FISHY2ME

Head's Up Florida!

2012-01-21T09:42:00.001-05:00

Look out Floridians, the politicians and the horrid big money political machines are coming.
Be prepared to be under attack! In your mailbox, in your newspaper, on your smart phone, on your computer, on your televisions, your radios, and your landline phones. There will be signage littering all your streets, most of the lawns around town. I have no poll to prove this but I suspect gun sales have been up this week. You might want to just go ahead and unplug those landline phones now and save yourself dawn til way past dusk aggravation.

Finally, today, the hoards will depart our state and flock in mass to Florida.
For sure they have plumped up some local and state coffers. Charleston has been raining money. All those yankee network folks and their hairdressers and such seem to have learned how to enjoy cheese grits and biscuits for breakfast. Good bye lattes and energy bars.

Back to the politics.
Things are not as they seem.
First of all, I made it a point to take all the polling calls. I saw this as a duty. If you do not plan to vote for a candidate with big PAC money then the only way the others can make any showing in the numbers is if we voters suffer through the calls and speak up for our choices. It is grueling work. I took the calls from the robos and actual humans. It would be hard to say which was more frustrating. This experience got me so aggravated I sent e-mails to all the taking heads at Fox, MSNBC, and CNN. Here is why, they are broadcasting flawed data 24/7. I am still awaiting their replies.

Here is a typical situation with the robo calls:
" If the election were being held today would you vote for
Romney? Press 1. Gingrich? press 2. Paul? Press 3."
If, after the third offer you have not pressed a button the call is terminated.
There is no opportunity to add your position to the polling. No choice for the others.
What is maybe a tad interesting is the order of the voting for Ron. Newt or Mitt depending on who is conducting the poll. In some of them, where their candidate is mentioned first and you don't push number one ... yep they disconnect so they only collect votes for their candidate.

What happened to honesty?

The polls are reported on every airwave as favoring the glove, the reptile and mocdoc. There are signs all over Carolina for Rick Santorum. He hardly shows up in the polls on the news outlets. One of the reasons is because the poll calls do not accord the option to choose Huntsman, Perry or Santorum. Two of those are now "suspended" campaigns. Here is another issue. The super PACS for the three came in like locust and bought up all the available airtime for tv and radio. Once the teams for Huntsman, Perry and Santorum tried to get some exposure they were already shut out. Not one minute of airtime was available. Super PACS are hijacking this election. And they are skewing the polls.
Lady Liberty is weeping.

When actual humans call the experience is different.
Some are rigidly impersonal others seek to bond through a sort of theatrical folksyness.
In one polling call, a man asked if I had a few minutes to answer a survey/poll?
" Well, yes if you hurry up before it's time for me to get the pasta out of the hot water".
" Is that a candidate?"
" No, it's dinner"
" Will you take the survey?
" Yes, but get on with it."
" What is your date of birth?
" You called to survey my age?"
"We try to determine the age of voters"
" Okay, I am old enough to vote."
" What is your actual age lady?"
" Somewhere between 18 and death".

He hung up.
At least he did so before I overcooked the pasta.
Blowfish was over in his chair having a laugh.
He does not feel enough dedication to answer any of the calls but he is having a fine entertainment
watching me have fits over them all. I threatened to go on a Kitchen strike. No cooking for non participating Americans. I think it is important to step up and not be silent. If you want to have a say in what is happening in our country you have to participate in the process. If you have been a long time member of the "silent majority" it is time to be silent no more. Speak up! Act! Vote!

On Thursday morning, a few hours before the last SC debate, I received a personal call;

" Good morning! Is this Fishy?"
" Yes"
" Mrs. Goodsouth here, calling to share with you this morning our family's pride and excitement in the opportunity to again have our White House as the residence of a fine Southern gentleman!"
" I think your gentleman went home to Texas this morning."
" I am, of course, referring to Speaker Gingrich."
" Oh."
" Fishy, I am calling this morning to invite you to join us in supporting Speaker Gingrich in saving our Nation. He is the only one who can oust the current occupier of our White House."
" I will not be voting for Mr. Gingrich."
" Well that is just not a loyal decision. Let me help you understand why you must , as a thinking person, vote for our Speaker"
" Can we skip that part of the conversation and just move on to have a nice day?"
"Please explain why you think you will not be favoring our candidate with your support.
I can set you straight again in one skinny minute."
" Mrs. Goodsouth, you have my admiration for your participation and support of this election process but I will not be voting for the Newt. There is nothing you could say which will change this."
" Why ever in this whole world would you withhold your support from this fine man?"
" Because he is NOT a 'fine man' and there are better choices."
" He is the only candidate who can beat The Occupier in a debate".
" Do you think we are hoping to elect a Great Debater or a president?
Plus he is not , in my view, a great debater. He does however practice effective stagecraft."
" Oh my goodness Fishy. We have a lot of work to do to get you on the true path this morning".
" I am not going to travel your path today Mrs. Goodsouth. Good bye and God bless you."

I hardly hung up from that call when my phone rang.
A robocall again disallowing a vote beyond the PAC's candidate.
I was soooooooo annoyed I called the local GOP office to complain.
The man taking the call there suggested I stop answering the robo calls and just vote for his choice.
I mentioned as a staffer in the GOP office he was not there to support any one candidate. If that was his mission he should be on the phone banks in the headquarters for his chosen one.
His response,
" Would you like to make your donation by phone today?"

I found this equally dismaying and irritating.
Here is my next issue.

If you decide you are going to support a candidate financially via their website you cannot do so without filling out a form and using a credit card. There is not a contribute by PayPal option. If, like me, you do not list your personal data online and you do not enter your credit card data online then you cannot make a contribution. Is this a law? I don' t know but I did send an e-mail to the website asking why there was no PayPal donation option. That was a week ago. Still no reply.

So to the Trolls, Auntys and La Divas of Florida, you have my sympathies.
It's not fun but please, y'all do your part ! Participate! Report if things are not as they should be and vote. It counts. A lot.

A Note to Boxer

2012-01-12T17:39:00.001-05:00

Dear Boxer,

It looks like I have been affected by your adoption of Henry.
I visit your blog to see his pictures.
I write haiku to you both.
Then today, while researching for a client,
this is what caught my attention.


It does not look a thing like the lighting I was hoping to find.

Annual Misery

2012-01-08T14:01:00.000-05:00

Every couple has differences they head butt on from time to time. We are not excused from that reality here at the Pond. Sad, but very, very real.

One of the issues we can never resolve is about colds. I come from a family with multiple kids. When one of us came down with a cold our Mama was tough enough and smart enough to place the sick one in isolation to prevent the spread throughout the family. Blowfish is an only child. When he had a cold his mother moved him to the living room sofa so grandmothers, aunts, uncles and cousins could all dote and wait on the poor little sick man. Thus, before we even get to the reality of dealing with the actual cold you can see where we are poised for conflict.

It is complicated.
I have over the years provided Blowfish with reams of data on how colds are spread, what are the best protocols for not spreading a cold , not catching a cold, the ways the cold virus becomes airborne, the typical contagion periods, the best ways to manage a cold once you become afflicted and how to shorten the duration of a cold. I must have shared all of this data in some foreign language because not one syllable of one word, nor any knowledge, has stayed with the man.

This conflict is an annual event at the Pond. I have not had a cold in years. I employ protocols into my daily routine to reduce my susceptibility to catching illness from others. Blowfish refuses to. Even Santa Claus tries to help Blowfish by placing things like hand sanitizer or immune boosting supplements in his Christmas stockings. They all pretty much live in the graveyard of his bedside table drawer. He often mocks me for the fight I wage for my health but fails to notice it is the mocking man who falls. Not me.

Back to my mother. She made our time in isolation as pleasant as possible, there were coca colas, our favorite jellos with fruit, applesauce, homemade soups, crackers, Luden's wild cherry cough drops, boxes of kleenex, and a personal trash can. There were plenty of books to read, lots of crayons and coloring books, paperdolls and an etch-a-sketch to keep ourselves entertained. Mom made sure we understood the reason for the isolation was for the well being of the many,
" Fishy I know you don't want the baby to get sick".
She was also smart about changing our sheets daily and making us get up and take a hot shower to help drain the gunk out of our sinuses. There was a vaporizor and smelly rubs and while it was not pleasant, it was not punitive.

Blowfish has a cold.
He has one this time every year.
I know he will have a cold this week so I prepare.
I get books for him to read, make soups, stock up on juices and kleenex.

On Thursday he began with sneezing. He is not necessarily the sort to direct that into his sleeve. On Friday he started sniffling and shuffling. I gave him Tylenol and vitamin C. By afternoon he was complaining of a scratchy throat so I gave him some honey and lemon drops with a topical anesthetic to soothe his throat.

Friday night I kept to my plans of attending a gallery opening. The subject of the show is "Images of France" which showcased the works of a group of folks who went on a tour of France with a Photography Instructor from a nearby university. The tour had permission for the participants to take pictures inside museums and galleries which normally strictly forbid photography with any kind of flash. There were two great things about going to the opening. I bought a framed photograph and I missed the onset of the oh-woe-is-me-stage of the man with a cold.

When I returned home Friday night one look told me Blowfish would not be spending Saturday with his son as planned. His son has MS. Which means he has a compromised immune system and therefore not a good idea for his virus stricken Dad to go breathe on him.

Blowfish slept hours later than usual on Saturday morning. He came into the Kitchen to start a pot of coffee. I was already making soup and had started taking down and packing up the Christmas decorations. He looked miserable. Droopy posture, gray color, shuffling foot work, shaky hands.

" Good morning. Would you like some breakfast?"
" I think I will just have a bowl of cereal"
" Are you sure? Milk tends to increase mucus production which is why it is not recommended when you have a cold".
" I'll take two eggs over easy, toast, a side of bacon and orange juice."

( I may have mentioned this before...

I do not love it when Blowfish speaks to me like I am a short order cook positioned in his Kitchen to

service his culinary needs. )

I took a deep breath, tried to hold onto my compassion and not give way to irritation and with reasonable cheer said ,
" I can do that."
So Blowfish went to sit in his favorite fireside chair in the Keep to read the paper.
He was sniffling.
He was coughing.
He was sneezing.

(He was touching the furniture and the paper and blowing his virus across the room.)

" Blowfish, did you take your medicine this morning?"
" No."
" Well you have time to take it before your breakfast is ready"
" It's on my bedside table. Where you put it for me. So I would not forget to take it.
You want to go get it for me?"

(There's an invitation a girl just cannot resist)

" Sure"
I fetched the meds and some orange juice and chatted a bit about the morning editorials before resuming my duties at the stove.
Blowfish continued to sneeze, sniffle, cough.
" Do you have some Kleenex?"
"No, I don't need any".
" I sure don't want to get your cold so how about you do a few things to moderate my risks?'
"You believe in that malarky, I don't"

(I did try to keep my tongue in my head but .... really?)

" What ?"
" If you get a cold, you get a cold. It has nothing to do with me."
" Do you want me to pull up the website from the CDC on how colds are spread?"
" Why? So you can tell me you are right and I am not?"
I pulled a placemat, some silverware, and a napkin from various drawers.
I marched into his Study, moved things aside on his desk to accommodate a place setting.
I opened the window a crack, fetched a box of kleenex, sprayed the trash can with lysol and located his book before returning to the Kitchen to finish making his breakfast. When it was ready I proceeded right past him and into his Study.
" Fishy, what are you doing?"
" Serving your breakfast".
"Well I am not eating in my office"
"So you think you should camp out in the main rooms spewing your cold on everything and everyone? I think not."
"I have told you I do not agree with you or your damn CDC on how colds are spread!
Bring my breakfast in here."
"Right! I will not be adhering to the wisdom of a man who still thinks you catch a cold if you don't wear socks to bed!"

And so the day went. Blowfish hung out in his office, reading a little, watching a little tv, doing a little surfing, and later, taking a nap. We had arrived at a truce. Sort of. He will never do all the recommended things science directs one with a cold to do. Never. I could provide him with every medical directive, every internet video, every scientific graph on this issue and he would still cling to the same beliefs he held at 5. He believes he should be in the center of the sofa, in the center of the house, being the doted on center of attention of all because he has a cold. He will miss his mother. A lot.

So the compromise is he will do what he pleases.
In his suite of rooms.
He will not do as he pleases all over me.
I will accept he is doing all he can.
I will do his laundry and make his food and fetch his medicines and bite my tongue to shreds.
I do this every year.
And,
I always feel sad and guilty.
Why?
Because Blowfish is an only child.
Because January 7th is his mother's birthday.
She has been gone now for 19 years.
The year we lost her we celebrated her birthday on the 7th.
On the 8th she went into the hospital, succumbed to coma on the 9th,
went to Heaven just after midnight on the 11th.

For every one of these 19 years, in this same week, Blowfish gets sick.
Not "sick with grief" but sick with an actual cold, or flu, in addition to his grief.
There is a medical explanation for this phenomenon.
Blowfish rejects this too.
He prefers to believe it is just the reality of colds happening in January.
Okay.

