "not much happens." (He never could figure why I liked those kinds of stories.) In the case of "The Amateur Marriage", however, I didn't find the characters to be pleasant - let alone charming. Yes, I understand that they loved each other on some level and were trying their best - that they were hopelessly mismatched - that life is messy and difficult and disappointing. I just didn't enjoy this experience. I read recently that it was a sign of immaturity to think that the characters must be likable.

Alas. I get older but no more mature.

I did enjoy reading Ms. Tyler's words, however. The quote at the beginning from Joe's mother, for example. Very nice.

And, Joe from the quote? He was a neighborhood boy killed in WWII. He didn't have much of a story here...which is just as well. I probably wouldn't have liked him much.

Cadillac Juke Box

From Singles 2009

Morgues deny all the colors the mind wishes to associate with death. The surfaces are cool to the touch, made of aluminum and stainless steel, made even more sterile in appearance by the dull reflection of the fluorescent lighting overhead. The trough and the drains where an autopsy was just conducted are spotless; the water that wells across and cleans the trough's bottom could have issued from a spring.

But somehow, in the mind, you hear sounds behind all those gleaming lockers, like fluids dripping, a tendon constricting, a lip that tightens into a sneer across the teeth.

I've gotten pretty far behind here and writing this entry is made more difficult by the disjointed way I read the book. I started it in Brisbane before we left for the US, but I didn't finish it. I couldn't renew it long enough, so I returned it. Fortunately, Steve works for the Columbus library system and I was able to borrow a copy while I was in Ohio. Let's see. That means I finished the book about April 8. And,today is May 15.

Here goes.

Cadillac Jukebox.

Dave is entangled in the case of Aaron Crown, a man who is accused of shooting a civil rights leader 30 years ago. So, that means that Dave is caught in the middle between Aaron, Aaron's daughter, the soon to be Governor and his wife (who is an old lover of Dave's.) We've got Mexican drug dealers, the mob, an enormous, psychotic hit man, the daughter of the New Orleans mob boss and her pimp husband, and an old schoolmate of Dave's who is living on the edge between legal and illegal activity. Clete, Dave's new partner (whose name I can't remember) and Bootsy.

The governor was largely responsible for getting Aaron convicted. Aaron wants Dave to investigate his case. The governor doesn't. The mob doesn't. Aaron escapes from the penitentiary with the intent of finding the governor and assassinating him. The governor's lovely wife is intent on sleeping with Dave or, failing to do that, at least accuse him of inappropriate sexual advances. I found the mob and the Mexican drug stories to be harder to follow. This might have something to do with the multi-week gap in the middle of my reading!

Unfortunately, since I don't have a copy of the book, I cannot share many of Burke's lovely words with you. (You can pick up your own copy used from Amazon for 1c! That is 1/100 of a dollar for you Australians. I guess in your terms it would be free! Why not pick up several?) So, I'll leave you with two lines that were short enough that I wrote them down in their entirety while I was reading.

...and got back to the office with a headache feeling I had devoted most of the day snipping hangnails in a season of plaque.

Haven't we all had days like this?

And, finally, just a reminder that Dave is not consumed with violence and evil and work - but has an appreciation of beauty, nature, and god.

Catfish fillet with etouffee' on top. This is food you expect only in the afterlife.

Spring in Ohio (April 2009)

Before I left for my trip, Shay asked me what the weather would be like. "Rain," I told her. "And, sunshine. Warm days and cold days. Maybe snow."

She's always lived in Brisbane. She thought I was joking. Here we have sweeping weather changes from "Fine" to "Mostly fine"...all in the same week! OK. I exaggerate. Some days it does rain.

Anyway, in the course of the two weeks I spent in Ohio in April the weather was gloomy, sunny, rainy...and it did snow. I wore a hat and gloves. I sat in shirt sleeves with my mother on her deck basking on a warm spring morning. The usual.

What I didn't accurately convey to Shay, however, was how beautiful and soul expanding it was to be in Ohio in spring. The greens are fresh. The flowers earnest. The breeze smells like hope.

Kevin thinks it is paradise here. Granted, the days are mostly sunny and warm. But, unless you've huddled under the grey and cold of winter, I just don't think you can ever feel the same joy in spring.

"But I think I've learned not to grieve on the world's ways, at least not when spring is at hand." Dave Robicheaux from James Lee Burke's "Cadillac Jukebox"

Swimming pool at night

Visiting friends

From Singles 2009

I didn't get to see everyone.

