The Bemused Muse

Mag 101: Intersteller Fast Food

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 06:09:00 +0000

Intersteller Fast Food

“What is it?” he asked

As his brother offered it

On a woven mat.

“It’s the new earth rage,”

His brother smugly replied,

“They call it ‘sushi’.”

“Ugh! It looks toxic!

Can’t you stick to crop circles?

At least remove bones!”

More (better!) poems and stories can be found at http://magpietales.blogspot.com/

Reacting, Repressing, and Tea

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 14:18:00 +0000

Is it possible to go through life each day with a "clear mind" and in a "meditative state"? Is it possible to divorce ourselves from the world, or to "be one" with it at all times, repressing the natural urge to react in what we perceive to be a negative response (screaming, crying, shouting, biting...)

The students in the monastery were in total awe of the elder monk, not because he was strict, but because nothing ever seemed to upset or ruffle him. So they found him a bit unearthly and even frightening.

One day they decided to put him to a test. A bunch of them very quietly hid in a dark corner of one of the hallways, and waited for the monk to walk by. Within moments, the old man appeared, carrying a cup of hot tea. Just as he passed by, the students all rushed out at him screaming as loud as they could.

But the monk showed no reaction whatsoever. He peacefully made his way to a small table at the end of the hall, gently placed the cup down, and then, leaning against the wall, cried out with shock, "Ohhhhh!"

I remember my last month in my first Real Apartment. I was 18 and had just lost my job. I scraped up every last bit of cash to be found and brought it to the landlord. How sad for him that it was close to $150 in coins and crumpled dollar bills. He was angry. He shouted. He said things to me that were rude. His behavior scared me. Reacting to it in a negative way (screaming back, being spiteful or cursing at him) wouldn’t solve my immediate issue, and I had indeed paid the full rent and was not in the wrong. Why should I be upset just because his reaction to the form of payment was poor? How he chose to interact with the world was his issue and not mine. I shook off my fear as I walked back to my apartment.

How we react to a situation is important. Human beings tend to let Ego (I!) govern their existence. Our reaction is based upon a sense of self (who doesn’t think they aren’t the center of their own little universe?) and how the self is feeling at any particular time about any particular thing.

Cheri Huber, a student and teacher of Zen for over thirty years, explains it very simply it "That Which You Are Seeking is Causing You to Seek".

I have lost my favorite teacup. I have two choices.
I can have lost my teacup and be miserable.
I can have lost my teacup and be all right.
In either case, the teacup is gone.

Gnashing and wailing won’t make a problem go away. The key is to accept that the problem happened, not punish myself or others for a lost cup, and move on.

In the story at the beginning of this entry, I shared the story of the unflappable monk who wasn’t immediately fazed when the students jumped out and shouted. He didn’t spill a drop of tea. He was aware of the situation and did not react until after he had gone to a table and put his cup down. He then leaned against the wall and cried out with shock.

If we are feeling an emotion but telling ourselves to repress it, then it is repressed and repressing us. We become emotionally or physically unwell. If we are feeling an emotion and choose to cling to it, then it governs us and we live our lives in a state of stress and negate our own well-being. Be gracious enough to allow yourself to feel the emotion and then allow it to fizzle away. New feelings and emotions come along every day, after all. Dwelling on the feeling or situation (picking at scabs!) won't change the past.

“Don’t get scared/angry/sad” won't work. Getting scared or angry is natural. We shouldn't punish ourselves for naturally reacting to our environment.

“Do not be scared/angry/sad” is better. It is okay to feel these emotions as long as we don't allow them to define us and how we will be. We can be aware that something has occurred and accept that the situation happened.

This line of thinking opens up a whole new possibility: we can cope with the situation itself.

Memories of Dad Wheeler

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 16:08:00 +0000

Jeff’s Dad passed away tonight after a brief battle with cancer and dementia. His sister Lee had called us the day before to tell us that Dad was going into hospice, and earlier today because his health was rapidly failing.

Jeff and I are devastated. We knew this was coming but we didn’t expect it to happen so quickly. We sobbed and trembled. This was the first time either of us has lost a parent; it’s a horrid fear that I have dreaded facing for many years now.

Dad (Doug) Wheeler was a fantastic father (I leave off “in-law”, thank you very much, he's Dad). He was such a quiet man, gentle and inquisitive. I first met him after Jeff and I were married, and loved him instantly.

His visit to Colorado was the perfect time for Jeff and him to strengthen their father-son bond. Brooks, Dad’s sheltie, made the long drive with him, and the three of them trooped around Colorado Springs while I was at work.

We visited Dad in Phoenix for Thanksgiving shortly after, making the long drive in our grumbling Jeep Grand Wagoneer. Trusty vehicle (Lucas) took us over snowy highways even when semis were sliding back down the long climbs.

Dad was a perfect host, taking us all over the Phoenix area after work, and showing us Luke AFB. We explored malls, trekked into the mountains to visit Jerome and other potential places for us to relocate to, and hung out on his back patio. Dad had launched a campaign against rocks in his yard, patiently picking them up (when Brooks wasn’t busy bringing them to him) and he had quite a pile going in his yard. He worked for the AZ EPA for many years, and wasn’t one for water-wasting lawns and landscaping.

We had looked at homes in his Surprise, AZ subdivision (I believe the model was called The Brisas) but were disappointed that the VA would not cover the amount needed to purchase. We put the move to AZ on the back burner, and slowly it slipped away as housing prices shoved us out of the market.

Years later, after our relocation to Ohio, Dad came for a visit. We were so excited to have him here. I was still new to blogging and tried to keep up with chronicling everything, but what I did not capture were all the wonderful conversations we had on the front porch in the evening.

Dad loved to tell stories about his past, and wasn’t ever ashamed of admitting to making mistakes. He loved to invite the Jehovah’s Witnesses in for cold water and a chat. He told of his woes with Lee and Doug Jr, and his happy memories of their childhood (and Jeff’s, although Jeff was a right little shit in his teens). He loved sports, especially baseball and football, but I think he loved napping during games even more. He found joy in watching the local wildlife, be in in AZ or OH. He ate simple meals, lived a simple life and knew how precious peace can be.

These are some of the entries from my blog during the summer of 2006, which was Dad’s last visit with us:

June 17 2006
Dad had arrived the day before, and we picked him up from the Pittsburgh Airport. My reflections the following morning:

I spotted Dad in the crowd and called to Jeff. Dad looks great! He's trim, and as always, has a wonderful smile on his face… Dad enjoyed seeing all the green on the rolling hills (Phoenix is flat and brown.) He also enjoyed sitting on the front porch, listening to the tinkle of the fountain in the yard. Steubenville isn't a busy town, and the night was peaceful. The fireflies have finally come out!

Later, on June 17
Today was the day to partake in all the different festivals going on around Steubenville. Within a few minutes of each other, you could hit the Greek Festival, the Classic Car Show, the Dean Martin Festival, the Lion's Club Block party thingy, and a host of other activities. Our day started in downtown Steubenville, where we caught the parade going down 4th Street.

As the midday sun got to us, we decided to do a lunch at The Ville (fine food and a very good price), and then drove up the 7 to enjoy Yummy's ice cream (soft serve in just about every flavor you could imagine!) Dad has never been to this area, and he got to enjoy all the rolling green hills… The beautiful Ohio River sparkled on our right hand side as we drove to Toronto - not some brown murky sludge, but a cheerful flow of solid river that beacons you to stop, spread a blanket, and bask in the sunshine at its shore. A few barges and some pleasure craft were traveling slowly north, and you could see people enjoying their day out on the water. Yummys was a relaxing stop, and we ate our ice cream under the shade of an umbrella.