I loathe we cannot do a better job of handling this annual event.
I loved my mother in law dearly. I still miss her.
I try hard to comfort Blowfish.
I cooked potroast for him yesterday.
I cooked it the way his mother cooked pot roast.
For her son, on her birthday.
I cried for them both.

I cannot fathom how hard it is to be Blowfish this same week every year.
I cannot fathom how hard it must be to manage life in general without the ability to
communicate how you feel. Whatever Blowfish experiences about the loss of his mother,
he has never been able to express. All of his suffering stays within.
This makes him sad.
And it makes him ill.

On the 12th, he will be better.

2012: Tangerine Tango

2012-01-01T10:11:00.000-05:00

Happy 2012.
Meet the color of the year,
Tangerine Tango

Pantone Color Number 17-1463

The "color of the year" is announced each December. By the time the announcement is made millions of products in the "new" color are already in production. In Mid-January I will go to the first big market of 2012 where "Tangerine Tango" will be
well represented in every showroom.

There are 3 main entities which determine what colors will be THE color for specific years. This is because color effects emotion which effects consumer behavior... so this is a HUGE deal. The colors are selected about 10 years in advance. In 2008 the color of the year was "Blue Iris". That was color prophecy as 2008 was a very "blue" year for many of us.

Are your emotional responses to "tangerine" positive? Is this a color to lift your spirits and open your pocketbook? Will you remodel your home, buy a new car or replace your wardrobe because of your response to this color? If you are a Gator fan this might indicate a really good year is looming, also true if you are a Clemson fan. What if you are a Florida or Carolina State fan? Does this color choice bode ill for your teams? Is "tangerine" too close to red? As in red ink? Or does the color "tangerine" conjure images of tanned flesh and string bikinis?

Will you share? Please tell me your strongest association with the color "tangerine".

The Charleston Report

2011-12-29T09:51:00.000-05:00

Hello! Hello!
We Fishy's hope everyone had a blessed, merry Christmas Day.
We sure did! Charleston was a wonderful city to visit for the holidays.
The families who live in the Historic District clearly love their homes, their city and each other.
That joy is shared with the many visitors, even the masses who disembark from the cruise ships.
What I loved is the locals do not give way to the demands of commerce and tourism. No. They live in their homes, their neighborhoods , their city in a very European, very pedestrian way. Also with an obvious joy and love of place.

One of the things I adored about Charleston's French Quarter is .... the same sense of order I loved about France! It is there in even the tiniest garden patch, in every beautiful window box, in every storefront, in every natural swag, wreath and tree on gates, fences, columns and porches. The entire district was a present. You could breathe in the essence of Charleston right along with the tangy sea air.

Just as the sun was turning the waterfront golden on the morning of the 26th, I went forth with the camera to explore; without traffic or crowds or the drizzle of Christmas. The families who live in this area are up, out walking dogs, fetching croissants from the corner bakery, watering the home patch, or clearing the porches from the revelries. Everyone I met was gracious from a nod of welcome to an introduction to their pets to an offer of breakfast. I can admit I was not your typical camera draped tourist schlepping around in aging jeans and dismaying footwear. No, NO! In honor of Charleston and in respect for the families whose privacy I would be photographing, I went forth in classic black and white wearing my pearls and dress boots. This is no doubt why I was not arrested or run down for standing in the middle of intersections to get a particular shot.

What I did not photograph was the food.
All of which was good, not stellar, but really good . Fresh, crisp, fragrant, local, beautifully plated foods. Every place was packed to the max so the noise levels were high. Mermaid takes after Blowfish and is a foodie. By the time I had rejoined them in the lobby, Mermaid had already sussed out a great lunch spot. We had no lunch reservations with Cru Cafe but they set a table for us on the Porch and brought delights to the famished quickly. It was warm and sunny enough to eat outside comfortably which was a treat in itself.

At Hanks on Christmas Eve, our confirmed reservation minimized the waiting, What was interesting is there were a good many visitors present but probably 65% of the patrons were locals. Many there with their extended families. It looked to me the young professionals or the college students of the local families had gathered here early evening to show off their finery and share their recent histories. It was actually more the atmosphere of a holiday at the local club than a public restaurant. Decorations were simply masses of poinsettias.

Christmas Day we were very lucky to have reservations with Poogan's Porch. They had every seat reserved from 11am until 9:30 pm. While they were accepting walk-ins for the bar, the porches and the courtyards... those waits were already up to 1.5 hours by early afternoon. Again, what I really liked was the mix was more local that not. My dinner began with Butternut squash bisque and was so rich and creamy it could have ended there happily before the prime rib and Southern sides.

I could write volumes about the architecture but I will not.
What I do recommend is a visit to experience for yourselves the delights of Charleston!
I came home with a collection of real estate books which I keep by my bed and review before turning the lights out. I am dreaming of winning a big lottery so my architectural fantasies can come true. Charleston is probably the closest I will come to living in France without leaving America.

Happy New Year !

2011-12-22T18:20:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas!

The Fishy's are off to
beautiful,
historic
Charleston, South Carolina
for
Christmas !

We will be staying
in the French Quarter
in a fine hotel
which is our
splurgy
present to ourselves in lieu of presents with bows.

There will be a day of exploration and Santa shopping.

There will be a fine Christmas Eve dinner at Hank's where the fresh, local, seafood is splendid. After dinner there will be an evening stroll through exquisitely decorated neighborhoods as we make our way to St. John the Baptist Cathedral for a Christmas musical chorale and the sweetest gift... a beautiful,
traditional Midnight Mass.

We will have out breakfast delivered to our suite where we will celebrate Christmas morning with truly thankful hearts for our many blessings. We will open presents from loves near and far and be oh so grateful we belong to each other.

Mid afternoon we will go forth in our Christmas finery to have Christmas Dinner at another Charleston Landmark. We will be glad of this too because Charleston is such a prized Christmas destination you have to not just have dinner reservations, you also must have a confirmation number and proof of identity to be seated!

We will explore more of this gorgeous city by carriage ride then later, go to the Christmas Lights Festival and have hot chocolate and S'mores in honor of the Child in us all.

May you all have a very joyous, blessed, Christmas.

Haiku Monday: SILVER

2011-12-10T10:54:00.001-05:00

Okay,

we get the message, Sunday is not soon enough for Monday.

"Silver" is the theme for Haiku Monday, December 12, 2011.

Boxer, (who writes great haiku when motivated), is decorating her vintage silver tree this year. Perhaps with silver creations by Chickory. No doubt Moi is striding forth in delicate silver slippers while Fleur scatters silver noted glee. Blowfish would love to have a Silver Cloud in any season while I am content with any serendipitous silver lining. Silver bells are ringing forth from every church while Southern Belles are wearing plenty. Holiday tables are groaning from laden silver servers, punch bowls and platters. Huntsmen like Troll and Uncle are crunching o'er frost silvered grounds while the deer sip from silvered streams. Does Karl festoon his boat in silver or Czar his domain? Perhaps Buzz toasts with silver steins while Pam photographs her new smiling little boy! All speak to this season for gathering joy. My favorite is this:

Moonlight silver hair

halos my mothers beauty.

Soft. Like angel wings

Enter as many haiku as you wish. We will judge two per competitor. If you write more just let us know which two are your entries. If you post visuals at your site let us know with an "I'm Up!" as we do use the visuals in the final judging. Please post all haiku's here. The usual 5-7-5 format applies as does the use of kireji and kigo.

Good luck to all!

Blowfish thinks we should "give a little silver something" to the winner. We are in discussion on this as we keyboard.

Feeling Grinchy

2011-12-09T17:45:00.001-05:00

Will someone please explain to me why any woman

would want to decorate herself like a tree?

Or like one of Hefner's jokes?

I would never debase my Fizz with this seasonal insanity !

I can very well imagine what Blowfish would say

if I bought him with one of these.

Or this

Not to mention his response

if I tried to go out in public

wearing

something seasoned with sequins.

Today I met a friend for lunch at a Panera's located in a busy shopping area. I am not exaggerating when I tell you the clientele were more decorated than the pastries. I admit, when Mermaid was young, I did , on occasion, wear a Santa hat. A simple one. No embellishments of any sort. None. No beads or sequins or rhinestones or cute felt stitchery. None. I received the Santa hat the first year she attended pre-school. All the moms and all the kids got these as party favors. It would have been cruel to my lovely daughter had I declined to wear this gift, so wear it I did. Mostly at home on Christmas Eve and Christmas day. Maybe to the Christmas party at her school. Never to lunch with friends. Or shopping or to parties with peers. No.

Today I saw fine automobiles decorated with wreaths, or antlers, or garlands, or jingling bells.

One had pretty much all of the above, like it was part of a low budget Christmas parade. Why do people do this? I guess if you wired a creche to your roof rack you would be making a reason for the season statement. Decking your transport out with a fuzzy grille nose and antlers? Why?

After lunch I accompanied my friend into a hobby and craft store. She needed more paper clay and I came along to look for an artsy/crafty gift for a child. The Christmas decorations were already marked down 40%. Shoppers were eagerly taking advantage of the opportunity. To my horror, my friend headed straight for those enraptured by holiday mania scratching through the sale bins. She pulled out a long, flocked, garland decorated with beaded fruits asking me what I thought about the item?

" Nothing good"

" I think it's nice"

" Nice?"

" Do you think it would look good in my Kitchen?"

" I think it would look fine in the garbage can"

" Ha! Ha! You are funny!"

She returned to digging through the horror bins. I could not watch so I went to look for the gift.

Eventually she tracked me down in aisle 212, pushing a largish cart with stuff she was determined to enthusiastically show me. I was speechless. Who thinks it is a good idea to wrap a million dollar lakefront home in cheap plastic mistletoe? I had to get out of there. Immediately. I gave my friend a hug and offered apologies explaining time had gotten away from me a bit and sorry but I had to rush off and may you have the merriest of Christmases.

A breathed a sigh of relief once I returned to the Fizz. No Christmas tunes were playing, no bells were jingling. When I arrived home it was quiet. There is not yet a tree, or live garlands or angels decking my halls. Maybe next week. I went out front to check the mail. Across the lane a neighbor was festooning her mailbox. She was wearing antlers. She is retired. Too senior for antlers. I did a little wave and a smile but did not speak. I thought this prudent but then,

" Fishy ! "

" Hi. Merry Christmas."

" Are you decorating this year?"

" I expect so, we always do."

" Are you traveling this year for Christmas?"

" Maybe. We are thinking about a destination Christmas but we are still unconfirmed"

" Yours is always the last house to show some spirit."

" Did I see your Christmas tree in the ditch last year on Christmas Day?"

" Yes indeed. We put it up on Thanksgiving after dinner and take it down on Christmas after dinner".
She seemed proud. Confident. Even a little bit smug in that I-have-got-this sort of way.

I closed the mailbox, smiled a bit, waved a ta-ta and headed back up the sidewalk.

I wanted to run.

Actually I wanted to scream.

Maybe cry.

Isn't the twelfth day of Christmas after Christmas?

Traveling by camel was slow! It took the wise men a while to gather the gifts and follow the star.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my neighbor will have a bedazzled Valentine on her front door.
I guess it wasn't the Grinch who stole Christmas.
It was the retailers.

Haiku Monday:Drink Your Energy

2011-11-28T15:09:00.001-05:00

The Gators scor'd 1st,
long before the copycats.
Spurrier's team wins!

Why did I not act?
Sugar, water and some C
Pass the billions please

Saturday

2011-11-26T18:52:00.001-05:00

Today is Small Business Saturday. The intention is to raise awareness of the need to support small businesses on the opening weekend of the Christmas shopping season. Small businesses are the back bone of America. We know this truth from our own blog family. Be it Plastics, Art, Porkrinds, ChefHunters, Editing , Writing, Photography or Design we are intimately familiar with the importance of independent businesses. Stay away from the mega chains, shop local, shop independent, shop hand made is the message being promoted today.

In our little Carolina town we have a very nice Farmer's Market. It adjoins the parking lot of our Arts Center downtown so there is plenty of room for the masses to come on down. It is a charming L-shaped open pavilion with brick pillars, open rafters and metal roofing. It is designed for the farmers to back into their spaces so products are displayed to those strolling through the pavilion. This is a good design which works very well.

Growing season is mostly over. Beginning this weekend, instead of the Saturday Farmer's Market, there is the Handmade Christmas Market Saturdays. I went today and was mostly horrified by what I saw. Seriously, Chickory and Boxer have no idea how good their stuff is. What did catch my eye was the snowmen and the penguin gourds. Those I liked. Actually I liked the idea of them . The ones I saw at the market were so poorly executed I could not bring myself to spend money on them. In fact, I did not see any buyers. Which is a shame because I think most, like me, came with the intention to be supportive of the market, the artists, downtown businesses, locally grown, hand crafted, or baked goods. It was disappointing.

This is a bottle gourd. You can even order seeds for these from Parks Seed Company. Painting and dressing these as Snowmen makes a charming decoration. Even a great holiday activity with kids.
I can absolutely understand how at the end of growing season and approaching the holiday season the two became connected. What to do with all the late gourds?