My original plan was to attend the continuing education meeting in Athens at the University of Georgia and to see Lisa and Susette in the process. The logistics of doing this, however, were untenable involving a whole lot waiting in airports followed immediately by a hurried drive from Fayetteville, NC to Athens with little time for stopping in Charlotte.



I did get to see Tim and Flavio, Nan, Sandra, Christine and Nina, Sharon, Barb. Plus, I had time in Cleveland for gaming with (Kevin and) The Games Project including old friends Greg, Erin, Officer Mike. Big THANK YOU to Greg and Steve and Georgia for putting us up in Cleveland and Columbus!

For Kevin in particular our Ohio visit featured the "Gathering of Friends". Games. Games. Games. For 10 days. It was great to see Ken and Gail, Ken, and Erin.

AAHA

From Phoenix - March 2009

Sounds like I'm surprised, doesn't it?

American Animal Hospital Association.

National meeting in Phoenix.

I was there, at the Convention Center (gee, its nice to not have that "e" dangling on the edge of the word) by 9 AM. I registered, attended an introductory meeting, then walked back to the hotel and took a nap.

The meeting ran from Thursday through Sunday -sometimes starting with a breakfast meeting at 7 or 8 AM and ending with a two hour evening session at 6 PM. I went the distance. It was very good. (Why is it that the first days lectures always seem to be the best? Is it a function of novelty? or fatigue? Hmmmm.)

My hotel was a little more than a mile from the Convention Center which is a very nice walk in the morning sunshine. (It is a bit long and chill in the evening. Twice I elected to take the train, instead.) The walk took me past the oldest church in Phoenix - St. Mary's Basilica, along the Arizona Center (very nice garden and good places to eat), and through ASU (which in my jet lagged state I thought was pretty cool to see was USA backwards.) Beautiful sunny days. Beautiful blue sky. Spring.



Once upon a time we thought we'd live in Phoenix. I even studied up and passed the state veterinary exam. I interviewed in several clinics, but ultimately decided that I'd be happier being nearer my family. (This was when my father was in the middle of his battle with colon cancer.) We moved, instead, to Cleveland. Anyway, I look at Phoenix now like a short-lived romance and wonder where we'd be had we chosen differently. Probably not Brisbane.

My most embarrassing moment occurred while eating out at "My Big Fat Greek Restaurant" the first evening. Sitting outside. Beautiful evening. The waitress is asking me what I'd like when I hear this WHOOSH!!! behind me and I scream a little and lunge forward throwing myself on the table. In my mind there was a tidal wave about to wipe over me. In reality, a waiter had lit some sort of flaming dish. I laughed all evening. I'm guessing the employees there laughed even longer.

Time to begin to catch up - Leaving on a Jet Plane

From photo a day

Let's see.

We left Australia March 25 - boarding V Australia in the late afternoon. Odd. We've always flown from Australia in the late morning. The difference meant two things practically. First, I could work for half a day. (Sometimes I do make crazy decisions.) Second, we arrived in LA much later (4:30 PM rather than about 7 AM). This ultimately determined where I decided to go to get my continuing education hours (Phoenix rather than Athens, GA.)

This was our first flight on V Australia. Bright, shiny new planes with bright shiny new employees. Everyone was very friendly and helpful...especially in the middle of the night when I determined that my glasses had fallen off my lap while I was sleeping. They came with their little pen lights and scanned the floor. Ultimately, determining that my glasses must have slid "quite some distance" and "maybe they would turn up when the lights came back on".

It was UNDOUBTEDLY this turn of events which led to me watching only one film. And, somehow, despite working repeatedly through the fantasy of how I was going to navigate for the next 2 days without any distance vision and find an optometrist in Phoenix, I managed to get a reasonable amount of sleep.

At breakfast I was served not only a warm meal but my specs. Yay! I was very pleased ...right up there with the relief I felt when we'd finished hiking through the Olgas (and Cradle Mountain) without falling down and breaking all the teeth in my head.

Kevin was generous and waited with me for several hours in LA before going home with his friend, Don. We ate and played Mystery Rummy and for the first time I skunked him.

I also called Phoenix to confirm my hotel reservation where I learned that the hotel was oversold and that when I arrived at 1 AM I was very likely going to have to jump back into a cab and find another "home". While inconvenient, it wasn't going to be AWFUL. They had already identified a "sister inn" that could take the overflow.