Afterwards, Jeff took a nap (the heat doesn't agree with him as far as his medications go), and Dad and I spent a few relaxing hours on the front porch.

June 18 Father’s Day
We had a wonderful Father's Day today. Admittedly, we didn't do much, which is a very nice way to spend a lazy summer Sunday.

Dad helped me weed the backyard flowerbeds while Jeff retreated into the air conditioned house; he is still worn out from yesterday, and we both have sunburns on our necks and noses. Later in the day, Jeff bar-b-qued a London broil (tenderized with rub and some of my marinara sauce), and we made twice-baked potatoes, and broccoli and onions. We presented Dad with a Steeler's Terrible Towel (if you don't know what that is, I don't think I should ever be able to properly explain it!) Later, Dad and I sat on the front porch and enjoyed conversation. It was a beautiful day.

Jeff's Dad, Doug, is a delightful man - a true Southern Gentleman. He speaks softly, and can capture your attention in witty ways as he recalls things he has done in life. He was Air Force, and now works for the State of Arizona. Between those two jobs, he has done just about everything. He is a hard worker, and never hesitated to do what needed to be done to make ends meet. He has known ups, and he has known downs, and all the while, he has kept his head and done his best to get through everything life throws at him. He is always very polite, and will open doors for women. His smile lights up a room. He is a little shorter than Jeff, but they both have beautiful white hair (Jeff just keeps his close cropped so no one notices that he is balding while his father still has a full head of hair!) He loves to nap during football and baseball games, gets up at 2:30 am (before the hot Arizona heat sets in), and loves to read science fiction. There is no one I would rather have as my Father-in-Law.

19 June
Jeff and Dad have spent the day puttering around the house. I came home [from work] and promptly went to bed. Dad really enjoys sitting on the front porch. He's been getting up early to observe the birds and chipmunks at play, and he enjoys seeing all the green. We have a lovely rain this morning (more storms should hit us this week) and he was able to see our morning fog.

21 June
We spent a lovely two days sightseeing the Ohio Valley area and Pittsburgh. Jeff had VA appointments yesterday and today, which was a wonderful excuse for us to all get out and about!

Tuesday was his Physical Therapy evaluation at the VA in Aspinwall complex in Pittsburgh (it looks like things will go well with that.) This hospital is nestled in a densely wooded area, bordered by fine old homes with magnificent front yards. The drive there is a little hectic, as the highway we take has all sorts of merging ramps and various off ramps, but we found the complex with little effort. We took Dad to the Strip after Jeff's appointment, to show him the shops - we also were low on olive oil and I needed some breadcrumbs - so the timing was perfect. We stopped in at the large Italian market there, and at Parma's for sausage. I found some delicious zucchini at the fruit and veggie market, to boot!

Afterwards, we headed home and I set the men to cleaning while I started my marinara, stuffed peppers and meats. Company showed up right on schedule (my Aunt Helen, Cousin Linda, and Keith and his wife and 2 boys) and we sat down to a huge Italian feast. My Aunt and Cousin absolutely adore Dad, and are so glad he his considering relocating to Ohio. Sorry, no pictures yesterday.

Today was the other VA appointment, again in Pittsburgh at the Highland Drive complex, and Dad was treated to a drive through one of our favorite Jewish neighborhoods (excellent kosher deli there!). I remembered my camera this morning, and took a few snapshots around the VA complex. There is a cozy garden area just behind the building Jeff's doctor is in, and I often sit outside and read my book or smoke while Jeff is being seen upstairs. It is a tranquil place, and I was so happy to share this favorite green nook with Dad. The small garden is surrounded by a high wooden fence, and if you didn't bother to leave the smoking area, you would never find it. Heavy stone benches and tables offer a cool place to rest, and small green trees and shrubs, plus my favorite rock, adorn the inside of the fence proper. It has become slightly overgrown, which only gives me reason to love it more, and birds chirp in the trees overhead.

We stopped by the CEKSF on the way home, in search of a light jacket for Dad. Oakdale really is a charming community, and the scent of freshly cut grass and approaching rain only made the trip all the better. Clothing Sales and the PX were a bust, as they didn't have anything, but I did spot the perfect birthday gift for my Mum (and will return there next week to pick it up!)

On a whim, we drove back to Ohio and headed up the 7 towards St. Clairsville - the Ohio Valley Mall has a lot of shops - and Dad got a chance to see the lush rolling hills. Luck was with us, and we found a nice dark blue light jacket for Dad (who, being from a desert climate, finds or crisp summer mornings a tad chilly.) We had a refreshing rain, and I captured some houses in the mist, as well as the photo below of Jeff and Dad (and his purchase find!) A stop at the Cracker Barrel for lunch, and we headed back. Jeff thought he'd be funny, and started snapping pictures of road signs, as my parents will be heading along this route in a few days. Needless to say, the man took pictures of every turn and sign they would need to look for during their trip from I-70, complete with shots of the corner of our street and driveway! I emailed them to Mum just now.

We are back at home, the men are napping while I work on this entry. I'm fairly exhausted - seven hours of driving does wear one out!

We are really going to be sad when Dad leaves for home, but we are all hoping that things work out well so that he can return here soon, perhaps to stay! It's been wonderful having Dad visit, and Jeff and I are blessed to have him in our lives.

22 June
… I routed home, and picked up Jeff and Dad. We soon found ourselves back at the DMV… A massive storm hit as we waited in line, sheets of rain pouring down, and Dad was able to appreciate a true summer storm, having waited outside to enjoy a cigarette.

23 June
Today was the last day of Dad's visit. It was raining today, as if Ohio, too, was sad to see him leave and openly expressing its tears.

I took my shower and found Dad and Jeff sharing their last few hours of the visit on the front porch. Dad loves spending time out there, watching the birds and chipmunks at play. He loves the green tree and the friendly neighbor's. So, part of me will always think of our front porch as Dad's Porch, the place I always knew I could find him when I came downstairs.

It has been wonderful having Dad here. It did Jeff's heart a lot of good - he has missed his father! They shared laughs over military careers, and talked about the future. I suppose many daughter-in-laws would be grumpy over having her husband's family visit; I am not one of them. Dad is a blessing in our lives, and I can't think of anyone who could replace this handsome Southern Gentleman in our lives. There is no "in-law" tacked onto his title in my heart - he is a Dad in the fullest sense.

We drove up to the airport under rainy skies, and parked. The airport was not crowded today, and we stood in line with Dad as he confirmed his ticket and checked his bag. And then the moment came, when we could have to say good-bye, as we could not follow him beyond the security checkpoint. Dad thanked us for our hospitality, and we reminded him that he would always be welcomed in our home... his presence made it feel like home, to us! We hugged him and kissed him, and turned away, and Jeff put his arm around me as I began to cry as we walked. I was already missing him - we both were. There is no sweet sorrow in partings; there is only sadness because the one you love has to leave. None-the-less, we comforted ourselves in knowing that we would all meet up again soon. It was not a final good-bye - only a farewell until we see you again!

Jeff and I stopped at Cracker Barrel by the airport, just to sit and nibble on stuff. I saw a plate there which had a beautiful painting of a bird. I thought of Dad, and how he loves to watch the birds, and bought it. It sits upon my Victrola, so that, as I gaze out the front window, I can see that plate out of the tail of my eye, and remember a very special gentleman who so enjoyed all the beauty of our new home state.