I did not take my camera with me today so I fetched some images from the web. I was stunned by the quantity of stuff on gourd crafts, gourd growing, buying, carving, painting.The sheer quantity of stuff on the subject staggers the mind. Talk about a small business..... it looks bigger than small!

These are dried Penguin Gourds.

So are these,

And these. I love their cute little yellow bow ties,

But this handsome gourd is a turkey!

I think he would make a fine trophy for Blowfish

In honor of his first Thanksgiving as the TurkeyChef.

The Great Blowfish Inaugural Turkey Frying Event

2011-11-25T11:14:00.001-05:00

Our Thanksgiving was blessed.
Mermaid traveled safely home without much in the way of traffic miseries for her or worries for her folks. Even before the headlights of her vehicle lit up the back drive our spanielly pup felt her vibe and started turning joy circles out in the drive. He always likes to be the first to welcome her home

This turkey has been part of our decorations near about Mermaid's whole life. The year she was born Blowfish's mama came home with this fella, a door prize from a holiday luncheon. She belonged to a group called "Sister Stitches". Some of the members knit, others crocheted, or cross stitched or did needlepoint or this stuff using yarn and a plastic grid. Mostly these women got together once a month to be friends, to catch up on their happenings and to be supportive, encouraging, or
just a witness to each others lives. Now this bird is
a witness to our Thanksgivings and a reminder on the importance of love, friendship and tradition.

Another Thanksgivng traditon is this pair of little pilgrims. They too are from Blowfish's Mama. She has been gone for 18 Thanksgivings now. We always include some of her "treasures" in our celebrations. This year, it was such a beautiful day, we had our feast outside setting the table with Adeline's pretty turquoise table linens. I know she was smiling with us.

We all had a bit of fun with all the activities surrounding the Great Blowfish Inaugural Turkey Frying Event.

We moved vehicles out of the combustion range.

Blowfish had spent part of Wednesday evening getting the fryer assembled. After the cookies the breakfast and the third reading of the frying instructions, he headed out to get things set up out on the parking pad.

Mermaid and I added a few touches

Our dog Will came to check out the new smells and commotions.

Clearly this expresses his disdain for our foolishness.

Or maybe he was hoping we would open the Ale and pour some in his bowl

I wisely watched some of this from afar.

The turkey displacement measuring and the test lighting went well.

These cooking method is fast so shortly after the test phase I had to abandon my photo journaling and get in the Kitchen to cook the other menu items . There were a few issues with the turkey frying. There was occasional wind ,once strong enough to blow out the fire. Hum. Another issue was the frying temperature dropped more than expected after lowering the bird into the fryer. The decision was to up the flame a bit and to extend the cooking time a bit. It is a guess because the instructions say 3-6 minutes per pound. Three could be underdone, six could be a 911 call. We settled on 4 minutes and our bird was a bit more done than we like, but still good. Mermaid stayed mostly outside with Blowfish during the cooking so she could be on hand to assist should there be a problem. I am thrilled to report there were none :-)

The biggest disappointment of the day? An absolutely horrible blueberry pie. But there was this for dessert.

Thank you all for your prayers ... they worked ! No disasters and no injuries! The day was beautiful with bright blue skies and balmy temperatures allowing us to enjoy our feast outdoors! Mermaid gleefully skunked us in cards and the Cowboys managed to skunk our Dolphins by one lousy point. Oh well.

I hope each of you had a very happy Thanksgivings.
As many have noted, there is this amazingly smart. talented, funny, nurturing blog family to be thankful of.
I know I am as your presence in my life is very enriching. And often, a comfort. On this "Black Friday" I hope we all are in the black, not the red, in our business as well as our personal economies. I REALLY pray America will find the resolve (and the leadership) to return to the black as well. The free flowing Washington red is killing our nation. We need to staunch the hemorrhage. Do e-mail your congresspersons and senators to let them know your expectations. Stand up for America . Be a hero. Speak out. Pray.

Bonfires and Turkeys

2011-11-22T07:13:00.001-05:00

A few weeks back Blowfish and I went to a Bonfire Party in a riding arena. It makes sense, plenty of space, no chance of the fire spreading and when it's over just use your regular equipment for dragging the arena.

We had a fine time, which is noteworthy because Blowfish is not often comfortable at gatherings where he does not know most of the people. He is , however, always a foodie and the food here was good and plentiful. There were good ol boys manning turkey fryers of every description.. Some of those fryers were cooking turkeys, others were loaded up with pork shoulders or beef slabs. Tables were laden with every vegetable, casserole, salad, bread and dessert you ever heard of and probably some you have not. Blowfish was a happy man.

On the way home from this outing Blowfish allowed as how he thought he should fetch home a turkey fryer.
This was not unexpected. I had my diversions ready.

" You think you will miss any of your games standing out in the road watching that fryer"?
" The road? I will be right out on the deck!"
" Who's deck are you talking about?"
" Fishy, what the tarnation is wrong with you? Our deck, right out the Garden Room door. I can look in the window and see the games just fine".
" Will that deck hold a ton of sand"?
"What?"
" Well, I just do not see how you are going to build a sand pit to set your turkey fryer in up on that deck. You saw how those experienced fry men each had their own station? Reason being if one combusted the others would not? Could you see in the dark, each station was set up in it's own little sand pit. Not to mention they had fire extinguishers out there too."
" Fishy, didn't you love that deep fried turkey taste?"
" Yes I sure did. The fry master I chatted with allowed he had been frying his for the last decade or so. I asked him if it was easy or if there was any steepness to the learning curve. He said he didn't think he had burned up more than a dozen turkeys, one truck and one shed, but no houses."
" Fishy. I am getting us a turkey fryer. I am going to cook the turkey this Thanksgiving . I will agree to putting it 50 yards from the house, the fencing, the trees and all vehicles. I will not go all the way up to the road . I can make a sand pit but I think it foolish."

Yesterday, when Blowfish came home he drove that big dually truck of his all the way down the drive nearly to the garage. I heard banging and clanging for a bit then he went on and parked the truck up in the regular spot. He usually does this sort of thing when he is unloading something heavy to be stored in the garage.

He came in whistling. With that extra little bounce in his step that indicates this is a fella real pleased with himself. I was in the Kitchen tearing lettuces for our salads.
"Hi. I can see you liked your day.
How about a glass of red while I prep dinner and you tell me about you?"
Happy man told me a lot of things about his day with nary a mention about objects in the garage. We had dinner then I had to evacuate while the heads were dissecting the SuperCommittee failures. I am too young to have a stroke. Plus, demented women foaming at the mouth angry are never attractive. Later he wandered up to my retreat and stayed to watch Antiques Road Show with me before going down to get his daily dose of facebook love from former students. Still no mention of new objects in the garage.

This morning Blowfish brought the paper in saying it was already getting heavy with
the early circulars for Black Friday sales. Our normal routine is to separate the circulars
from the actual paper. We rarely review them but today I skipped the paper and went straight to studying the slicks. Blowfish looked up from reading the paper and said, " What are you doing?"

"Searching"
"What for? Is there something you need?
Are those the grocery specials you're studying?"
" I am not studying the grocers advertisements"
" Don't you want to read the paper?"
" I got more important things on my mind this morning."
" What are you looking for?"
"An early Christmas present"
" What would that be?"
" A fire extinguisher and a truckload of sand"

"You are a cruel woman!!!!!!"

" Have you seen that good hands ad about all the turkey fryer fires?I have no interest in being their Christmas commercial. I have not said one thing against you frying our turkey. What I am saying is take some reasonable precautions so we can all enjoy the day".

" You and I don't have the same idea about 'reasonable'."

" Shall I download the video on the proper techniques for putting out turkey fryer fires? And might I remind you the Turkey Fry Gods of the bonfire gathering all had sandpits and extinguishers? No need for you to be acting like I ordered hazmat suits for everyone There is nothing wrong with my idea of reasonable. Yours could use a bit of fine tuning though."

Blowfish returned to his coffee and paper while I continued to read the ads.
After a bit he said, " I will bring home sand and an extinguisher today."
" Thank you".
" What are you looking for now?"
" Orange cones"
" What?"

" You know those orange safety traffic cones?
I don't want yo to get run over on Thanksgiving
while you are up on the road frying our turkey"
.

To Pine: grief by separation

2011-11-17T17:11:00.001-05:00

" Fishy, you've been sort of quiet lately. You okay?"
" Ummm"
"Was that a yes, did you nod?"
" Umm-hmmmm"
"Is there any dinner"
" Sure"
" I don't see any dinner"
"Ummm"
" Well, would you like to go out? I heard they had
a new menu down at Irishman's Pub"
" If you want"

" Let's try something else.
You got any notions about what you might be wanting for Christmas this year?"
" A rock".
" You mean like another big diamond"?
"No Blowfish, I have more jewels than I can wear".
" Well, what kind of rock are you talking about?"
" Amadour's"
" Whomadoors? What the heck are you talking about"
" Actually it's Rocamadour."
" What is it??????"
" The place where I left my heart."
" Where?"
" On Saint Amadour's Rock"

An amazing ancient city

Cleaved into a cliff face above the Alzou

The buildings are astonishing

As are their construction methods

The merge of man-made and God-made is intimate

Boggles the mind actually

the architectural detail is breath taking

The messages sometimes painful to contemplate

Pilgrims come from ....everywhere..... to witness ... to experience ... to plea

preserved acts of adoration

Devoted artisans made their contributions

surely it was prayer that accomplished the staggering construction logistics

For some, carving for God was a life journey

Their contributions still inspire, educate

The location...defensible ... the access ..... limited

The hike to the ramparts is beautiful

And it's a long hike

Worth every prayerful step

With interesting venues along the way

and inspiration for pilgrims past and present

" We are complete"

2011-11-05T16:21:00.000-04:00

Much to my surprise, I absolutely fell in love with the French sense or order. It is evident everywhere! Certainly in the shop windows, but also in every village, along narrow country roads as well as along the super slabs. In ancient cities or great cities like Paris which is both old and new. The French love beauty too, in all it's forms. The French expression of order combined with their love, respect and attention to all things beautiful made my heart strum. Seriously, I am not sure I had a coherent conversation the whole time I was there. The absorption of all things French commanded my attention.

In no way was the French passion for order more prevalent that at mid-day. A respite from 12:30 until 2:00 is sacred. Shops, banks, offices all close for lunch. Lunch is served most particularly within the assigned hours. Not before and certainly not after. Foolish Americans who cannot understand this importance or manage their time suitably, go hungry. Literally. If you fail to make it to a restaurant, a cafe, a sidewalk bistro within that time frame, you will not be served. The French are quite charming in telling you this.
Some starched, beautifully groomed individual will give you a horrified look before coming to your side to announce themselves , "Desolate Madame. Desolate. We are complete"

I was "desolate" a lot in France. Which is fine because a very simple lunch often cost $30, or more. I was thinking if I had made it to lunch more often I would have had to wash some china. What was remarkable to me, besides how loud my stomach could grumble, was the differences in how food business is organized there, as compared to here. I've never worked in the food industry so my understanding of how things are done here is from the viewpoint of a consumer or as a project designer for a restaurant or cafe. In France, often the places will have a posted menu but equally often what they have is a hand lettered chalkboard with a listing of the days offerings. If for instance, lunch for a Tuesday is planned to provide 40 servings of a fine pork cassoulet, a salade vert and an entire baguette then that is what there is. When the servings have all been served, lunch is "complete". In restaurants where the larders are larger, they might not serve all their portions but at 2pm, I assure you, lunch is also "complete". It's okay though, the views everywhere fill your soul.

The JOY of Winning

2011-11-01T11:57:00.002-04:00

Joyful spirits
Joyful visions
Joyful noises
Joyful grannies
Joyful cooks
Joyful smells
Joyful moments
Joyful experiences
Joyful comforts
Joyful waters

Whew!
There was a whole lot of joy going on around here!
Blowfish and I have enjoyed all the entries. Thank you!

For those of you playing as "anonymous" .... we embraced your entries!
We also encourage you to create a blog, it's easy and can be anonymous.
Welcome GJ4 with your Bach inspired classic. One of our faves.

Boxer caught our attention quick, fast and in a hurry !
Has anyone NOT experienced the joy of solitude?
This entry made it to the top three in the first reading.

Karl did a grand job of linking the joy of nature with the joy of love.
An instant top contender with Blowfish who allowed,
"Huh, this fella understands joy is everywhere"

Serendipity was a Pond favorite because that moment of
knowing you captured the photograph is joyful indeed.

Foamy moved up the leader board on Blowfish's page because

he relates to the real joy of being a parent until one of them eats
the last of the ice cream!

Aunty had Blowfish bobbing his head like a dashboard toy. Oh yea! Oh yea!
We do hold the letters till we can hold the real thing. Then too, it being Halloween and all,
we liked the idea of a presence too.

All of these haikus did a masterful job of sharing the joy.
Sharing the emotion with depth, with humor, with solace.
Ultimately there can be only one declared winner and for us
it could only be: TROLL

An ancient Pond's song
Jeremiah the bullfrog
8-track memory

Joyful and brilliant
and ,
it brought this too ...
joy to you and me !