Once again I was lucky. When I arrived the receptionist was flummoxed having just been abused by the last car load of guests who learned they had no room at the inn. I had worked through this issue hours earlier and so was pleasant and accommodating. In the midst of our conversation she remembered that there was an available room. But, it was a "handicap suite"...which meant that it might be a little bigger. Well, damn. I guess that is OK.

I trundled off to my room, took a bath, and laid awake watching "Tough Love" on VH-1 until 4 AM.

Alone again

While I know you might think that now that I am on my own here I should/would/could be updating y'all on what fabulous things I've done in the past month, I must tell you - you are about to be disappointed. Not only have I worked like a dog for the third day in a row, getting home at 7 PM, BUT I will NEVER be able to adequately remember that time. I shall make an attempt to give a few highlights and then we will just move on.

But that will not be tonight.

Spaghetti and bed.

Watching TV with my mom

American Idol. That's her thing. I was pleased that I got to see the DISCO SHOW.

And, I must admit, I was suprised that disco seems to mean....Donna Summers (3 of 7 performances!). Sorry, Donna. I just thought disco might have been a bit more broad.

And, a bit more dancable.

Earth Day

From photo a day

A tree for Earth Day!

Having a great time with my mother and auntie in sunny Brisbane. No time for blogging...but soon. Very soon.

Heard this while waiting in Phoenix

A blast from the past!

For Spring in Ohio

The days have been beautiful with blue skies and sunshine...until today. Today it rains.

Its all right.

AAHA annual convention, Phoenix

I needed to complete my continuing ed hours for the year, so I had to find something going on around the time of "The Gathering." I had a choice of either the Alumni meeting at The University of Georgia or the AAHA meeting in Phoenix. While I thought I might be able to check in on a couple of my southeastern friends if I went to Georgia, a more considered examination of the meeting revealed I'd be dead when I arrived. Ergo, I am in Arizona...a mere 90 min flight from LA.

Most embarrassing moment. Eating out at "My Big Fat Greek Restaurant" the first evening. Sitting outside. Beautiful evening. The waitress is asking me what I'd like when I hear this whoosh!!! behind me and I scream a little and lunge forward throwing myself on the table. In my mind there was a tidal wave about to wipe over me. In reality, a waiter had lit some sort of flaming dish. I laughed all evening. I'm guessing the employees there laughed even longer.

And, you thought I'd just fallen asleep in the front row!

Money I did not spend at the convention

One vial of eye drops to clear cataracts or lenticular sclerosis in dogs = $70.

Two text books $230 + $17 shipping.

Otoscope cone - a long skinny one! $20

A new surgical head for an otoscope (and they'd throw in a couple of those skinny cones for free!) $100

Pair of magnifying lenses + $1300. (20% off - hard to resist!)

(Money I did spend....$6 for cat toys for Stella and Luna. Sorry Zelda!)

How to get enough sleep

on an international flight.

1. Watch a really bad movie. If you are having trouble selecting one, try "Rachel Getting Married."

2. Remove glasses, crunch up on seat, don sleep mask. Sleep fitfully for 90 minutes.

3. Decide you'll use the restroom and watch a better movie. Reach into lap and find your glasses are missing.

4. Get down on hands and knees and feel around. Next, push call button and ask the attendant to shine his little torch around on the floor.

5. Continue to be unsuccessful. Recognize that while you may use the restroom like this, you'll never watch a movie.

6. Get pissed and tell your husband to scoot over. Then "stretch out" over two seats while wearing seat belt.

7. Wake regularly to turn over. (This involves removing seat belt, changing seats, re-fastening belt.)

Fortunately, by the time the lights came up for breakfast my glasses had been located by "some other attendant". I was concerned about how I'd replace my glasses while in Phoenix at the conference. I did see one service dog here, so I guess that might have worked.

Warning: This blog is about to become

un-Anned.

Once again.

It probably feels a bit like it is already, I know. We've been busy (and I've been stressed) - preparing to go to the US for my annual "I need to collect my continuing education hours" and Kevin's annual "Gathering of Friends". Who will have the better time?

Zelda, on the other hand, is staying at home this year with Jane and Hubertus.

Thank you, Jane and Hubertus. I hope we don't hear that someone had to pull one of your heads out of her mouth.