We love you, Dad!

We will miss Dad, and never forget his quiet ways. Part of me is doused in the deepest grief, but part of me knows that, had he a choice, Dad would have preferred to slip quietly and quickly, not a burden upon family or placed long-term in a home or hospice. Had he a choice, a real choice, he would have chosen to live much longer, exploring the world through long drives interspersed with short naps.

We’ll don’t know the state of his estate, and Jeff has asked if Lee can take money from the estate to fly him out there so they can settle matters and make arrangements. We don’t know if Uncle Neal and Aunt Jan will be able to fly out. We've never been through this process and suddenly everything looks imposing.

2012: No Resolutions

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 01:31:00 +0000

The future is something which everyone reaches at the rate of 60 minutes an hour, whatever he does, whoever he is.
(C. S. Lewis)

The trouble with our times is that the future is not what it used to be.

(Paul Valery)

2012 New Year Resolutions: an opportunity to expand upon all the forgotten resolutions which, only twelve months prior, were so wholeheartedly made in a futile effort to “rebirth” and “improve” oneself from the being that existed only twelve months prior to that, when similar resolutions were cast and also promptly forgotten.

I don’t bother with resolutions any more. It is better to improve upon life one day at a time at a rate of sixty minutes per hour rather than pushing in all stops and hoping to instantaneously terminate all vices. Having the energy to make small improvements and actually setting those improvements into motion is a varied thing, and I really haven’t reached the point where I want to expend the mental energy.

I “want to”. I “need to” but I am “not ready to”. Not yet. It will take a high degree of frustration for me to be set in motion. That isn’t to say that I’m not currently frustrated with my life; the frustration is dampened by depression and so does not reach full boil. This is been the norm for the past four years.

This year is the end of resolutions and thus the end of promises I make to myself and then break. Perhaps, in an unintentionally Zen-like state, I’ve chosen to become empty in order to be filled?

Nan-in, a Japanese master during the Meiji era (1868-1912), received a university professor who came to inquire about Zen.
Nan-in served tea. He poured his visitor's cup full, and then kept on pouring.
The professor watched the overflow until he no longer could restrain himself. "It is overfull. No more will go in!"
"Like this cup," Nan-in said, "you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?"

2011 Year-End Meme

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 00:42:00 +0000

And when is there time to remember, to sift, to weigh, to estimate, to total?
~ Tillie Olsen

The objective of this meme is to reflect back upon the year. Flip through your blog and look at the very first entry for each month. Take the first sentence from that entry. Cluster them into a single post (as seen below) and tag other friends so that they might do the same.

I've done this several years in a row now, often tagging friends' blogs and encouraging them to do the same. I think Facebook and other social sites have replaced the home blogger. It's a pity.

January 1, 2011

A new year has arrived.

February 8, 2011

The stark grey sky outside my living room window is silhouetted by moisture-blacked branches; both blizzards have bypassed us, leaving only ice and freezing rain in their wake.

March 4, 2011

The Knocking Thrush is my "nature blog" and contains posts regarding my nature and garden exploits, and can be found at http://thrush.blogspot.com.

April 12, 2011

An online friend (and my favorite hero) started blogging: Journey of My Heart.

May 29, 2011

One of my old friends (whom I am currently very angry with) has a fluid way of retelling his adventures.

June 29, 2011

Obviously, I haven’t visited here in a while; Facebook usurped every joule of my lingering blogging energies.

July 1, 2011

August 11, 2011

What a summer!

Sept 2011

(None)

October 8, 2011

A composer-based photography challenge!

November 10, 2011

I don’t have pet peeves. I have whole kennels of irritation. I bring it upon myself, of course, by adopting them, feeding them and taking them for walks.

December 22, 2011

Better Half and I visited Phipps this evening and enjoyed the Candlelight Evening and Winter Flower Show.

- fin -

Christmas: Phipps Candlelight Evening

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 04:02:00 +0000

Better Half and I visited Phipps this evening and enjoyed the Candlelight Evening and Winter Flower Show.

With seasonal blooms, twinkling lights, aromatic greens, and other adornments, our 1893 Victorian glasshouse has been transformed into a winter wonderland complete with whimsical scenes where the Sugar Plum Fairy, toy soldiers and princely nutcrackers enchant visitors of every age.

Upon entering the Conservatory, you will be dazzled by elegant swags with brightly-colored bows and festive arrangements, while “Polar Bear” poinsettias, “Merry Christmas” amaryllis and “Glacier” ivy deck the halls as you ascend to Palm Court – a magical place where chandeliers, a grandfather clock and portrait frames made almost entirely of plants will be featured in a lavish mansion scene.

It was as beautiful as promised, from the outside and all through within. We’ve never been to the conservatory in the evening and it was a delightful thrill seeing things “anew” under evening’s cloak.

Koch High School’s string quartet greeted us in the Palm Court. They were grouped in front of the first of many spectacular trees.

The Serpentine Room was a world’s tour of themed trees, each touching upon a country. We especially loved the Russian, Asian and Spanish Dance trees.

The Fern Room and Orchid Room are absolutely glorious at night.

We love the “butterfly room”, but this isn’t the time of year for them. The Stove Room was, instead, a wandering journey over candlelit paths and past tinkling water.

The trains were set up in the South Conservatory. We watched them working on these displayers early last fall. Children (and Better Half) were delighted by the moving trains and miniature villages.

They didn’t do very much to the Tropical Forest Conservatory (thank goodness). The plants were illuminated by small rustic lights, and each waterway or fall became a living creature rushing past in the twilight lurking just off the trail.

Santa was not in the Gallery this evening but there was plenty of evidence that he enjoyed visiting. A beautiful sleigh was nestled between more lively trees, watched over by a trio of bears.

Thoughtful volunteers tended to every facet of the building, adding holiday cheer to each nook, corner and wall. Clever nutcrackers, Rat Kings, trees made entirely of vermilions enticed the eyes to investigate everything closer.

Even the Sunken Room, normally filled with water and straight lines, became a whimsical playplace.

The Desert Room did not disappoint.

And the Victoria Room contained a massive tree with brilliant lights that twinkled in the reflective water surrounding it.

The Paterre de Broderie was tastefully done, although it still grieves me that I can’t see the exquisite details on the statues at the very rear of the garden.

One of the most playful rooms, the East Room, was a Land of Sweets delight. A massive gingerbread house stole the show, standing several feet high and festooned with fresh fruits.

I’m very glad that we went. It helped to lift some of my depression, and made for a charming change of pace.

Some odds and ends from along the way...

Regarding Social Network Sites, Holidays and Small-mindedness

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 22:52:00 +0000

My Facebook Friends come from all over the world, brightening my life daily. Some of their friends have left some fairly harsh comments, however.

A ham-fisted approach is reserved for certain topics. People offer their opinions as tactfully as Frankenstein’s monster swinging a bloated corpse at cobwebs; sooner or later the cadaver’s distended belly will strike something solid and splatter putrescence all over the screen.

I ducked some fairly rank ichor the other morning regarding the use of “Happy Holidays” in place of “Merry Christmas”.

There was an unassuming pile of squelchy poo lurking near a holiday trees posting. All seemed safe until I made the mistake of looking at ALL the comments and beheld Golgothan.

What follows are my observations. They are entirely my personal opinion. I do not expect anyone to agree with me. In fact, I am human enough to understand that my own cynical view is offensive to some people.

Wasn’t that easy?