Perfect
Congratulations Troll

Haiku Monday: Joy

2011-10-28T11:35:00.000-04:00

Whew!

Is your calendar choc full of things you want to do but can't fit them all in? Last night was our downtown annual Fall Chili Cook-Off from 12 of our best restaurants.   Last weekend was the Harvest Festival, WelcomeBack to the Farm Days with hayrides , corn mazes and veggies to explore. Every mountain community is having apple festivals with folks proudly bringing their best pies, jams, jellies, butters and applewood smoked Q.


   This weekend our most skilled surgeons are carving pumpkins while children chase piglets. There are pumpkin patches and pumpkin games and pumpkin festivals of every description!

There are invitations on the tray to bring your chairs and a favorite brew to hang out and tell a tale or two around a bonfire. There is a spooktacular on offer at the local multi-plex and prizes for movie character look alikes. There are many opportunities to revisit youthful escapades by once again "dressing up" as your wannabe self. The stodgy-est CPA always comes as a rock star doesn't he? There is an entire page in the papers for things for children to do this festive weekend. In Mermaid's neighborhood, they put costumes on the horses and ride from house to house collecting horse treats then later, once the horses are all home, the humans gather for chili, story telling, bonfire and booze.... I'm invited and I am going!!!!!

The weekend traffic counts are up on all the vista roads. Folks just plain yearn to be in the midst of all the Autumnal splendor. To experience this annual miracle in a way that triggers deep breathing , splitting smiles and the comfort of feeling all right with the world.

Joy is in the air and being shared!

Haiku Monday is the perfect location for sharing so this week our theme is: joy
The Rules:
Each participant may enter 3 haiku for judging.
Visuals are welcome and will be a contributing factor in case of ties.
Classic haiku format : 5-7-5, kigo and kireji are required.
The actual word "joy" does NOT have to be in your haiku but,
the emotion should be present.
Entries will be accepted until midnight on All Hallows Eve (PST)
Winner(s) will be announced by Noon on All Saints Day (PST)

To those of you who are new to visiting here at the Pond, please be advised Blowfish ,
will most assuredly participate in the judging. We will make the rounds to your individual blogs to see the visuals but please post all your entries here.

Good Luck Everyone!

Saint Aubert's Faith

2011-10-19T11:14:00.003-04:00

My first glimpse of Mont St. Michele was from a narrow street , in a tiny village, miles from the Mont. I am not sure it is possible to fully grasp the scale of this wonder from afar, or frankly, while you are on the rock. It staggers the brain.

I felt enormous sympathy for St. Aubert. By some accounts, this 8th century Bishop of Avaranches would visit a tidal island off the Normandy coast, known as the Rock of the Tomb, to meditate. On one such retreat it is said the Archangel Saint Michel "thumped" Aubert on the head instructing him to build a sanctuary on this rock. There must have been disbelief, certainly resistance to the enormity of the assignment because other historians claim ultimately Saint Michael was obliged to make three such requests of Aubert until finally resorting to using his finger to burn a hole in Aubert's head.

I cannot understand how it is possible for anyone to see Mont Saint Michel and not believe in God. Or miracles. Or say a prayer of gratitude to St. Aubert for his compliance. He is one of my newly recognized heroes of the faith. It is said that one of the Tresor's of Mont Saint Michel is the preserved skull of Saint Aubert. I did not see this for myself so I cannot verify there is a hole form Saint Michel's visit. It is of no importance to me, I do not need to see Aubert's skull to recognize the miracle.

Once parked on the causeway , walking up to the actual island, it was difficult to accept the reality. This is a medieval city. It has potable water, trees, flowers, bushes, streets, hotels, restaurants, shops, homes, and stairs. Lots and lots of stairs), incredible architecture and at the top of the spire there is a gold statue of St. Michel. It is so high, that even on the island, as high as I could climb and, with a 135 telephoto lens, this is the best image I could capture.

My visit here was actually on the Feast of St. Michel. There
was a special service which I waited in line to attend then,
had a mad dash down the rock and over the causeway before the tide came rushing in. I was not staying on the Mont so getting off before the tide rushes in is essential.

I could say volumes about the wonders of the architecture but ..... well...... see for yourselves.

I could not photograph inside the sanctuary during a service.
Some did. I took a few more images as I made my way down, down, down to the causeway level.

The shadow in the tides

Then these last images before driving off the causeway, back into this century.

Sigh

PS) Not my photograph but too beautiful to not include:

AND: Please take a smiling look at the coat of arms for Mont Saint Michel !!!!

AND: ONE MORE PICTURE JUST BECAUSE I LOVE THIS IMAGE:

Because the Earth grows good here

2011-10-17T20:04:00.000-04:00

I went first to Monet's garden in Giverny. I had read, long years ago, Monet designed his garden as a painting. Not that there was a garden he chose to paint but that he had a vision in his head of a beautiful garden he wished to paint. The garden did not exist. In fact, during the late 1880's most gardens were formal. Like the public gardens at Versailles or the
Tuileries . Monet envisioned his garden as "clumps of color" and set about to create his vision.

I believe I read somewhere it
was 16 years before he actually
made a painting of his garden.
Once he was asked why he created his garden there in Giverny.
His reply, " Because the Earth grows good here" Just an hour west of Paris, within the boundaries of beautiful Normandy
everything appears to grow good.

Perhaps one of the most surprising aspects of this visit was the size of the garden. It is huge. Just the garden at the house is huge, not including the Japanese water gardens. There are stately teuteurs supporting climbing roses and metal arches spanning the pathways for creating light rhythms while supporting plants at their blooming. It is more than the eye can hold.

Monet did more than clump his colors. He clumped shadow and light, he clumped textures and he clumped all of these at multiple heights. I read about how he begged for seeds and how , over time, few came to visit or paint or study or admire who did not come bearing the gift of a fine new plant. Monet was not a horticulturist, he was an artist and he viewed each species as a component of a composition. I will never look at a garden the same way again. As a strange aside, as I was experiencing the wonder of Monet's garden I thought, " How I loathe Monsanto! There will be no more century old gardens with terminator seeds".

The water garden came after the others. Monet had to buy land across the road, receive a variance to divert water from a small tributary to the Seine and seek plants not native to Normandy. Most species of water lillies require warm waters to survive. The pond, connected in numerous paintings by the Japanese bridge were positioned so one would be in shadow while the other was in sunlight. There are numerous accounts by Monet's contemporaries of his passion not for painting the water gardens, but the reflections therein.

When I look at the actual gardens and think about Monet's pallette I am stunned.
In his early, student days, he used the traditional darker paints. In the Impressionist years he wanted light, not dark. He is said to have organized his painters palette in a very specific order which included just 6 colors: white lead, cadmium yellow, vermillion, ,madder, cobalt blue and chrome green. To paint shadows with light was his mission. A right fine one.

I snapped this one last image as I was leaving Monet's home.

What is the connection between artists and their chickens?

Realities

2011-10-14T12:40:00.000-04:00

On the first morning home from my travels I opened my eyes in a dark room and thought,
" Oh no! croissants and tea will not be waiting". Nor beautiful window boxes, nor church chimes nor unknown birds singing their morning joys.

There was the comfort though of my own nest.

In the 3am dark I wandered to the bath on auto pilot. No longer in a kaleidoscope of places trying to remember the facilities locations. En suite? Down the hall? Occupied? I resisted turning on any lights. But. I was awake. It was 3am not 9am. Maybe a Tylenol PM would solve the problem. This decision required light and then... staring back from the mirror was Hagatha the Worst.
Dear God!
I quickly exterminated the vision by turning off the lights and returned to my bed. Later, mercifully, Hagatha was banished and my own visage was returned to the mirror.
A blessing.
Marginal, but still a blessing.

Downstairs I heard Blowfish starting his day. I could tell he was making an effort to be quiet. Smart man as he did not yet know who would be descending the stairs. Fishy, or the other.
I delayed, taking a seat at the top of the stair like a child awaiting the Christmas reveal. I would not be traversing ancient, winding stone steps worn into loblollies in the center from centuries of footsteps. I would not pause at 9 foot ancient leaded glass windows with a view of a moat , or breathtaking gardens, or French blue skies. My hand would not caress ancient railings polished smooth by the hands of French nobility.

I knew I would not descend our stairs to embrace the comforts of my own home. While I was elated to hug my loves I was not elated to leave France. In fact, on my third or fourth day there,
I sent a text message to both Mermaid and Blowfish which said,
"Looking for work, will send for you soonest!" I had hopes of apprenticing with a confectioner or a baker. I have never made
a croissant. Now that I have delighted in the real thing I am urgently wondering how I will find one here. I will have to learn how to make them.

Then too, there is chocolate. In France, chocolate is an art form. Seriously. The chocolates are so beautiful one hates to consume them and destroy such beauty. But there is the matter of taste. Oh! to the beauty magnified in your mouth. So good in fact, that I did learn to not flinch at the $7.50 cost of a one inch square confection. Money is irrelevant in this application because just one is enough to satiate. Worth every Euro.

There are no turrets here at the Pond.
Not even one. Tragically, there also is no family chapel tucked into the turrets. There are no great stone stables , or vineyards or manicured grounds. Also no grooms, vintners or groundskeepers. Alas.

There will be more on my travels.
Later.
Once croissants are located.

2011-10-10T01:38:00.000-04:00

Autumn:

Eager hounds circle,
Alert steeds telepath joy.
Velvet hunt coat morn!

Hunting Haiku

2011-09-26T09:58:00.000-04:00

QUEST:
Nostrils quivering,
eyes scanning left to right.There!
Bass Pro Shops Outlet.

INDIAN LORE;

Run quiet. Swiftly.
No twig snap. No rustle. Breathe
lightly to the kill.

fountain of youth by Lucas Cranach the Elder

Ponce De Leon:

Rise forth as maidens!
Again! Shall you, bliss with me,
in youthful fountains?

GLORY SEEKERS:

Diving at Tarpon,
spring waters freeze ev'ry thought.
No bounty for fools.

ON THE SCENT:
Standing motionless,
all five senses clamoring ...
Blowfish smells supper.

Images from the Beachin' Birthday

2011-09-22T12:35:00.004-04:00

Mermaids killer shoes!

5" cork heels in sand takes muscle.

If orange and blue does it mean this is a Gator crab?

I love a good stormy beach

The storm washed up hundreds of jellyfish

Morning light before the storm hit this beach

This storm canceled our deep sea fishing trip

Part of the beach renourishment initiative

Morning light and flight

Tropical storm Lee was approaching the Gulf

Some days I feel this weathered too!

Beach rhythm

Those clouds were moving , so was the surf.

Dusk at the jetty

Mermaid at the jetty

Sea Oats are protected

We spent a day idling under a cheery blue umbrella

God bless America

I ran from this storm.
In sand.
With the camera.
Hoping I would not get skewered by a fierce bolt of lightening.
Going out on the day I came in.
This was the world at 9:09 am.
I wish I could find a program which would upload these pictures better.
The contrast, the sparkle, the power are amazing in the camera. Not so much here.
I used a new program which is suppose to do the translations from Nikons to this windows live mail program but I am not satisfied.

I enjoyed being on this beach.
(Thank you Mermaid, this was an awesome birthday celebration.)
We drove through a late night arriving around 1:30 in the morning.
We wanted to be there ... to wake up at the beach. It was worth it.
I love a morning beach.
A morning enjoying the companionship of my lovely daughter at the beach is even better.
Priceless.
We were content to just be. To walk a beach. To people watch. To swim. To laze about.

We chatted briefly with a family on the beach with two new babies.
Less than a month old new cousins. The babies came to the beach in laundry baskets. This creative solution provided them with a safe place to rest, easy transport, good ventilation. It made me think of Mermaid's first year and our trips to the beach. How quick the journey from there to here, where she is taking me to the beach. I will never tire of going to the beach with this awesome child of mine.

Our first evening there we went on an evening dolphin cruise along the Perdido inlet. The
vessel is a largish commercial pontoon boat with a bar and facilities and an assortment of
folks. We opted to spend most of the journey outside on the deck not inside with the screaming babies and the noisy head. The captain was good to his word and found us a nice family of dolphins , including a new born, for us to observe. The big males were fearless, coming up alongside the boat and giving us the eye. Warning us of consequences if we messed with their families. Even if there had been no dolphins it would have been a delightful evening cruise. I admire island or beach style architecture with playful colors and deep porches. There were plenty of stellar examples for me to enjoy.

We didn't have any great food. ( Sorry Eggy, no great food photos)
Mermaid was ill with a sinus infection so she couldn't really taste anything.
I am a food bore because of the restrictions. We did have some good seafood though.
We also had some drinkees from an island born barkeep who thought if he made mine stiff enough he could persuade me to karaoake. He should be glad he lost the bet or he would have lost patrons.

While we were in Orange Beach, tropical storm Lee was making his approach into the Gulf. We were hundreds of miles away at the extreme northern end of the Gulf of Mexico but the storm created 8 foot seas, canceling our deep sea fishing charter. The captain told Mermaid we could not possibly be as disappointed as he. He warned we wouldn't actually want to be out in those rough seas in his size boat. Mermaid asked him, " Isn't that why they make dramamine?" He said no but would she come on by , he'd like to meet a girl with spunk. Right. Bring your mother too.