The Cement Garden by Ian McEwan

From Singles 2009

I am only including the little story of his death to explain how my sisters and I came to have such a large quantity of cement at our disposal.

Four children. Two dead parents. A summer. Adolescent sexuality.

What is that odor?

This was my most recent book on CD - my in the car read.

I am starting to worry a little about myself...and about my car. It seems to have picked up a funny smell. I wonder if it is the company I'm keeping.

Frankie

Tomorrow Frankie gets his stitches taken out. And, he gets a bath. He is probably most pleased to just not be spending the weekend with the Z. Something about having to pull his head out of her mouth, I think, may have put him off our dear girl.

Frankie has had some vomiting this week. He isn't gaining weight. I'm a bit worried about him. We need to get him into a home where he can be loved for whatever time he has.

He is still cute and still very happy.

Keeping cool

From March 16 outing

Spiders

From March 16 outing

From Roma Street Parklands.

I don't know why we didn't have the crowd of spiders encasing our bushes in webs this year. We didn't have mangoes on our tree either. Hmmmmm.

I'm preparing to go home next week. Time to fulfill my continuing ed requirements. I'll be bringing my mother and my auntie back with me. I'm hoping the spiders will still be plentiful when we get back. They were here in the winter last and missed seeing them. We Ohio folk are very impressed by big-ass spiders...not that we want to live with them.

Sunday, in the park

From March 16 outing

I don't think it was the forth of July.

I think it was the 15th of March, actually.

And, the day wasn't going as planned. Yet, it was going pretty, pretty, pretty well.

My plan was as follows: Catch the 1 PM train into the city and catch the film "Big Night" at the State Library of Queensland. Then, roam over to Roma Street Parkland before taking the train back homa.

I did get the train. I did arrive just at 2 PM but I was turned away at the door. I was the first and possibly only person to be turned away because the theater was full. "No seats. We're trying to find seats for these two women."

OK. Fine.

So, what to do. I could go home and start preparing for my trip. (This is pronounced "major house cleaning frenzy".) Or, I could seek out the best air conditioning in Brisbane and see what's shaking at the Gallery of Modern Art.

Of course, you know which one I selected.

The GOMA is preparing to open its new major exhibit on Modern Chinese Art. They've got the bit down the center featuring duel giant Chairman Mao statues and a long row of Chinese busts with objects glued to the tops of their heads. The large feature galleries, however, are not yet open. The installation is not installed.

So, I wandered upstairs.

Big exhibit by indigenous Australians - a portion of which has been on display before. Nothing caught my fancy.

Exhibit by high school students from Queensland - that is always kind of fun. But, nothing was too memorable.

From March 16 outing

Finally, down the hall and way in the back is Spencer Finch's exhibit: As if the sea should part and show a further sea. As I approached it I first saw "Thank you fog" - a series of 64 (I think- seemingly endless) square black frames. In each, inside a white mat is a black square. "Great," I thought sarcastically, and walked on by - as I did past a couple of photographs (I never figured them out- the description says there are three but I only saw two...) and then past a series of fluorescent tubes angled on a wall covered with different colored filter paper. I did read about this but didn't really understand it. (It makes more sense here.) It wasn't until I came upon his installation West (Sunset in My Motel Room, Monument Valley, January 26, 2007, 5:36-6:06 PM)
that I became intrigued. This installation is made of 9 monitors positioned in a grid and located only a few feet from a white wall. On each grid is a still image from some western movie (I forget) and once a minute the images change. The cumulative effect of the light hitting the wall mirrors the setting sun that Finch observed on the wall of his motel room - as you've already guessed - on January 26, 2007. Now, that was cool. The exhibit is laid out as a circuit and I found I was soon back at that series of black squares. But, now I was beside them and I could see they were not black squares but very, very subtle photographs of the fog in San Fransisco rolling over and revealing glimpses of tree tops. WOW.

I must see it all again. So, I relooped.

After a cup of green tea in the museum cafe, I did travel over to the Roma Street Parkland where I was pleased to discover the sunflowers were blooming.



I love sunflowers. I wish I could grow them here. I had such nice ones in North Carolina. My seeds won't sprout.

I have so much to do. I am so behind.

And, yet, I'm going to take a moment here to reflect upon the antiviral medication I am taking.