Regarding views expressed on Social Networking Sites

Free Speech and Christianity:
I draw the line at mockery of a person’s religion. Why do some people feel it is socially (and psychologically) acceptable to shit upon another person's heart-treasure?

No one is telling you, me or anyone to believe in the Christian God. We should agree with the belief or else we should disagree with it, accept that we do not believe in it, accept that the other person deeply believes, and then move on. Any negative reaction (such as posts referring to a sacred deity as “stupid Sky Fairy”) will depict the writer as trifling and their emotional state as puerile.

By the way, I don’t approve of “Zombie Jesus” references at Eastertide. The quickest way to be booted from my circle is to post something so insensitive. You aren’t clever or witty. I have difficulty making the distinction between that vulgarity and the filth promoted by Westboro Baptist (“God hates soldiers” fame).

It is my belief that people who use phrases such as “zombie Jesus” or “sky fairy” do so because they do not realize how offense such phrases are or they do so because they understand the offensive nature of the phrases but find humor in them. Some even use them in an attempt to shock or punish those who hold the belief. (Any theories on this?) It is also my belief that people who use these sorts of phrases when describing a sacred thing are nothing more than bigots or bullies.

Merry Christmas or Else:
“Merry” is O.E. myrige, meaning “pleasing”, stemming from P.Gmc murgijaz, which is believed to have means “short lived”. It was used more extensively in M.E., somewhat embraced as a fad. Someone who is merry-begot is an illegitimate child (“bastard”) created after a merry-bout (tryst outside of marriage). To wish someone a merry anything, one must accept that they are wishing that person a brief yet agreeable or pleasant thing. I’ve always found it odd to wish someone a briefly satisfying holy day.

“Happy”, when alluding to events, is “turning out well” and first used as such in the late 14c. “Happy Hunting” (as one of my dear friends is fond of saying) is nothing more than “May your hunt turn out well”. Likewise, wishing someone Happy Christmas/Holidays is wishing that someone’s Christmas/Holidays turn out well.

The etymology of “holiday”, stems from the 1500s, earlier than haliday (c.1200), from Old English halidæg “holy day; Sabbath,” from halig “holy” + dæg “day”; in 14c meaning both “religious festival” and “day of recreation,” but pronunciation and sense diverged 16c. (etymologyonline.com)

Christmas, of course, stems from O.E. Christes mæsse (Christ’s mass) and is a nod towards Catholicism with “mass” (V.L. missa or “eucharistic service”.)

Christmastide (circa 1620s) was meant to be the period of holy days between Dec 25 and Jan 6 (Catholic Feast of the Nativity). “Blessed Christmastide, ye gentlemen”.

Yule is from a far older Norse word. "O.E. geol, geola "Christmas Day, Christmastide," from O.N. jol (pl.), a heathen feast, later taken over by Christianity, of unknown origin. The O.E. (Anglian) cognate giuli was the Anglo-Saxons' name for a two-month midwinter season corresponding to Roman December and January, a time of important feasts but not itself a festival. After conversion to Christianity it narrowed to mean "the 12-day feast of the Nativity" (which began Dec. 25), but was replaced by Christmas by 11c., except in the northeast (areas of Danish settlement), where it remained the usual word. Revived 19c. by writers to mean "the Christmas of 'Merrie England.' " First direct reference to the Yule log is 17c. O.N. jol seems to have been borrowed in O.Fr. as jolif, hence Mod.Fr. joli "pretty, nice," originally "festive"." (etymologyonline.com)

X-Mas takes Christ out of Christmas:
Xmas is circa 1551, "from X’temmas, wherein the X is an abbreviation for Christ in Christmas, from first letter of Gk. Christos "Christ" (see Christ). The earlier way to abbreviate it was Xp- or Xr-, corresponding to "Chr-," and the form Xres mæsse for "Christmas" appears in the "Anglo-Saxon Chronicle" (c.1100)." (etymologyonline.com)

Outspoken Atheists:
Every year, my atheist ex would walk out his front door on a fair-weather Saturday, gaze around at the other men untangling lights or hauling plastic Santa Claus decorations from their garages, and he'd good-humoredly shout "PEWF!" while waving his arms wildly at his own house. His lack of decorations reflected his contentment to keep Dec 25 as a day set aside for sleeping in. He was not an Outspoken Atheist. He was simply an atheist.

There isn’t anything wrong with not celebrating the season. I do think it’s crass to use the “spiritual holiday time” as an excuse to tell Sally Housewife or John Q Public that personal belief in the “sky fairy” is stupid.

The American Atheists had billboard campaigns for the purpose of waging “a war on intolerance and ignorance” (according to the AA website). I find it hard to believe that a group which proclaims itself as authoritative on Reason would so completely fail to recognize that their billboards smack of intolerance of religious beliefs and ignorance of the multi-cultural aspect of our nation.

But it is my RIGHT!
There is such a thing as being so open-minded that the brain leaks out. I don’t believe in political correctness but I do advocate tempering beliefs with a salubrious dollop of appropriate etiquette.

Human rights should never cease to be egalitarian. The International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights exists for a reason. Perhaps people confuse Freedom of Speech (Article 19 ) with Freedom of Thought, Conscience and Freedom of Religion (Article 18)?

It is good and proper that people be given the right to express themselves but that expression should not reach the point where their intolerant spirit conflicts with the right of another to hold dear his own beliefs. One can freely express their beliefs if time is taken to do so logically (and conscientiously!)

Consider the following examples:
“I don’t believe in God so I don’t celebrate Easter.” vs “Zombie Jebus is going to visit the Christians and shit chocolate eggs for them.”

“My religious beliefs, in accordance with Holy Scripture, are that marriage is between one man and one woman.” vs “God hates fags.”

“Sharia law confuses me. Why are the women required to wear that covering?” vs “Stupid raghead men keep women in oppression.”

Life is not Twitter; no one wants to hear our every utterance or ephemeral thought. Facebook is more “In Your FACE!” We set ourselves up as gods and then grow irritated when our disgruntled audience declines to bow to our mortality, and more irate when they dare to assert their own godhood via unaccommodating comments on our post!

In other words, “we ain’t all that and a bag of chips”.

Pet Peeves

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 01:47:00 +0000

I don’t have pet peeves. I have whole kennels of irritation. I bring it upon myself, of course, by adopting them, feeding them and taking them for walks.

I saw the picture on Facebook and had to add my own take.

Halloween 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Mon, 31 Oct 2011 07:44:00 +0000

Happy Halloween!

Better Half and I spent the evening watching television and handing out candy. When did we turn into our parents?

I keep some traditions from my childhood. Pumpkins should be gored and then mutilated into bread while their seeds toast in a hot oven. The bread came out of a box this year (boo hiss, flavorless) but I had fun with the carving.

We had a good turn-out of costumed candy fiends despite the rain and cold.

Some of the dogs were banished to the kitchen where they were less apt to annoy us with barking; Don't pity them. Both are evil. I don't know how to break them of their barking habit. It is obnoxious and they do it for no reason.

Better Half and Nutmeg manned the door. She was very well-behaved and stood by patiently while Better Half dropped candy into plastic bags and pillow cases. (A trick-or-treater asked Better Half what his costume was. He responded, "a stay at home dad". Fitting, considering he was wearing manky pajama bottoms and an ugly shirt. It would have been better if he said "crazy old veteran" but the kiddies wouldn't understand the joke.)

We ran out of candy and closed up shop at 8 PM. Better Half has promised to mail Mum's package tomorrow (and then cook smelts for me!)