Thank you Mermaid!

Playing with Light

2011-09-14T17:19:00.000-04:00


palm


wanderers

strands


moss

resurrection ferns


crotons


spikes


Sea Grapes


wind tangled


natural art


the greening


vegetation


symbiosis


amazing nature


ground light

Bouganvilla with Palms


neighbors

can you see a raccoon face?

Layered light

An Elder of the Lawn

Nature speaking

The images are not cropped or edited, although some could be improved with a bit of effort.
I am challenged trying to find a program I like for uploading pictures from the camera card to the computer and then onto the blog. These photos are vibrant in the camera. Here some are and some are not. In the past I have used Picasa but I cannot always get it to upload to blogger more than one picture per post. Most annoying. Today I used the standard Windows program that comes with the computer. The quality of the images loses detail, contrast and intensity.

Do any of you have recommendations?
I have some absolutely fabulous shots from my Beachin Birthday I would like to share. I just don't want them to be ..... less than they are because ... Mother Nature was flexing her might. Thanks.

Haiku Monday: Journey

2011-09-12T16:33:00.000-04:00

Bagpipers lament
announces life's last vic'try.
CELEBRATE her joy.

Bud forth ye Roses!
By the brooks shall ye find peace.
Happiness beckons.

Stay true to your song.
Accept kindness from strangers.
Fear. All things evil.

Robin! Where are you?
My nation despairs for truth.
Come quick! Bring your sword!

Commanding visions
Dispatch Joan astride her steed,
leading France in faith.

Smart Phone Benefits

2011-09-09T21:36:00.000-04:00

When Mermaid was in middle school, I encountered one of her classmates, loitering outside the food court, smoking cigarettes and hanging with creeps. I was approaching her from behind and as I got close to her I said, " Well damn girl, I sure am going to hate to be the one to tell your mother about this".

The creeps scattered, the teen got very pale and then angry. Before she could get her first furious salvo off I held up my hand like a street cop and said, "Hold that thought! I came over here to get a fountain coke at Sbarro. They have 'em watered down just the way I like them. You want one?" She opted for the coke. We had a chat then I drove her to school.

It wasn't too long after that I observed another young teen girl about to get talked into a "ride" with some older boys of questionable intent. I remember thinking, " I wish I knew her Mom". Then it dawned on me that kid,and certainly those boys, wouldn't actually know if I did or did not know her mom. So I walked close by, took a hard look at the girl, then the boys, turned back to the girl and said,
"which one of us is going to tell you Mom about this?"

Blowfish says I am a terrible busy body. Maybe so. I know I believe in the universal responsibility of adults to children. They don't have to be ours. I benefited from growing up in a culture which was strong on accountability. I can assure you there was more than one occasion when someone observed my bad decisions and called my mom to say, " You might want to have a chat with Fishy, I saw her ....." There is no question the belief I could do nothing without being observed was a deterrent to poor choices. A good one.

Once, when I was stupid, I kissed a boy I shouldn't have. Uh-huh. We've all done it. My stolen kiss did not go unobserved and as it turned out the observer did not know my mother but did recognize me from church. She told the priest! I am not sure which was worse but, I think, the penance from the Priest was likely less than it would have been from parents.

These days teens can get into all the classic troubles and some a good bit beyond that. We have all seen or heard the horror stories of the apathy of JQPublic while heinous events are being witnessed. Enter the power of the smart phone. It is an awesome deterrent. These days if you are out in public making bad decisions well you might also find yourself the star of a viral you tube video. Way more than your parents or priest will be watching.

The horror.

I have taken the picture of one very angry man.
In a parking lot, yelling horrible things to a terrified woman. I took a picture of him and his license plate. He looked about ready to remove my face when I said, " takes less than a second to hit send". He got in his truck and peeled away. The woman chased him, begging him to come back. She looked like she wanted to remove me, not just my face.

Oh well.

In our little town a peeping Tom has been arrested.
People are shocked because Tom was thought to be a pillar.
And he was careful.
Wore jogging clothes, parked his car a distance from his objective.
A neighbor saw him, looking in a bath window at the house next door. The house with twin teen girls sharing a suite. The neighbor yelled and the peeper ran. A little time went by and the
neighbor again saw the peeper. This time he ran for his cell phone, tried for a picture and called for the twins dad. Tom got away. You would think he would never return but peeping is an addiction, like gambling or alcohol. The neighbor and the dad took the issue to the neighborhood association. Seems like one of the locals had been suspicious of the parked car and had taken a picture of the license plate. Another had seen the jogger and said well it looked like Mr. Pillar. Right. Time went on and then one evening the observer called to say the car was in the neighborhood and the jogger about. The neighbor and the dad took up positions and waited for Tom. They were cool about it. Letting him get right up to the window before the neighbor popped out of the bushes to snap a picture. Dad was positioned to foil the getaway with a robust "halt" then a gunshot into the air. Tom stopped and the rest is pretty typical.

What is not typical is the way these smart phones can be used for this sort of good.
As can the internet and you tube. Maybe. Just maybe, there is hope in a return of accountability.
Those making poor choices today may not fear parents or priests but there are social pressures at every bracket. Would it not be wonderful if all this technology can become a deterrent to evil?

Hearts ,Prayers and Haiku

2011-09-05T12:26:00.000-04:00

Tuesday 's Blessing!
Thank you all for the prayers and good wishes .... they worked!
Blowfish has no new blockages, the stents are fine , his issue is not cardiac. The current working theory is significant spinal changes, pinching nerves and causing chest pain. Sufficient chest pain to cause a change in his EKG. This will take some more diagnostics but we will deal with that. He will be back home by noon tomorrow or, if the Tuesday blessings prevail, this evening.
Hugs to all with our sincere appreciation of your supportive messages.

It's been a good three years since Blowfish has been a guest of the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit.For a span of four years before that he was there every six months. Or less. He has 5 coronary artery stents and a pacemaker. His bloodwork looks good, his color looks good but his EKG is off. His diagnostic is this:
"something is not right". Other than his cardiac issues he is in great shape.

Tomorrow morning we will be back in the third floor cardiac lab. There Blowfish will be rolled away to get investigated. The pink ladies will lead me to a waiting area to offer me coffee and stale magazines. They will inject him with " joy juice", make a hole in his femoral artery, thread a computer linked camera /catheter from that starting point to his heart and find what there is to find. Might be new blockages, might be failed stents, might be a new issue. It might be something they can "fix" on the spot. It might not. There are a lot of "mights". Eventually the phone will ring and a pink lady will move me to a private conference room where a green clad surgeon will come tell me what he knows.

He has spoken with all his children, advising them of his realities and promising to love them forever. Blowfish the daddy has promised to speak to each again on Wednesday to give them updates. They will all know the updates by simultaneous text message shortly after I do tomorrow. Blowfish knows this. He also knows they will be eager to hear the comfort of his voice. Last night we went to hear a concert and watch some fireworks. Today, we are going to a favorite spot for thick grilled hamburgers and tall vanilla milkshakes. Blowfish will be quietly companionable but peaceful doing these things he enjoys. Whatever he is thinking or feeling will not be shared. He hugs normalcy. This is a preference I honor.

Tomorrow is Tuesday
Blowfish and I were both born on a Tuesday.
We had Tuesday night dates for years
before marrying on a Tuesday evening.
Tuesdays have been good to us.
Tomorrow will be no exception.

Haiku Monday: Births

I've seen his heartbeat
In horrid erratic throes.
Mine, thump, thump, thumping.

Haiku Monday: MEMORY

2011-08-29T16:06:00.000-04:00

Childhood:

One blonde, one brunette.
Playing jacks on a hot stoop,
Flipping tens to win !

Peace be With You:

Ephesus sojourn
Mass held in Mary's garden
Dad holding my hand

Timing:
1am cell tweet
Awakens heart pounding fear.
Oh God! Keep her close!

May:

Do you take this man?
To dance with on moonlit sands?
Yep! I did that too :-)

Beachin' Birthday

2011-08-27T16:33:00.001-04:00

Mermaid is taking me on a beach vacation for my birthday!
Wow!

I believe life is a gift and birthdays are our opportunity to say thanks. Some friends have stopped having birthday celebrations after age 45. I disagree. Life is to be celebrated. Our reality is, you get older or you get dead. I hope to have a few more decades to celebrate.

Blowfish claims I am difficult to gift. Unlike most of his hearsay from other spouses, I rarely want "things". Given a choice I pretty much always choose experiences over possessions. Harder to put a bow on but infinitely more valuable. This year he has a super gift in production. He is tickled with himself. So much so he does little jigs around the room when he thinks about it. He is not coming to the beach, he is staying put to hang with the pup and watch the greenery wither in the drought. He has cautioned me to not come home broken.

Mermaid thinks it would be fun if we went parasailing.
Me too. I've done this before, in Acapulco Bay and in the Gulf of Mexico. It is fun, the view is amazing . Injuries or incidents are rare. Blowfish has pointed out Moses can float safely down a river while I cannot. That was so .............. July.

There is a certain amount of safety in hanging out on the balcony, avoiding the UVB's and the UVA's. At twenty something, I doubt this is the vacation Mermaid has in mind. We do love to build sand castles, shell seek, people watch and beach walk. Mermaid loves, loves, loves beach volleyball. Great daylight activities. But at sunset, well things change don't they?

Ahhhhh, life is always different at the beach.

Another thought is to go sport fishing!I mentioned this to Blowfish and he said, "You are fragile. You break. Frequently. You are going to France in a month. Don't blow it being stupid." Well really what are the chances I would hook a fish which would pull me overboard or blow out my neck or my wrists? I am not yet ready to be the old dog on the porch, basking in the sun, watching the pups frolic. I have wrist braces. To charter a private deep sea fish outing is pricey. Clever Mermaid has found a "party boat fishing" option. The idea is to show up at the dock and see how many folks want to go Gulfing for a little adventure. It is $X per head and you go forth for a half day of fishing and partying. There is an air conditioned cabin, indoor vs over the side plumbing, and there is luck. You might meet your soul mate, you might be surrounded by those who did not edit their night before and are having issues.

Either way it is sure to be an experience.

Then, there is food. There is no dieting while on vacation. That is my rule. If you desire birthday cake and fried chicken for breakfast it's fine with me. Because of my severely restrictive, no-salt, dietary regimen I eat out less often than most and rarely eat seafood. Not just because of the sodium values but because I am also allergic to shell fish.

This bothers Blowfish a lot. He is such a foodie it is just beyond him to think of dealing with my limitations. It spoils his joy. He drives himself crazy trying to find someplace to feed me. Farm to table, cook to order restaurants are great for me. Beachy, seafood places not so much. I on the other hand, have been on this regimen since before I ever met Blowfish and am well adapted. Mermaid has never known a mother who could eat what she eats so this is normal to her. If I am asked about where to eat my frequent response is somewhere outdoors or somewhere architecturally interesting or somewhere entertaining. I am more satisfied by the environment than the food.

I will love the sights, sounds, aromas, and the companionship of my wonderful daughter.

.
Who needs food!

Haiku Monday: Walk

2011-08-22T19:18:00.000-04:00

2012

Walk, talk and chew gum?
Presidential candidates!
Vote for Juicy Fruit.

The Clutch Strut

Must these damn rappers
clutch their stuff and scream out loud?
Walk that walk elsewhere.

Conundrum

Will you? Kiss my feet.
If. I walk a mile in yours.
Will you love me still?

I AM NOT SHE

2011-08-19T16:57:00.001-04:00

There was a time in my life when I believed I was uniquely me.
My own true self.
It is disturbing to be told I am not.

Today I was in a market close out store. It's one of those places that buys the inventories from furniture market showrooms. They often buy great stuff for pennies on the dollar. If the manufacturer is overseas it is far more cost effective to sell the entire showroom contents at the end of market than to ship it back. Ten cents to the dollar is the norm.
The downside to these type of stores is you have to haunt them as they are only open a few days a month and they only have what they have. In other words if you see something you like get it because they will not have another nor can you order more of the same.

So today I went. This particular business is located in a metal warehouse building which is not climate controlled. While we are not still in the triple digits , temperatures remain in the mid nineties outside. Hotter inside the warehouse. They have the bay doors partially open and the BigAss fans blowing.
(That is the honest to goodness name of the manufacturer of large scale industrial fans) but it is not the same as air conditioning. I do not visit this location in "designer" clothes. I wear jeans, a polo and boots . Others dress for the heat in clothes which are only slightly more than what I wear in the shower. I understand it is hot but that is not a reason to display all ones goods. Not to mention my body is a bit beyond the display stage of life.

As I was passing a collection of furniture which was clearly designed for bachelors, a woman with big yellow hair and a name tag came out from between rows and said,
" Well, I can't believe you would show your face in here again."
" I beg your pardon?"
" Beg all you want, it will do you no good here!"