Tell your doctor as soon as possible if you notice any of the following:
- a rash that is separate from the shingles rash
- extreme sleepiness or confusion, usually in older people
- hallucinations
- signs of a possible liver problem such as persistent pain in the upper right abdomen, yellowing of the skin and/or eyes, dark urine or pale bowel motions.

The above side effects may need medical attention.

My leg looks much, much better.

At least, I think so...

I am not certain but I suspect

From Singles 2009

that my leg will soon be falling off.

Edited: CRAP. I've got shingles again. My doctor called his doctor wife into the exam room. ("Do you mind?")
"Have you ever seen just one shingle?" he asked her.
"Yes. Last week for the first time. Now, I've seen it twice."

Great.

More on Frankie

From Singles 2009

Frankie is nothing less than amazing. He's had one episode of regurgitation after being fed too much on the first day post surgery. He is still lapping up his dog food puree like a stampede of wild buffalo are thudding up from behind. He never cries or whimpers or even tenses up when he's lifted up - even though his chest was open widely just 2 days ago. He chases a ball, won't sit still for a photograph, and wagging his tail tears off to meet any dog who passes his way.

But, today, he must meet his greatest real challenge.

He's coming home with me to spend the weekend with

Zelda.

She doesn't put up with ANY foolishness.

Photos to follow.

Language lesson

From photo a day

This one is for everyone who is not an Australian...or, at least, for all the Norte Americanos.

Finally, on Thursday, Kevin and I went for the movie-meal deal at - Fasta Pasta.

Now, here's the lesson.

Those words rhyme.

They rhyme with "FAST".

In Australia pasta ALWAYS rhymes with fast - not just when you are being cool and choosing the movie-meal deal before seeing "Watchmen".

More, you ask.

Fillet.... rhymes with millet.

Herbs....has an "h" sound.

Aluminum... acquires an extra "i" : al-u-min-i-um. I guess if you save up enough "r"s (Melbourne, Cairns) you can cash them in for an extra vowel.

Super = Supa; Tipper = Tippa; Oscar = Osca; you get the idea. People here, no doubt, think I'm half retarded when I have ask them to spell their dog's name: Pipper/Pippa?

A work tale

From Singles 2009

It has been a long, long time, eh?

Maybe you heard me complain about working a seven day work week? That was created, in part, by a puppy who got dropped off literally minutes after we thought we had closed. Regurgitation. Immediate. Forceful. Painful. Reliable.

I put in an IV catheter and gave him medication to help keep his digestive system working in a toward-the-tail direction. By the next morning (Sunday) he had not only chewed the line in two, but had pulled the IV out of the vein. I started feeding him tiny amounts of easily digestible food. He did well at 7 AM. At noon it all came back up. Ditto for 6 PM.

I suspected he had a problem with his esophagus. (Somehow, somewhere in that word Australians put an "o". Oesophagus, maybe. I just go about blithely spelling like a Yank. I think it is good for my morale.) Eventually I got permission to do a barium swallow and - vwalla! - a diagnosis! Vascular ring anomaly. He had some sort of developmental problem whereby a (useless dried up) blood vessel that should have broken down did not and was now constricting his esophagus. Food couldn't pass. The esophagus in front of the constriction was distended with food (and barium).

My boss's eyes lit up. He was intrigued by the idea of repairing this. So, today we did. He did the cutting. I did the breathing. This is important. I was breathing for two. When you have a big hole in your chest, you no longer have the vacuum necessary to make your lungs work.

It is now almost 10 PM. I've just returned from checking on Frankie. He's busy running around his cage and looking forward to his first real, go-all-the-way-down meal tomorrow.

So far his IV line is intact.

Now, we've got to find him a home....

Isn't it time

From Singles 2009

that Zelda made an appearance?

Sugar Plums

From Singles 2009

I found these at the produce market this week.

Sugar plums.

Still waiting for them to dance.

Wasabi

From Singles 2009

It is official. I suck at Wasabi. We played Wednesday evening.

Wait.

We played Wasabi Wednesday.

How many sentences can you create with three capital letter W's? Especially since we have a new president...

Anyway. I suck.

But, I still love sushi.

Burning Angel

From Singles 2009

"What bothers you more than anything else in the world, Dave?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Vietnam? The death of your wife Annie? Revisiting the booze in your dreams?"

When I don't reply, he lifts one hand, gestures at the diamond, the ruined school building that's become softly molded inside the fading twilight. A torn kite, caught by its string on an iron fire escape, flaps impotently against a wall.