It's 3:30 AM and I'm having a deja vu moment like none other, replete with the War of the Worlds radio broadcast that I listen to every year. I have no idea why the human brain experiences these but I will swear that I lived this moment before, perhaps in the fading tendrils of a departing dream. Meh. It lasted less than a minute but was vivid. Nifty.

Where was I?

Sammy crashed out most of the evening. (I was going in a different direction but the moment unnerved me. Am I asleep? Do I have brain cancer? What causes this ethereal weirdness and is it actually important that it be acknowledged? What if I don't mentally chant "deja vu, deja vu, deja vu" the next time it happens? Will the horrid things that are supposed to follow actually follow? Is the premonition nothing more than an anomaly of memory?)

Truth be told, there are some days where brain farts make better sense than the real world. There are also days where I wish I could pile all the couch pillows over my head and glare at passersby.

(Nobody does the glare as well as Zombie Zephyr.)

The War of the Worlds

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Mon, 31 Oct 2011 01:45:00 +0000

The War of the Worlds.

There is no fictional work that stirs my imagination like H.G. Wells The War of the Worlds. Phenomenal book. However, the radio broadcast offered by Orson Welles resonates deeply within me, sparking my imagination and taking me back in time to when modern technology was fresh and women still wore hats affixed to their hair with pins.

As described on one web site, "The War of the Worlds was an episode of the American radio drama anthology series Mercury Theatre on the Air. It was performed as a Halloween episode of the series on October 30, 1938 and aired over the Columbia Broadcasting System radio network. Directed and narrated by Orson Welles, the episode was an adaptation of H. G. Wells' novel The War of the Worlds.

The first two thirds of the 60-minute broadcast was presented as a series of simulated news bulletins, which suggested to many listeners that an actual Martian invasion was in progress.

Compounding the issue was the fact that the Mercury Theatre on the Air was a 'sustaining show' (it ran without commercial breaks), thus adding to the dramatic effect. Although there were sensationalist accounts in the press about a supposed panic in response to the broadcast, the precise extent of listener response has been debated. In the days following the adaptation, however, there was widespread outrage. The program's news-bulletin format was decried as cruelly deceptive by some newspapers and public figures, leading to an outcry against the perpetrators of the broadcast, but the episode launched Orson Welles to fame.

Welles' adaptation was one of the Radio Project's first studies."

I love the old radio broadcasts. I think my father fostered that appreciation in me. The spoken word and few sound effects was enough to paint a vivid picture for the mind's eye. It was how people connected. It was how news was broadcast, music shared and stories spun. It was all done live. The world was a gentler, more-trusting place.

I read the H.G. Wells story as a child. I absolutely loved it; It absolutely terrified me. I then heard a radio broadcast (they played it every year in L.A.) and it unsettled me. However, my affair with the story began one fateful afternoon when the TV was on, Mum was busy on the phone, and I was left to my own devices.

This movie scared the shit out of me, and there really isn't any better way to phrase it. It was an absolute crapper moment. My eyes were glued to that old Zenith floor model as the alien ship sailed over the trees and scorched itself deep into my memory.

I was far too young to be watching it. To begin with, I wasn't potty trained yet. My toddler's mind later convinced me that the top of that damn space ship would somehow come out of drain if I flushed the toilet, ergo I would flush and run back to my room, vault onto my bed and pull covers or my pillow over my head. I did not want to die by horrible red sparks and I knew with every tender fiber of my young being that the camera part of that spaceship could get through any crack and enter my room soundlessly.

Years later the movie was remade and I love it even though it does not match the original movie or radio broadcast. Perhaps it is because the newer movie capitalized on those ships? They ceased to be flying tanks and became true instruments of violation; nothing was sacred, they moved just as silently as before, and death and terror were turbulent in their wake.

There are transcripts and recordings of Welles' broadcast. They are not played on Oct 30 anymore but I still hunt them down every year and listen. These are best listened to after the house has gone quiet for the night. Turn off the television, lower the lights and step back in time.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

People were deeply frightened by this program. Some had tuned in late and did not realize it was fiction. Others were caught up in the story execution and their disbelief was momentarily suspended. It created an uproar.

It even pissed off the Canadians!

In the end, people were reassured that the world was not coming to an end. A monument was erected to honor the moment and life went on.

It's fitting that the radio broadcast should end with Welles speaking the following:

"This is Orson Welles, ladies and gentlemen, out of character to assure you that The War of The Worlds has no further significance than as the holiday offering it was intended to be: the Mercury Theatre's own radio version of dressing up in a sheet and jumping out of a bush and saying "Boo!" Starting now, we couldn't soap all your windows and steal all your garden gates by tomorrow night, so we did the best next thing. We annihilated the world before your very ears, and utterly destroyed the C. B. S. You will be relieved, I hope, to learn that we didn't mean it, and that both institutions are still open for business. So goodbye everybody, and remember, please, for the next day or so the terrible lesson you learned tonight: that grinning, glowing, globular invader of your living room is an inhabitant of the pumpkin patch, and if your doorbell rings and nobody's there, that was no Martian -- it's Halloween."

Upside-Down Clouds - Altocumulus Undulatus

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 04:35:00 +0000

What clouds? These clouds:

Altocumulus undulatus

Batter Half will (of course) tell me (again) what these clouds are called (he's only told me a dozen times so far). I wanted to blog the pictures here before I completely forgot about them. He did an excellent job photographing them.

UPDATE:
"Altocumulus undulatus," Better Half says while popping a cheap frozen pizza into the oven, "are caused by wind shear." (I've added captions to the photos above.)

I call them "Upside-Down Clouds". They remind me of thick sea foam washing over the sky, as if my world had turned topsy-turvy. They are most beautiful when blanketing the sky above a large meadow, or when viewed from the cockpit of an airplane at 5000 feet.

Events

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Mon, 17 Oct 2011 22:21:00 +0000

This is a running list of local activities.

Shakerwoods Festival
August 11-12, 18-19, 25-26 2012.
"Here we will carry on the tradition of hosting more than 200 of the best juried craftspeople in the country. Each craftsperson will be dressed in Shaker period clothing while demonstrating and selling their remarkable handmade wares.

While on the grounds, bring your walking shoes for a journey down the rustic paths throughout the beautifully manicured woods, while enjoying the aroma of great country cooking over open fires and the sound of free entertainment located at three different stages throughout the woods. If rest and relaxation are your desire during the day, enjoy one of our extraordinary man-made gardens that only Shaker Woods can deliver. It’s simply relaxing." $7.00 per day per adult, 12 and under are FREE, parking is FREE.

Antiques in the Woods
Sept 8 & 9 2012

An Exquisite Fall Event Located on the Shaker Woods Grounds. $6.00 per adult per day, 12 and under free.

Old-Fashioned Christmas in the Woods
2012 Dates unknown
"Old-fashioned Christmas in the Woods at beautiful Shaker Woods in Columbiana, Ohio is back for its 17th season, and it's bigger than ever! Here's your opportunity to shop for hand-crafted holiday gift items from some of the country's best craftspeople in a setting that only Shaker Woods can deliver.

The woods will be transformed into a holiday wonderland with each booth beautifully decorated in an old-fashioned holiday theme. Each craftsperson will be demonstrating their unique skills and fashioning those precious gifts right before your eyes.

Craftspeople include woodworkers, floral designers, blacksmiths, potters, tole painters, basket weavers and many others.