Clearly Big Hair had an issue with someone. Not me. I had never met her before.
I put my hand out to shake and said,
" Hi. I am Fishy from Fishy Designs and I do not believe we have met."
" You are not!" was the heated response.
I was not in the mood so I gave her a firm look and said, " I am sure if Steve or Jane is here they will be glad to vouch for me. Now if you will excuse me I have limited time today and I would like to continue on".
" How long do you think you can do this?"
"Do what?"
"Pretend to be someone else?"
I again took stock of this individual who was not just confused but also acting a bit like a junkyard dog. Not my issue. I reached into my bag and came out with a business card which I handed to Big Hair and said,
"If you go back up front, you will see I, and my business, are in your computer system. If necessary you can call the number on the card and hear my phone ring. Now please excuse me"

While she was studying the card I made good my escape. I had made it through the bays with upholstered goods, the casegoods, the deconstructed Kitchens and was browsing the accessories when Big Hair reappeared. She marched up to me and said,
"My name is Nova and you look exactly like her. Same face, same hair, same size, same everything that I can see."

" Nova, please excuse me."
" Are you a twin?'
"Nope. Nor a triplet or so on either."
" Well your non twin is a thief and a liar."
" I am not Nova and for sure I would like for you to move off this subject. I have been patient but I think I am done now. You have in essence told me I am not myself, not truthful and a thief. I like to think I am uniquely me. I like to think I own my face as well as my behaviors. I like to think I have manners but my string is a bit short in this heat so please do let me continue on ".
" I never forget a face."

With that I moved on and continued to shop.
Nova did not follow. But the next bay over there she was.
Staring. Shaking her head. Pretending to look for something but stalking me.

I found this irritating and decided to leave.
As I began moving toward the exit, the owner Steve came in,
" Fishy! nice to see you how are things?"
" Good, you?"
"Great! Come back here I want to show you a new showroom I just bought. We are making room for it in G Bay now." He was very enthusiastic.
" Next time, I was just leaving."
" You didn't buy anything? Come on, let me show you the new stuff!".
" I pass, but it's nice to see you".
As I was taking my leave I heard a hissing sound behind me. I turned and saw Nova rapidly gesticulating and stage whispering to Steve. He was shaking his head and smiling, then he started laughing really hard.
He waved me over while he was still trying to gain composure. As I got closer I saw Nova was way past being red faced. She had moved onto plum and was heading toward blue. I had a mean, irrational thought,
" if that damn woman arrests someone else will have to do the cpr".
Finally, after getting his laughter under control Steve said, " Nova here thinks you look like someone else".
" She mentioned."
" She thinks I should check your tatoos to confirm your identity."
" What?".
" So does this mean you don't have tatooed .....er.... pasties?"

Not funny.
Not funny at all.

Driving Home

2011-08-12T22:59:00.003-04:00

On my way home from my recent travels I hit a spot of rebellion. I just did not want to be traveling the interstates dodging the killer 18 wheelers. The weekend before my trip two of those haulers had a slam up spiraling from northbound to southbound lanes killing the drivers and a couple of other innocents in their path.

Folks traveling that same patch of interstate were stuck in hundred degree heat for 8 hours. They had to turn off the engines and just absorb the heat from hell radiating into the cars off the melting asphalt. The Red Cross sent volunteers out there on ATV's with bottles of water and sacks of apples. Families begged the volunteers to take their babies and their elderly to some air conditioning and food. Horrible.

If you are traveling from Florida to the Carolina's your primary options are I-75 or I-95. Both of which are about 65% tractor trailer saturated slabs. So I decided once I got beyond the major traffic areas I would get off the super slabs and go another way. North of Lake City I went East on I-10 taking the first exit in about a mile to get on US 441. You can take this road North into Douglas , Georgia then pick up the 221 and ride it all the way to within 25 miles of my home county. Which I did.

It was bleak. The drought has burned up the cotton fields. All the fields were tragic. It is painful to see mile after mile of devastation. Very few of the farms I passed had irrigation so their crops are a sad, hard loss. More than cotton was lost. Food. Cattle. Livlihoods. Hope.

Definitely not a scenic trip, but no tractor trailers either.
Me, the Fizz and a not too terrible audio book cruising up the road was fine by me.

When I reached the intersection of 441 and 221 I gasped aloud.
There was a sign saying: McRae 52. OMG! I had not thought of my summer in McRae, Georgia in decades. There was no point in listening to the book cd after that. My head was flooded with memories.

In my fifteenth summer a long time family friend went square dancing on a Saturday night stomping her way through the raised platform and fracturing her leg. Badly. It required surgical hardware and six weeks in a wheelchair with her leg straight out in front of her. Once she was able, she telephoned my mother and asked her to send me to McRae to " be her legs" for the Summer.
Mama said ,"of course".
I begged and wailed and wrung my hands but Mama still loaded me up on a smelly Greyhound bus and shipped me to Hell. I won't say that bus ride was as horrible as Frida's but it was terrible. Extremely. I thought I would be glad to get off that bus but the reality of McRae was worse.

Some sweaty, weary, dusty old man in a rusted out pick up truck came up to me and explained he was there to take me to Mizz McRae. Our family friend had married into the McRae family which is how she came to be living there. Sadly, Mr. McRae had died shortly after their marriage . Bernadine had stayed on as the nursing supervisor of the tiny Telfair County Hospital. The only doctor on staff was another McRae and the specialists who came through when called. Bernadine was practicing medicine too. They didn't actually have "Nurse Practitioners" in those days as a title. They sure did as a reality. When doc was not there the back up physician was the vet. When he too was unavailable medical care was a toss up between Bernadine, the pharmacist and the voodoo woman in the block house.

Bernadine was the only registered nurse in the county.
I was the only slave.

My "job" was to get Bernadine to and from the hospital and, to do her rounds/duties with her while at the hospital. With that straight out leg she could not get close enough to the beds to take vital signs or change a dressing or check a pupil for reaction or help in the ER/OR. Nor could she hold a bedpan or an emesis basin or change a bed or empty collection bags or give bed baths. Before the Summer was over I was a pretty good nurse practitioner too. I had done all kind of nursing and a surgery or two when doc was away,
we couldn't contact the vet, and Bernadine couldn't reach the patient who was about to bleed to death. I delivered a baby too. The mother was 12.

Unbelievable.
Also, a very, very great distance from my usual poolside at the club summers.

Back to my arrival.
I refused to get in the truck with Weary Man. I went to a pay phone, called the hospital, talked to Bernadine before I would agree to get into a car with this suspicious stranger. Imagine my shock when upon arrival at the hospital he took his leave by taking Bernadine's car and leaving the truck. Bernadine explained she could not get in and out of her car so we would be using the truck now that I was present. I hadn't quite figured out how she could get in and out of the truck until I was instructed to back it up to the hospitals loading dock, pull out a sheet of plywood and roll her onto the truck bed. She gave me directions through the back window on how to get "home". Which was a trailer in a dry field.

Seriously, I nearly died of the shock of it all.

I am certain my manners were not up to snuff but you try making a plywood bridge from a truck bed to a metal trailer door and shove a 250 pound wheelchair bound woman through it. A woman who could not stand without crutches, or take a bath or get in a bed or use the facilities without assistance. Once we were through that door, before I moved the truck, I searched for the telephone. I'd been in McRae for about 6 hours and that was enough for me. I called home and as soon as Mama answered I said,
" Come get me. I'm not doing this!"
" You are".
" NO ma'am! I am not! Come get me now!!!!!!!!!!!!"
" Good night Fishy, give Bernadine a hug from me."

I could write a book about my summer in McRae.
It could be divided into the hospital horrors, the home horrors and the horror of the butterbeans.
The basic outline of life in McRae was this.
Get up, make breakfast, clean the kitchen, do laundry, make beds, be Bernadine's full time step and fetch. After lunch it was help Bernadine get groomed and dressed for work. Get the truck, back it up to the trailer, roll Bernadine out , climb down, get in the cab, pull up enough to clear the door, get out of the cab, lock the trailer, secure Bernadine in the truck bed, get back in the cab and drive to the hospital. Work at the hospital from 2pm until midnight, do the transport thing in reverse, get Bernadine changed and in her recliner for the night. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Some nights I would just fall asleep from sheer exhaustion. Other nights I cried giant tears of self pity until sleep finally came.

By the end of the first week I was reconciled to this awful reality. In the evenings the hospital was the town square. First people came in to visit. Others stayed in the lobby/lounge area because the hospital was just about the only air conditioned public building open at night. It is hot like you cannot believe in McRae, Georgia in the summer time. That kind of heat makes people crazed. Bernadine allowed as how it was good medicine to let the townsfolk hang out in the air conditioning. She said it made for fewer stabbings and shootings. Eventually I think I met everybody in McRae. After the first week there were not many who had not stopped by the hospital to meet " Bernadine's legs". Bernadine's legs learned she had skills but no desire to be a doctor. Or a nurse. Or a Georgian. I learned how to focus on whatever emergency presented and deal with my own responses afterward. I witnessed the spectrum of humanity.

Have you ever grown butterbeans? They do taste great but they are a chore to harvest. They grow low to the ground on a bush about a foot tall. The bean pods hang down under the leaves so harvesting them is backbreaking work because you are picking at ankle height

Just steps from the trailer door was the kitchen garden. A few rows of each of the summer vegetables. I would go out most mornings after breakfast, water the garden,pick the bugs off the crops, pick what was ripe, feed the outdoor cats and at the end of the property make sure an old white horse had fresh water. Just that little bit in the hot still air was enough to make you shower wet with sweat. If the air was moving any at all you became covered in a fine coating of dust stuck to your sweat. I hated it there. Hated.

One morning, once I came in with the harvest and headed for the shower, Bernadine asked if I didn't want to go back out and pick butterbeans.
" They are not ready".
" Are you sure, you haven't picked any all week and they are my favorite".
" They aren't ready"
" Now Fishy, I know it isn't enjoyable to pick beans but you don't want to be wasteful".
"They aren't ready!!!!!!"

Bernadine studied me a minute then said, " Please will you go look again?
Eve Lynn said last night if we got 'em picked she would cook 'em for us. She makes the best butterbeans of all . Go on back out there and check that first row, those butter beans should be ready."
Reluctantly I went back out there, walked down the row a bit and then headed back to the trailer. Just as I was placing my foot on the first step I heard a click. Bernadine had used a crutch to reach across the trailer and lock the door. I was beyond fury. When I stopped screeching and door pounding Bernadine called through the door something about letting me come back inside once the butterbeans were picked. I learned a whole new level of rage that day.

But, the truth is rage takes energy and it gets expended quickly in relentless, scorching heat. It wasn't long before I had to go get the hose and cool myself down. I looked but the keys were not in the truck. I needed some shade but there was none. I could walk to the McRae family home but it was a healthy hike. The home is nice, surrounded by a pecan grove so there was shade and a pond up there. When Bernadine first married she and Mr. McRae lived in the family house but once he died the next one in the family line up moved in and they "let" Bernadine move to the trailer. It was situated far enough away on the property so it would not be seen from the main house. I was just too tired and hot to make the hike. And what would I do when I got there? Go for a swim?

What I was for damn sure not going to do was pick any butterbeans.
Not one.
No ma'am.

Eventually I got the idea to go down and see the old white horse.
I do not know what came over me but I got the notion to get on that horse.
That's not unreasonable except when there is no tack. No bridle, no saddle.
You can do without tack if you can ride and know your horse. It is crazy to place yourself on the back of a large animal without knowledge or skills. But I did. I must have been heat crazed because I coaxed that old horse over to the gate, climbed on his back, grabbed mane, opened the gate and clucked.

Soooooo stupid.

The horse lived in a dry dusty lot. Nothing to eat but the little bit of hay morning and evenings. He headed for the only green stuff in sight. The kitchen garden. He did not show a lick of interest in corn, tomatoes, peppers or squash. He headed straight for the butterbean rows, dropped his head and started to munch. I came off straight away. Once he dropped his head like that I slid right down his neck like a slide. Once I stopped laughing I got worried about how I was going to get the horse out of the garden and back to his pen. He wouldn't budge. I went and got the hose to squirt him out of the garden. That did not work. He loved the cool shower and even took a drink from the hose before returning to his busy consumption of the butterbean plants. Eventually I quit worrying about the butterbeans and began to wonder if they were okay for horses to eat. In desperation I unhooked the hose and tried using it as a lead rope to get the horse back to his lot. It did work. The process of having a tug o war with a resistant horse in a garden is devastating to the garden. Once the horse was secure and I returned to the garden it was ...over.

Too bad.

I returned to the trailer to find the door unlocked. I stomped inside, told Bernadine she was a witch and headed for the shower. She sweetly asked if I had picked the butterbeans. She wanted to get them shelled while I showered. I stuck my head around the corner and explained where the beans were. Bernadine said,
" Fishy! You've killed that sweet old horse!"
" What?"
" Those butterbeans will colic that horse. We have to get the vet out here immediately !"