"It's' all this, isn't it?" he says. "We're still standing in the same space where we grew up but we don't recognize it anymore. It's like other people own it now."

Lets see - Sonny Boy Marsallas - a New Orleans street hustler with ties, though not friendly ties, to both the NO mob (now headed by Johnny (Carp) Polycarp Giacano) and US feds and/or mercenaries from Central America passes to Dave a diary. Then, all hell breaks loose. Add into this a local plantation raised lawyer (Moleen Bertrand) and the family of African Americans he has living on a stretch of the plantation near the railroad. His grandfather supposedly gave them this land, though there is no record and for some reason Moleen (and his lovely drunken wife, Julia) wants them off the land NOW. Somehow the mob is involved in this, too.

This piece of land was our original sin, except we had found no baptismal rite to expunge it from our lives. That green-purple field of new cane was rooted in rib cage and eye socket....

Tolstoy asked how much land did a man need.

Just enough to let him feel the pull of the earth on his ankles and the claim it lays on the quick as well as the dead.

Muddled.

His teeth were like tombstones when he grinned.

Maybe it is because I started reading this book then set it aside for a couple of weeks before finishing it (binging on "Battlestar", you know), but I just couldn't get my head around this story. WHO IS CHARLIE??? Well, with the exception of that question, I CAN identify all the main players and their role, but it is just not one of my favorite Robicheaux novels.

Still, Burke gets some things right:

"The world's a small place today. People watch CNN in grass huts. A guy might as well play it out where the food is right."

Affinity

From Singles 2009

Still she watched me. Still her eyes seemed very dark. Then, "I would need no key," she said, "while I had spirit help. And, I would come to you, Aurora. And we would go away together."

Margaret Prior. Sad and lonely since her recent suicide attempt after her love married another is determined to do good deeds by visiting the local women's penitentiary. London. 19th century. Margaret is intrigued by and drawn to one woman there, Selina Dawes, a spiritualist medium who is imprisoned after a client suffered an "attack by spirit".

Grey. Spooky. The sort of stuff I love.

But, I am sooooooooooo naive. (How, at 47??)

Here I was laughing to myself about how a novel set in a women's prison must have lesbian undertones and digging the spirit stories that Selina tells Margaret. While I was not completely surprised by the final chapter, I was pretty disappointed both for myself and for - well, that would be telling. What amused me more about myself and the world, however, was what I found I went to Amazon to find the photo for this blog entry: Sarah Waters - big lesbian writer. And, the reviews! My favorite complained not only that this was decidedly not the steamy number of Water's first novel but that the love interest (Selina) was described as very unsexy - pale and drably dressed with red, swollen, chapped hands. The chick is in PRISON! No one looks her best surrounded by limestone. (Still, I must admit the book cover - which is nothing like the cover of the CD - is more than a little suggestive.)

It was fun. Yes, maybe it did drag a bit, but I was listening to it on CD as I went to and from work - except for those times I'd bring the disk inside to binge on while I chopped vegetables or did other quiet things in the kitchen. A much better experience than my last BOT (book on tape).

February 29

Not much heard from me lately. I've been really busy working - six days last week. Well, seven actually - I think any day you go into the office 3x counts as a day of work. This week looks light. I'm only scheduled for 5 days. That could change.

Anyway, as a consequence of all this labor, I've not been updating either of my blogs, not taking any photos, not cooking any meals, not making the bed, and being a grump to live with. (Just ask Zelda who hasn't been allowed to sleep in the bed in DAYS. Call the RSPCA!) I'm tired and confused.

And, it doesn't help when I find myself confronted with things like this:

From Singles 2009

Yes. I paid money for this calendar. Fortunately, Sunday is ALSO March 1st (turn page).

What's for supper??

From photo a day

From photo a day

Playing with photoshop and my food!

(Salmon with fennel and tomatoes.)

SCREAMING

I've done a lot of that lately. Not AT anyone in particular - I leave that hobby to the woman down the street. Rather, I've been screaming at the universe. If your ears have been open, I'm sure you have heard me.

Monday night I woke up myself and Kevin and probably most of the southern hemisphere screaming...a scream that continued for at least 37 minutes - or maybe 10 seconds. Leg cramp. Bad. I was sore for the next two days.

This afternoon I did the unthinkable. I walked head first into a spider web. I still feel like something is in my hair though since the initial outburst I have managed to keep my tormented cries to a whimper.