There will be plenty of delicious foods including some holiday favorites cooked in the old-fashioned way. Live entertainment will help make it an event for the entire family! Come and have an old-fashioned good time!

Hours for the festival are 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. each day. General admissions tickets will be on sale at the gate. Admission for adults is $7.00 per day, and children 12 years old and younger are admitted free. Acres of FREE parking, too! (No pets, please.)

For more information on attending the show or becoming a participant in future events, you may send us an email, or call (724) 774-6341 or fax (724) 774-6351. If you wish to receive this information through the mail or in a fax, please tell us your mailing address or fax number."

Snapshots

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Sun, 09 Oct 2011 23:27:00 +0000

A new snapshots taken on the way home from Wheeling:

I finally remembered to pull over and photograph this sign.

Barges transport coal along the Ohio River. This one is headed south, towards Wheeling.

Mallards at the marina. I wonder what the female said to capture their attention.

Bridge. It's a theme out here.

Various fire departments were at the marina. We weren't sure if they were flushing out the tanks or conducting a burning river exercise.

Forlorn and forsaken, a crumbling boat ramp's rusted sentinel.

Another view of the bridge.

There is always something to see even if only we take the time to look for it.

Tchaikovsky Challenge

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Sat, 08 Oct 2011 18:07:00 +0000

A composer-based photography challenge! I saw this and thought of my friend Annie.

"Composer and conductor Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky visited the United States in 1891 to conduct at Carnegie Hall’s very first opening night concert. The Russian composer loved traveling, and he found the lure of the New World—and of New York City—very exciting.

If Tchaikovsky were a guest in your town, where would you take him? Take a photo with your own cut-out Tchaikovsky and show us."

For more information or to participate, visit http://www.carnegiehall.org.

Pembroke Kitchen

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Thu, 11 Aug 2011 21:35:00 +0000

What a summer! A major plumbing malfunction occurred in July. It rained from the bathroom into the kitchen for several days before the plumbers could arrive. By then, I was tired of using the basement bathroom (think cinder blocks and cobwebs) and frustrated by the amount of damage to my kitchen ceiling and wall.

Our kitchen was dreadful to begin with. It was a visual cacophony of country apples and cheap laminated white counter tops, covered by an ancient drop ceiling, encased by 1970's era wood paneling, yet partially redeemed by a decent floor and oak cabinets. I painted the paneling in 2007 and that was the end of any desire to "quick fix",... until the 2011 Deluge.

9 June 2011

The plumbers popped out ceiling tiles and tore out soggy plaster pathways to access and replace the century-old pipes. It wasn't an easy fix, especially removing the wet wall in order to remove the cast iron main stack.

Unfortunately, they extended the new pipes lower than the original ceiling. I wanted to restore to the actual ceiling height and I was a bit ticked off at the setback but there was little I could do.

Our contractor gave us a ballpark estimate in early July and then scheduled to began work towards the end of the month. Insurance would cover as much as possible, with a $500 deductible. We had a minor setback when the company's executives reviewed everything and determined that their initial estimate was too conservative for the amount of work that needed to be done. I still don't have the final bill (yes, I'm worried) but the job isn't technically finished yet.

The best part of this entire process was demolition. We saved a fair amount of money by doing it on our own. I tore my way through ancient wallpaper and cheap wood.

Old homes have wonderful discoveries in walls, and our house wasn't the exception. The downstairs laundry chute and folding ironing board niche were hidden behind a section of the paneling. Faux (pink!) bricks once adorned the lower portion of the kitchen, topped by nasty country cutesie wallpaper, circa 1970s.

24 July 2011 Laundry chute and ironing board found.

25 July 2011 Panels removed, faux brick exposed.


24 July 2011 Color choices reflective of original colors.

I selected my color and counter top choices well before demolition began but I was pleasantly surprised to discover that they were close to what was originally in the kitchen.

We are not in a financial position to install luxury items. My dream kitchen would have Wolf and Sub-Zero appliances, Travertine floor tile, glass wall tile and sleek fixtures. I told Better Half early into this project that pouring gasoline into the middle of the room and tossing in a match would be a major improvement, so I'm not too concerned with a quick yet less elegant change. I'm more than happy having new laminate counters, smooth walls, no exposed pipes, an inexpensive light and smartly painted beadboard.

The contractor, limited by what the insurance was willing to pay, was quick to agree with my decisions. He sent in Mike the Carpenter, a friendly fellow with a good eye for details. Everything fell into place at that point.

27 July 2011 Beadboard up and pipes framed.

29 July 2011 Drywall up.


5 Aug 2011 Walls primed.

11 Aug 2011 A Zen moment for me.

The painter will (hopefully) return tomorrow to finish the trim. I'll upload final pictures once the work is completed.

I've loaded some things back into the kitchen but my dining room has suffered from the clutter. It reminds me of a hoarder house. I can't find anything.

27 July A hoarder's dining room???

A Day...

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Sat, 09 Jul 2011 21:06:00 +0000

Mid-Summer...

The thermometer under our shaded porch reads 82*F. It feels much hotter in the sunshine, humidity or not. This wonderfully mild summer has so far been kind to us although the lack of rain causes stress on my more-delicate plants.

We spent the afternoon weeding the flower beds. Densely packed planting areas deter weeds, for the most part, but the crab grass thrives under the vibrant leaf canopies. We found three wild memosas, hardly two inches tall, and planted them in a spare pot. Perhaps I’ll overwinter them indoors and see if I can get them to thrive in the back garden next spring.

Mother nature doomed the lawns. A velvety tapestry of broad leaf monsters, stitchwort and clover took over large patches, filling in the spots where the heat (and gas line work of last year) has weakened the grasses. It looks lovely when freshly mowed and viewed at a distance.

Biting flies drove us from the front porch. They attacked in small clusters while we watered the vegetation. Citronella candles do little to dissuade them. (I paused to relight one just now and managed to drip hot wax down my favorite yellow tee shirt. Damn it all.)

Our peppers are thriving, as are the tomatoes. We’ll have good things to eat in another week or two. The basil thrives in the humidity, although the parsley isn’t too pleased with it. We plant anything else this year because we knew we wouldn’t have the energy to tend it. Porch gardening limits the amount of produce but is much simpler than trying to weed large beds or long rows.

Better Half has gone in search of a new propane tank so we can grill tonight. Yester, he picked up his favorite fresh burgers (nasty things stuffed with cheese and other products) and I found a pretty t-bone. We’ll rummage through the veg we didn’t eat last week and see what can be steamed. I’ve wanted to make corn and tomato salad but haven’t felt much like cooking this week.

I really don’t know where my energy went this season. My insomnia has kept me up until the wee hours of the morning (or later, say 6 am!) and I seemed to have turned into a diurnal sleeper. According to my mother, I was a nocturnal minster as a child, refusing to go to bed and nasty to wake up in the morning. I’d rather stay up all night and enjoy the tranquility than spend a day shackled to the phone or sitting in a café or park. I’ve turned into an unequivocally antisocial shit. Go with your natural talents, I always say. The downside of this is that I have a long laundry list of things that I really need to get done if I can just get back to sleeping at night: phone calls to return, an Asian lilac to prune back, walks with Better Half in the park, CAP work and a newsletter to finish, and so on.

“Why don’t you do it now, Aut?”

Please. I’m getting ready to wash all the dirt and sweat off and take a nap.

Note to self: if you stuff weeds and trash into an empty soda can, don’t put it next to the fresh can. You’ll get a nose full of gunk when you try to drink out of it.