The vet wasn't available but he told me how to put a tube down a horse's nose to empty it's stomach. I cut up the garden hose, greased it with lard and became a vet. Once I got the stomach emptied I had to give the horse a paste of oatmeal and water and then walk him. For hours. In that dreadful, relentless heat. A horse with a stomach ache is not a willing creature. They communicate this in awful ways. Eventually someone came to take Bernadine to the hospital while I kept walking the horse. Late in the afternoon the vet came to have a look and told me to keep walking. Later, Bernadine sent some town kids from the lobby/lounge out to help with the walking.

The horse lived.
I lived.
I didn't kill anyone .
I didn't pick any butterbeans.
I learned a lot about ...everything.
Bernadine got her cast off.
I went home.

The Telfair county hospital today

Village Life

2011-08-09T10:12:00.001-04:00

Hi.
The Fizz and I took another circular trip to hug my scattered loves. There is something very satisfying in making a journey to and for love. In my case I visit not just my loves but their locations, their homes, their gardens, their enterprises. To catalog in my memory banks visual references of their lives. It soothes.

This year it was a quick trip. I needed to return in time to participate in a most unusual wedding. I first met the bride when she was in fifth grade. Becca was at work with her mom before they left for a trip to the capital. She was proudly going forth as her school's representative in the Geography Bee. Now she is a summa cum laude graduate of the honors college of a large state university. She took a major in linguistics and a minor in anthropology. She looks pretty much the same as she did in fifth grade. Just taller and with a bosom. She's giving herself a couple of weeks to settle into marriage before starting graduate school. There is no moss gathering on this eager for life young woman.

It was, according to Becca's mom, always her wish to come 'home' to get married. She had a vision of what she wanted that was in keeping with her sense of community. Which is strong. She did an immersion semester in China where she was a standout. Very fair skin, tall, large boned, single females all stand out in that culture. She found her way to acceptance via her belief in the goodness and commonality of mankind.
Those beliefs were founded and nurtured in her 'village church' and her summer mission trips through her high school and college summers. No surprise this young woman wanted to come back to her 'home village' to make the trip down the aisle. Fairly traditional but she wanted to do it 'her way' which is to say it takes a village to host a wedding.

Women of the church donated the alter dressings and flowers. They were quite unusual as the swagged garlands appeared to be the wedding veils of past brides, the flower bouquets at intervals were made from the fabrics, lace, beads and appliques from bridal gowns past. Donated by church ladies. All these efforts were supervised by a family friend with a distinguished career as a textiles artist.

The photographers and videographers were their wedding present from a longtime family friend.

The family spent months collecting wine bottles. The father of the bride then cut the necks off and ground the edges smooth to make vases for the centerpieces for the reception. Her mother grew all the flowers for the centerpieces , the bridesmaids bouquets and the brides bouquet. The maids wore Wildcat blue dresses with bright yellow daisy bouquets. Two ladies from the church collected the blossoms and made the bouquets for the maids. It was charming.

One of the Bridesmaids made the wedding cake. Simple smooth fondant covering three round layers with neat ribbons encircling each tier and the base surrounded by daisys, the couples monogram gracing the top. Village talent was shared everywhere.

One Uncle is a landscaper. He brought his love and his talents to the gallery to supervise the centerpieces at buffet tables, bar, dj station, and every guest table. The wine bottle arrangements were done on site then set upon mirror squares and surrounded by votives in a collection of donated containers. Each table had a slightly different arrangement. All had an assortment of ferns, daisys, zinnias. Each was then accented with a variety of blooms. Some with Hydrangeas, others with Gardenias, still others with Roses. Whatever was looking it's best on the cutting day. Not too different from a Garden Party Wedding it's just that they brought Mom's garden to another location.

The groom is an architect. He loves historic preservation but currently is employed designing prisons. The bride wanted the reception to be in a building he would love. And remember. So they came to our Arts Center which is in a very old, restored produce warehouse. The galleries have 16 foot ceilings, hand hewn beams, exposed brick walls, original plank flooring and huge new windows in every bay with every kind of lighting needed to showcase the art. It's nice. We local artists raised three million dollars to pay for the renovations. Moms garden looked great in there! Natural, not floristy or homey.

Others from the village donated an antique car for the wedding couples departure. Still another provided for a bagpiper to pipe the happy couple on their way to the cheers and waves of the many guests and participants.

Other friends donated the wedding couples stay in a new downtown boutique hotel close to the Arts Center. On Sunday the newlyweds were traveling to Charleston where another villager donated a night in a beautiful old bed and breakfast along the battery. Monday evening they were boarding a cruise ship for the islands.

I was happy to be part of this Village.
I actually do not live in the Village or attend the Village Church.
It did not prevent the Villagers from welcoming me.
What amazed me the most? The acceptance. There were villagers of all stripes. All equally joyful.
All age groups had a great time and all took to the dance floor. Mom's and Dad's with young children and even the seventy somethings were out there shaking their booties. These Villagers love to dance! There was no need for the DJ to game people to the dance floor, he could barely keep up with the demands. Other than the Bride, I think her grandmother danced the most. Joy is contagious.

Did I mention the Groom is a twin?
His brother was the best man and gave a fine speech. It brought down the house with his funny stories about how growing up as a twin he had to learn to share everything. He said he and the groom had their difficulties along the way but always found a way to work things out. To learn how to share. Then he said ,
" The one thing I never had to share was my brother. Until now."

My guess is he will learn to share his brother with a series of villages, not just Becca.

I suspect this groom has signed on for an interesting journey.
Becca processed to the altar to the music of Handels
Arrival of the Queen of Sheba.

Eggplant Frituras

2011-07-31T18:08:00.000-04:00

Intuitive Eggplant has graciously invited us all to get off our sofas and cook some eggplant!
How wonderful. So on my way home from an appointment Saturday morning I stopped in at our local farmer's market. It was pitiful. Our drought conditions are harsh. Farmers are not getting enough rain. Some with wells are taking risks to water their produce. County water gets pricey in a hurry. These farmers have to recoup that investment by raising their prices for what is actually marginal produce.

I did buy every eggplant I saw, 2 Black Russians and 3 Fingerlings. I paid 25 cents for the three fingerling eggplants plus a dollar tip. For a minute I feared I had offended this good man's pride. I tapped his hand and said, " These are hard to find. I hope you will be here all season". I smiled and walked away before he could say anything. I paid $1.40 for the two Black Russians.

My plan was to come home and set up for a great blog. But, as things played out, I had to go back out to the client at the lake and take more measurements in triple digit heat.

Today I thought would be better anyway. No divided interests. I could take my time and fix an eggplant dish which would be yummy with the pork tenderloin marinating in the frige. I decided to check on the entries to date as I did not want to duplicate. That's when I discovered I had no internet service. I tried all the usual troubleshooting. Nada. We called the "bundler" (that I call the "bungler") only to be told it was a weekend. As if I did not know. This means fewer staff, longer waits, etc. Then I got a call back saying there had been an outage in our service region and no tech would be coming as service should be restored once the outage was corrected. Blah, blah. It is 6pm and we are just now "restored".

What I would have entered had I actually cooked today:

Eggplant Frituras:

Peel and seed 2.5 cups of eggplant

Heat half cup of olive oil in a Wok to 375 degrees

mix together:

the shredded eggplant

2 finely chopped scallions

1 egg

3/4 cup all purpose flour

1/4 cup cornmeal

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg

pepper to taste

Drop by rounded teaspoons into the heated oil

Fry until golden brown, turning once, about 2 minutes

Drain on paper towels

Salt to taste

Serve immediately

This is the recipe as published.

I actually soak the shredded eggplant in lemon juice for 10 minutes, drain it well,

then press it between paper towels to ensure dryness. I do this to remove bitterness but

also because I do not use the baking powder because of the sodium value. I do whip the egg before incorporating the other ingredients for a bit of rise to the batter.

If the batter seems too thick, add just enough liquid for your fritter to hold together.

Apologies to you Eggy!
I'll do better next time.

Thread Counts

2011-07-26T13:07:00.004-04:00

48" width
53% Linen
47% Viscose threads
Machined background embroidered pattern
Hand embroidered detailing
15.5" vertical repeat
24" horizontal repeat
Teflon finish available.
Not inventoried.
Made to order in colorway of choice
3 to 4 month lead time
MSRP $390.00 per yard

Beautiful.

A terrible thing happened when I went to see BeeDee about her bedroom.
Last year, about this time, she called to say she never uses designers, does most of her own sewing and some of her own upholstering. She was very clear, " I do not need your services. I just need for you to come to my house and tell me what colors you would recommend. You will understand when you arrive".

Quite the invitation.
Since the design business is closely tied to both construction and real estate , we also are down, as an industry, about 60%. More in some areas. So odd invitation or not it at least represented a consultation fee. I went. I immediately fell in love!

First with BeeDee herself and then with her house.
She has a newer style 5000+ sq. ft. cottage on the lake. The rear of the house is almost solid window walls to capture the breathtaking north facing views of the lake and mountains. Seriously, in the first few minutes, I could not follow her conversation because of the distraction of the view. "Purple mountains majesty" is way more than a song lyric in this location.

Back to BeeDee. There is much to admire. She is a tiny little spitfire of a woman. Beautiful without any artifice, interference or apologies for aging naturally. There is evidence of the journey etched into her face but it is mostly the result of a fully lived, laughter filled, journey. She raised 5 children, pretty much alone, while her husband invested long, long hours in his globe trotting executive career. She came from a monied family, he did not. When he asked for her hand he promised her Dad she would not suffer for loving him. They have lived in 17 homes on 4 continents. They have been married 40 some years and share 17 grandchildren. Two years before retiring he told BeeDee, " I owe you . Pick wherever you want to live, build whatever you want."

She chose this location because all of the kids and grand kids can get there in a day by car. She wanted to build a home which would become the family "lake house" for successive generations. With a fund set up to care for the property in perpetuity. How could I not admire this?

Once I got beyond the distractions BeeDee explained she was ready to "freshen the nest". She explained about the 17 houses, that she and the kids had "done them" all.
All of her children can paint, sew, upholster, garden and cook. She said many of their furnishings had traveled with them, like old familiar friends, just getting new looks for each new location. She was very clear on never liking houses which have that "designed" look. She much prefers homes to reflect the character and interests of the occupants. I agreed. Pointing out a house with a "designer look" was the definition of failure. Her home is meant to be about her life, not my talents. To have "a" look is the definition of failure as a designer.

For the record. The majority of my clients are smart, capable people with beautiful homes. Most have never contracted a designer and most have a healthy disregard for my profession. Often they call because they are busy and want someone to "expedite" their needs not "design" their needs. I understand. I would have a very hard time allowing a stranger to come into my house and set about changing it. When a project is converted from "expediting" to actual "designing" I am thrilled. I like to ring the bell.

What she wanted was to re-upholster every piece of furniture on the main floor (except in her Master Suit.)
upgrade all window treatments and, add a little " zip" to the overall statement. She was about to go traveling through multiple states, loved shopping for textiles and wanted me to evaluate her color balance and put together a new color scheme for her to take with her. " Just so you know, I will NOT be buying any designer fabrics from you". I nodded my understanding, took some photographs and scheduled a presentation conference in a week

Being a competitive sort I presented her with a color scheme with an ensemble of 22 of those designer fabrics. Demonstrating not just the color palette but also the value of contrast in scale, texture, weight and mood of each fabric. I knew she would never find equivalents in her travels. I presented them to her in a conference setting and then in the individual rooms in her home. She bought every single one.

The entire family gathers for a week every Spring.
BeeDee reported all the kids and all the grands loved everything.

Recently she called to say it was sad but true her bedroom was looking " dowdy" in comparison to the other spaces on the main floor. The vintage looking Toile in her bedroom did look great with her four poster but a little stuffy for a lake house. " Come for tea and bring fabrics" she said.

Honoring that invitation was a date I looked forward to.

I know it sounds odd to some but the exact color, the exact fibers, the exact pattern, the exact mood of a single fabric can be an obstacle to many women. I have met women who have let their drapes literally rot in place because they could not find a fabric they loved as much as the original.

I get that.
If it fails to evoke that since of "right" for the woman and for her home then it will be an expensive daily thorn.

Before our appointment I ordered in samples of fabrics to be presented. One did not arrive so it was necessary to bring the swatch book to the presentation. Bee Dee and I had a nice visit then got down to work. Everything started just fine. But, while we were looking at the proposed fabric in the swatch book it slid off the bed and onto the floor . When I picked it up it was open to the swatch of the embroidered fabric seen in the photograph at the opening of this post. You probably noticed the colors in that fabric are exactly the colors out the window of the view across the lake to the mountains. It has an airyness, a traditional statement but, in a more contemporary flow. Much like BeeDee's airy, traditional cottage with a contemporary flow.