The Spider's Meal

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Thu, 07 Jul 2011 13:30:00 +0000

I love my yards most in the early hours of the morning and at twilight. Wildlife is most active during these times, a beautifully orchestrated symphony of insects, birds and plant life.

This morning, I had hope to digitally capture the humming birds that had (finally!) returned to feed off of the memosa blooms. I wasn't very successful and occupied myself by photographing a few stills of my budding tomatoes and pepper flowers. A sudden, violent movement caught my eye.

A spider had snared a small beetle in her web. It had alighted as I was zooming in on a particularly graceful grouping of young tomatoes and the spider, lurking somewhere under the porch railing, burst onto her web with dazzling speed, snaring the befuddled insect and poisoning him.

It was a fabulous display but I wasn't able to recalibrate my camera to catch the entire dance. I had to settle with a few shots of her struggling with the dying insect before her feast.

My Birthday 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Sat, 02 Jul 2011 02:05:00 +0000

My birthday began at 2 AM – the Meowing Menace of Pembroke took it upon herself to herald in the new day by prowling the halls and bedroom, moaning and grinding against the bed like a feverish crack whore in need of a fix. It is her nightly ritual and it lasts until the wee hours of the morn. She wants to be pet. She wants to be kissed. She wants to sit on someone’s face or chest, vigorously propelling cat hair up their nostrils or into their eyes because they, her insignificant staff, can not possibly exist without her molecules breaching their every pore. We don’t see her during the day (unless she graces us with her presence as she vomits up a hairball or some undigested kitty kibble).

Better Half had his PT appointment, we called Mum and she sung "Happy Birthday" to me, and then we headed to Pittsburgh. Our first stop was the Robinson Dennys (eternally pronounced den-WAHs) for my free birthday breakfast. It’s an Old Punk thing. They were recovering from a breakfast rush (comprised mainly of loud, testosterone-packed young adults, and I do use “adult” loosely) so we had a bit of a wait. The waitress was a kindly dear, obviously overworked already, and the service was excellent.

We trekked through the Fort Pitt Tunnel and into Pittsburgh proper, weaving through grey streets bustling with pedestrian traffic. A very tangible pre-holiday feeling surrounded us. ThePittsburgh Three Rivers Regatta begins tomorrow. It will be wild.

Phipps Conservatory wasn’t as crowded as we’d expected. We renewed our membership, accepted some lovely coffee table books as gifts, and enthusiastically entered the Happiest Humid Spot in PA.

We had a delightful time. Our preferred exhibits are Butterfly Forest and Headwaters of the Amazon.

Butterfly Forest is an all-ages-pleaser; children especially enjoy wandering the paths while graceful insects dance about them.

The summer flower show is Living Harmoniously with Nature. It’s fascinating but I’m not into pop art or interpretive sculptures.

Enjoy:

Orchid from the Frank Sarris Orchid Room

Fae Pathway

Mason bee hive

A vibrant display for sight, scent and taste

Beauty found clinging to concrete

Aqua

Better Half releases his Inner Child

Koi

We stopped by Crystal on Penn for Lebanese food. Better Half and I ordered the lamb sandwich: large chucks of prime lamb and peppers stuffed into a perfect pita, served with a traditional sauce. It is casual dining and the bill was much less than we expected. I’m going to try their kibbee next time around.

I finished off my day with phone calls to and from Mum and Dad, Better Half's Mom, and more family (I couldn’t get in touch with my Aunt Paul, and was really hoping to) and then some work in my own flower beds. The fireflies are out in force once again.

I’m ready to embrace my forties. I’m eager to see what the next decade will bring. Most of all, I’m very happy to have family and friends, even if they are long-distance or bogged down with their own life’s journey.

Goodbye 30s

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Fri, 01 Jul 2011 01:46:00 +0000

Tomorrow is my fortieth birthday.

Arrivederci e ringraziamenti per tutti pesci.

(Meh. Close enough.)

I’ve decided to not stress over it. It’s a new decade. Besides, there are yet more mysteries to unravel.

What exactly is the meaning of life? How many angels can dance on the head of a pin? How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?

Most importantly, and surely the most pressing question of all –

How does the man on the right wipe his own ass?

Catch Up

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Wed, 29 Jun 2011 19:06:00 +0000

Obviously, I haven’t visited here in a while; Facebook usurped every joule of my lingering blogging energies. How can I possibly write my thoughts without the mind-dulling distraction of Angry Birds or City of Wonder?

Facebookless friends have sent me well-meaning email (“did you die?”) and general inquiries (“if you died, can I have your plastic dinosaur collection?”) not to mention Better Half chiming in (“I check your blog every day to see if you’ve written.”) so I must have a lepton-sized fan base out there somewhere. They’re quite flavourful.

“Autrice, is that a piss-poor physics joke?”

Yes. My wit, much like my writing skills, has decayed over time.

My goal for today was to set up shop on my back deck and essentially finish a blog entry. The weather is perfect. Wind chime tunes mix with the sporadic hammering from our neighbor as he works on his new deck. I can watch birds flit about our trees (inside joke, that) and enjoy the breeze tussling my pepper plants’ leaves. Humming birds and carpenter bees frolic around our mimosa tree. Lovey setting. I’m not accomplishing much.

Woe the pitfalls of writing in a natural setting! I turned my back for a moment and Better Half had to fish the wireless mouse from the clutches of the rogue tomato plant growing at the garden level of the yard.

The Village of Wintersville held Thunder in the Valley last weekend. Our back deck is a prime spot to see the fireworks. There is something magical about rainbow-colored chrysanthemums illuminating the sky. The grass was freshly mowed that day, a heady scent that rejuvenates the soul. Fireflies (we’ve been calling them Firefly Storms due to this year’s large population) dotted the landscape from ground to tree-top. I miss the beach. I miss Colorado’s natural beauty. I wouldn’t leave Ohio if you paid me.

Our spring was rather exciting. We experienced a major plumbing leak in the bathroom. It destroyed the kitchen ceiling. The owners prior to us installed the horrid apple-theme wallpaper below. Above it is the original 1920s wallpaper. I'm going to see if we can save a small strip of it. I'll place it in a frame and hang it in tribute to the Yocums (first owners). We are the third people to own this silly Craftsman.

The plumbers demolished what was left of the ceiling, took down a cabinet, and installed all new pipes. The plumbing between the bathroom and first floor stack is now up to code and all of the original 1920s cast iron, lead and copper pipes are gone. The plumbing in other parts of the house has remained.

We should hear from our insurance adjuster any day now. They will have to remove all the old (hideous!) wall paper, repair the plaster walls, construct a new ceiling and replace one counter top. Ugh. I’ve picked out new colors for the room, chosen an inexpensive counter top (we’ll have to install matching ones on our own dime) and experimented with cabinet painting techniques. Everything is on hold until we have an answer from Allstate.

The tomato plants are flowering and I’ve seen some pepper buds. Our front garden is glorious this year, accenting the house with shades of maroon, orange, white and lilac. The lawns have gone a bit weedy but I can’t work new seed or sod into our budget.

My birthday is Friday and we will spend the day at the Phipps Conservatory. My membership expires at the end of July. Time to renew.

Pittsburghese

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Sun, 29 May 2011 13:22:00 +0000

One of my old friends (whom I am currently very angry with) has a fluid way of retelling his adventures. His writing style is atrocious. Grammatical rules (and spelling) are cast aside in favor of rustic (guttural grunting) grace. I envy him in many ways.

“Anyways… the gardens coming along. I got the girls ta help me plant some corn, and they had fun. Y’know, nothing sucks more than a fucking sunburn… and now I got four kids with sunburn… fucking aloe plants sacrificed, and I was just getting ‘em ta grow big again. S’okay, tho. Kelsey had ta plant, and she couldn’t go to the mall with Josh, and hey… y’know my rule about dating. Anyway, the roses are all bloomed on the porch. Reminds me of Mignon. Yeah, I miss him. He’s doing good… did ya know he finished his novel? Said he’d send me a copy before it was out on stands. That’s my Migs. So now we're gonna go ta the Strip for a sammach…” and so on.

A "sammach". Fries and cole slaw arrive between the bread and meat. Primanti Brothers best!

I can’t duplicate his style. I would need to pepper my paragraphs with plenty of F bombs, to begin with. My goodness, the man is Lord of the F Word. Reading his letters is similar to sitting across from a dock worker, sharing a pint and ogling pretty girls as they pass. He writes as he speaks, a soft Scottish accent mingled with a Pittsburgh croak.

Pittsburghese is its own dialect. Dr. Barbara Johnstone, Department of English, Carnegie Mellon University, gave a lecture regarding it. You can watch it on Youtube if you have 45 minutes to spare. I highly recommend it.

Yinz might enjoy a shorter, less cerebral approach, n’at. For Crab, Ox, Miss Feather and Reeses Pieces:
click here.

Happy Easter!

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Mon, 25 Apr 2011 03:13:00 +0000

Happy Easter!

Eastertide 2011: Holy Saturday

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Sun, 24 Apr 2011 05:38:00 +0000

In the quietude of Holy Saturday, shortly before midnight, I find myself standing on my back deck and looking out into the twinkling lights of houses and roads. The celebrated agony of last week is over, both physical and mental. Soon the sun will crest the horizon, church bells will peal and the Good News will be spread.

My upbringing gave me an appreciation for solemn things. Raised Catholic, I kept the entirety of the Paschal season, including the full forty days of Lent. I was taught to reflect upon the events; I believe that I became a more empathic (sympathetic) person for it.

Good Friday, the Veneration of the Cross, marked the intense end of a whirlwind Jerusalem Tour. “They are killing him today,” I would think when I was smaller, and I would spend the day in quiet bereavement.

Holy Saturday. This was the one day of the year that brought me the greatest wretchedness as a child. Reared in a theatre family, I always thought of Holy Saturday as the day God went Dark. It was the one day of the year that God wasn’t turning His face to look at man, according to my child’s mind. It saddened me, especially if it rained on that day.

I can distinctly recollect crawling into bed after a very long Easter vigil. I was still at St. Rose, and probably no older than seven. The moon shone through my bedroom window and I turned my eyes toward the heavens (because everyone knows that is where God lives) and I felt a profound sense of loss. If I was this sad, then surely God was “upstairs” crying over the death, too. So, in true innocent form, I offered God my best sympathies for the death of Jesus.

“It’s okay, God. You come back again tomorrow. Don’t cry.”

I began attending sunrise services in my late teens. It seemed fitting. Mary headed down the darkened roads on her way to tend to Christ’s body. In the early morning light, while all the world was just starting to get busy, Mary came upon what she thought to be a gardener near the tomb. The story is well known. I needn’t repeat it here.

Easter Sunday is bitter-sweet to me. Yes, “Jesus rose”, and all of Christendom rejoices… for a day, perhaps even two. Then it seems as if everyone goes back to their lives. Disaster averted. Panic over. Been there, done that. Christ walked the earth forty days after the resurrection. The New Testament records chronicle a few key events and end with his Ascension into Heaven. And then that’s that.

Eastertide, like Christmastide, becomes a memory shortly after it is celebrated. The children and grandchildren have binged through their sugary hoards. The adults have put away their Easter outfits and put on their grindstone mantle. People tuck away all the “Easter bible stories” much as they stash the plastic decorations and gaily-colored baskets in the attic. They may glance upon them during the rest of the year, if they happen to be in that part of the attic.

Christians seem to have lost sight of the Passion of Christ (and I don’t mean the movie, although I do get a chuckle when I recall how horrorstruck many Protestants were over the “gruesomeness” depicted therein. Goodness, did they honestly believe that the death was no harsher than an Easter parade on a balmy afternoon?)

I was in a debate recently and my (apparently unarmed) opponent was a self-declared “OSASBABBTC” (translated: Once Saved, Always Saved Born Again, Bible-Believing True Christian). We were discussing the importance of the Last Supper and the symbolic act of communion.

He used the advantage to rant about “pagan papal Catholic demonists speaking demonic Latin” and his ire grew to epic proportions when I softly pointed out that Jesus Himself stated, “As often as you do these things, do them in memory of me”. His response to me was, “YOU don’t know Jesus!”

I wonder if he knows Jesus. I don’t mean the “made in our image God suit” that many people use to form God in their minds. I certainly don’t mean the parroted words typed in red font found in every bible. Nor do I mean Paul’s teachings to the early churches.

Does this man really know Christ and all that He endured? Has he ever taken time out of his hectic “born again” life to contemplate Jesus? Does he feel the pregnant and heavy weight of Holy Saturday bearing down upon him tonight?

I certainly do not place myself as being higher in the Salvation Station than my debate opponent. I’m not. I don’t spout bible verses. I don’t wear a cross or crucifix. I avoid labels such as “born again” and “true”, and refuse to identify with any single denomination. I seldom attend church services. I’m quiet in what I believe and in how I believe, and there are days where I wonder if what I believe is actually to be believed or not.

God will probably take one look at my sorry carcass and punt me straight into hell. Still, I’m the one standing on my deck and reassuring God (and myself) that he’ll be back tomorrow. It’s a weird relationship between Father and prodigal child.

I keep Eastertide in my heart, and heed every dreadful and every miraculous moment of it. And so I find myself once again contemplating Holy Saturday, and the promise of Easter Sunday. May each of my friends and their families experience the peace and hope of the season.

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The photographs are from a meandering road in West Virginia. I took them Saturday afternoon as we were coming back from our friends' home.

Not a Lazy Day

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Fri, 15 Apr 2011 20:23:00 +0000

There are some days when you are just too exhausted to do anything. We all have them. We crash and burn like an Italian Greyhound coming down from a milkbone high.

Unfortunately, the inhabitants of Pembroke Cottage didn’t have time to be lazy this week. CAP meetings, a broken kitchen faucet, the VAMC, and the dire need to do yard work seem to have demanded most of our attention. I have yet to start my spring cleaning, I haven’t planned my garden, my cabinets all need to be purged, and I can’t decide how to best purge my favorite couch from the dining room (yes, the dining room).

We did manage to rake out our flower beds and move Schmedly the Gargoyle to his new home. The grass growth was hindered by leaves (thank goodness) so I can put off calling the gardener for at least another week.

Today was faucet day. Jeff and I spent the afternoon pulling all of the previous parts out (rusted bolts, improper seating and a lot of grunts and groans). Piper supervised and thus the job went well. It’s very nice to have both hot and cold water coming from the tap.

I can’t think of anything I need more than a good, long nap. Perhaps after we are done cooking the brisket on the BBQ, I write a few articles for the CAP newsletter, I finish the dishes, and straighten up the dining room...

Perhaps.

Journey of My Heart

noreply@blogger.com (Autrice) — Wed, 13 Apr 2011 03:30:00 +0000

An online friend (and my favorite hero) started blogging: Journey of My Heart. I'm so proud of her!