She plucked the entire sample book out of my hands.
" This is it!"
" BeeDee. Lets go back to the other swatch."
" Fishy! I adore this fabric. It's perfect in every way."
" BeeDee, it's beautiful but that is an investment fabric".
" What kind of investment?"
"Significant. I think we could get a yard, maybe two of this to add impact. We shouldn't consider this for your draperies. You have this entire window wall and ten foot ceilings which requires 35 yards of fabric"
"We are not poor!"
"I noticed. But like you told me before , you do not want any fabrics in this house which will not hold up to peanut butter and jelly fingers. That you want all your grands to feel welcome and loved in every room. That you did not want your children to have a melt down if their kids put feet on the furniture. This textile does not meet this criteria. Can we go back and look at this other swatch?"
" No. I like this one the best of everything I have seen today.
Let's use this as our inspiration fabric and move forward."
There was a pause before responding,
" Great".
BeeDee gave me a measured look.
ANY designer would love to have a client say " I want what I want damn the costs". Certainly BeeDee can afford anything she wants. But this is not her "show and tell" house it is her "lake house" and while she loved this fabric, I knew she would not buy it.
" Fishy."
" Um hum"
" Investment fabric? What does that mean?"
"In this case it means the fabric is a tight gauge, combed linen ground with hand embroidery made to order which is reflected in the price."
" Is this one of those hundred dollar a yard fabrics?"
"No."
"Well then, lets continue on".
I started pressing buttons on a calculator.
"It's $413.40 per yard including tax.
According to this calculator, 35 yards would cost $14,469.00 plus shipping from India."
Teflon coating to make it jelly proof would be a few hundred more."
There was a sudden stillness in the room. I wasn't certain but I thought there was a fifty fifty chance she might succumb to the urge and smack me with the swatch book. I looked her in the eye and said,
" Hand me the book BeeDee"
She did not. She was still taking my measure.
" Why did you show me this fabric Fishy?"
" I did not SHOW you the fabric. It was in the swatch book with a fabric I did want you to see.
Let's forget about this fabric and go back to our options."
" Why did you even bring this book onto my property?"
" Do you want me to go put it in the car?"
" I am just so mad. Is this what designers do? Bait you with love and hit you with dollar signs?"

I looked around at her multi-million dollar views in her multi-million dollar home and thought to myself what client would buy this fabric? It is beautiful. It is also quiet, understated. Not too many would. A few maybe, like BeeDee who has a love for beautiful handarts and the funds to indulge that love.

" BeeDee, let me tell you about this fabric. It's made in India. In a horrible building. There are women there with babies in their bellies and another strapped to their back. They sit on the floor on a pile of scraps for back breaking hours trying to concentrate on the perfection of the stitches. There is an overseer who walks down the rows to keep the women from chatting too much and, to make sure the workmanship is impeccabe. If it is not they will not be paid for the days work. They will maybe earn a dollar for every linear inch they embroider. That's forty eight inches. They will not earn much for their artistry, sacrifice and effort. That dollar is life to them. That's the real 'investment' of this fabric. You actually can afford all of this you could possibly want, it just offends your sense of decency. Mine too."

After a lengthy pause she said,
"Do you drink?"
"Yes, please"

Home Truths

2011-07-16T10:50:00.005-04:00

" Ummm, Fishy are you alright?"
"Sure"
" Did you want to go out to dinner?"
"Not really"

Blowfish looked around . There were no pots simmering on the stove, no red lights indicating the oven was doing it's thing, no favorite smells wafting out to the garden room. This is a reality he always finds disconcerting. Blowfish is one of those men who just plain loves to come home to a fine smelling Kitchen. He even rubs his hands together like a cartoon character or takes us through a few dance steps around the Kitchen to express his joy. The man loves his groceries. If there was any justice in the world of metabolism I would be a wraith and he would be rotund. When we first married Blowfish would get up and before the second foot hit the floor he would be asking what's for dinner. I have no idea at 6am what I might be hungry for at 7pm. I would much rather keep a stocked pantry and decide what to cook based on what I am hankering for. Blowfish much prefers knowing because he wants to anticipate dinner all through his day. Ever the optimist, it took him two full decades to accept this reality of life with Fishy was unlikely to change. To his credit he has learned to anticipate surprises.

No food smells and no dinner date are not a "surprise" he enjoys. On this day he looked around, gave a little nod and headed down the hall to get changed. He was back promptly.
" Fishy, did something happen today?"
"No"
"Are you upset about something?"
"Uh-uh"
"Mad about something? Mad at me?"
" Why are you asking?"
" That rainbow in my closet might have something to do with it."
" Oh. That. Just ignore it."
I may have mentioned in a previous post that I do laundry and organize closets when I am agitated about things I cannot change. I had on this day done all of Blowfish's laundry and, had then organized his section of polo shirts in the cool to warm color range of a rainbow. This, combined with the no food smells was making his alarms chime.
"Fishy, lets go up to Joe's and have us a fine dinner, some good wine and some foot rubbing under the table."
I laughed out loud.
" Odessa is right about you. You are a fool of a man".
" Only about what I love. Is it a date?"
"No"
Did I mention Blowfish is an optimist?
" Well we can do all the wine drinking and foot rubbing we want at home. Add a little peanut butter and jelly and I can rest happy."
This was even said with a smile.
Still laughing I said, " Why don't you get changed and I will magically make your dinner appear."

When he came back to the Kitchen there was nothing happening. He looked crestfallen. Truly.
Then he noticed a table setting , a wine glass, a corkscrew. He looked a little better. Even hopeful.
He smiled as her turned toward the Kitchen and said,
" It's seafood pasta salad isn't it?"

As he was finishing his vat of dinner he said,
" Fishy. What is up with all this? My laundry is done, my closets are organized, my dinner is awesome."
I said,
" Well, its sort of a good bye, remember me fondly statement".
Looking confused he stood up to ask, " you're leaving?"
" Possibly. You see I got so furious with the games coming out of Washington today I lost control. I dispatched e-mails to every member of Congress and to the President telling them if it was up to me they would be terminated immediately. Later it dawned on me the word 'terminated' could be interpreted to mean something other than 'You're fired!'. I expect the FBI to show up just any minute and haul me away for being a threat to our democracy."

Blowfish winced,
" Damn girl, you never have looked your best in stripes."

Uncle Scrooge vs Uncle Sam

2011-07-11T20:20:00.003-04:00

Growing up, one of my sisters was fairly serious from an early age. She was playful too, but she always had a bit more awareness of the temporariness of childhood. We were raised in a household where there was no TV viewing during the week. We were allowed to watch on Friday nights and Saturdays. In the era where every child watched Saturday morning cartoons, we all had our favorites. This sister did not. She would choose a good book over a silly cartoon every time. UNLESS, the cartoon was about Uncle Scrooge McDuck. He who was so wealthy he had his own money building!

I think,

in the beginning, it wasn't the riches which attracted. It was that Uncle Scrooge had no patience for
Uncle Donald's pursuit of foolish endeavors. Not to mention his poor example for nephews Huey, Dewey and Louey. Mostly I think she liked the equation. Uncle Scrooge was the smartest and the most disciplined and had the rewards to prove it. This particular sister also loved monopoly the best of all the games; until she played Risk. World domination was vastly more satisfying than taking over Park Place with hotels. Early on she got the equation of money, power and autonomy.

No, she did not grow up to have her very own money building. Nor, piles of money big enough to ski down.
She did however follow Scrooge's example of being informed, hard working and always in pursuit of security.
I am not sure, but I think of all the cartoon characters, Uncle Scrooge was the only one who could have been Catholic in her view. Between the Church's teachings and Uncle Scrooge's examples, she's done very well.
She shares well with others too, I have a treasured Fendi clutch she brought from Europe with love.

I also liked Uncle Scrooge, but at some point in our youth her reasons for liking Uncle Scrooge the most seemed ...burdensome. As we matured, her focus did not alter much and neither did mine. While I am not a frivolous person there are some subjects I don't cotton too all that well. Understanding the world wide money games is at the top of the charts. I intensely loathe the world population being treated as cannon fodder while the players ..... play. I have known for a very long time, I cannot change the game. No surprise. I hated the game of Risk too. One holiday, long after we were grown and fledged, we had so many gathered around we played in teams, There came a time when I could make a big play. I saw the play, understood the play and just did not want to take it.
" Make the play Fishy!", she hissed into my ear.
" No".
" Don't be stupid."
"No"
" ATTACK!"
Yes, I knew it was the winning decision. Maybe it was growing up in a house with a Dad who had served in a war or maybe because I worked in hospitals and witnessed horrific injuries or maybe it was from dating a man who came home from a war looking whole but forever maimed. Whatever the reason lurking in my psyche I could not bring myself to initiate a move which, in play, would result in the death of thousands.
I put the dice down and said,
" I hate this".
So I withdrew and she prevailed.
In my family, an absence of the killer instinct is a sign of weakness. There is no question there is a kill or be killed reality out there. Certainly all the survival of the fittest examples were presented to me when parents tried hard to encourage me to step up my toughness and deal. Once my Dad, in frustration said, " Fishy, you have got to get a handle on this aspect of life. It is part of life. You cannot avoid this responsibility to look a thing in the eye and know it's truth". He had long since given up on the hope of a " killer" instinct ever showing up in my persona but think he still had hopes of at least a "survival" instinct.

Today I read an article by a CEO of one of America's largest energy companies. He is asking Americans to be more informed , to research , understand and endorse the Freedom to Invest Act. He states there is a log jam of more than one trillion dollars of American owned company profits they are eager to invest here at home. That is American companies wanting to invest their profits in America. They cannot do so because in order to bring the money back to the States they would be heavily taxed by Uncle Sam. Our companies have already paid taxes on these funds in the countries in which the profits were generated. The USA does have the 2nd highest corporate tax rate in the world. This serves as a severe disincentive to US companies who actually want to bring their money home. It is estimated, had the 2009 Recovery Act adopted this policy, America would have benefited from over $565 billion of repatriated earnings, creating 2.6 million jobs and would have reduced the deficit by an average of $46 billion per year. I agree there is some gamesmanship to these statements. If you read history, then you know Congress did do this in 2004 and the results were huge reinvestments, job gains, funds for financing R&D projects and increased GDP. Not too bad.
I think Uncle Scrooge would approve.
Uncle Sam does not.
Uncle Scrooge has a money building.
Uncle Sam has a debt building.

Gulp.

Later today, I saw the president of the United States hold a conference to say it's my way or nothing. I have veto power and I will use it. He accuses others of gamesmanship with a sleight of speech beyond measure. It made me sick, to see this man mock the seriousness of our situation which he helped orchestrate. It made me sick to stand there thinking how sad it is our Executive Branch is not as wise as a cartoon . Sicker still to know for some, it is the game which matters most. To those players, if all I believe and hold dear is to be lost to their game, well they are okay with that. I felt sad too hearing the network Alpha Barbies explain to me
" what this all means to the American family."
I know what it means.
I know how the game of Risk is played.
I still hate it.

I SHOULD HAVE GONE

2011-07-08T18:43:00.001-04:00

there is beauty in power

there is beauty in hope

there is beauty in courage


there is beauty in purpose

A 5th of July

2011-07-06T20:37:00.002-04:00

Mermaid and I had a playdate to celebrate the fourth on the fifth. Tucked away in the Blue Ridge Mountains is the little town of Helen, Georgia. I have no clue how an "Alpine Village" came to be in the midst of what was once the mighty Cherokee Nation along the banks of the Chattahoochie River. But there it is. Full of streets with names like Eidelwiss, Heidelburg and Somethingstrausse. While there isn't accordion music blaring from the lamp posts it does look more like it should be a pavilion at Epcot than an actual community where people earn their livings promoting charm and sauerkraut.

Our purpose for visiting this location was to go tubing down the river. This is not a tube down the river in the wilds undisturbed by anything but the occasional bird call experience. No. This is summer in the mountains vacationing families are everywhere tubing experience through the middle of town. With lots and lots of strangers playing bumper tubes with you and the sound of human laughter as a constant backdrop.

Do you know how this works? You go to a venue, rent your green, pink, yellow or blue tube then board a bus which takes you up the mountain to a launch site. Here is where you collect your tube and where you determine if you do or do not wish for it to be lashed to another. Then you wade out into frigid waters, climb aboard your tube and prepare to have a time out for the next three hours.

At the point where you rent your tube you are asked to sign a sheet absolving the universe of any liability to this activity and you are asked by a sweet spoken local,
"stick?"
" I'm sorry what is your question"?
"Stick? $5"
" Do we need a stick?"
" Mebbe, if you get stuck on the rocks. But's it's shallow water so you can just stand up and push off".

We elected to not stick . What was the point of a relaxing float if you had to mind a long stick?

While we were waiting for the bus to go "up mountain" the people watching was entertaining. Near us there was a group of ladies, in their 60's dressed in tee shirts and cropped pants. I appreciated their modesty for there were others who could have been the posters for America's obesity epidemic. All of their extra pounds of flesh in full display. Very full.

Mermaid and I took the seat directly behind the driver and sort of opposite the steps into the bus. I knew I was receiving a warning to behave when a sharpish elbow
smashed into my ribs right before a woman, fully 12 months pregnant, boarded the bus wearing a bikini. Seriously, her belly button was so far out it looked like a nose in the center of her swollen abdomen. I might have made an air sucking sound but the bus was so noisy with excited children I am sure no one heard me. Mermaid wore her fiercest expression of control so I knew to look the other way and not make her lose that slim, slim hold on politeness. The truth is I am of an age where I am surprised when I am confronted with the nudity of strangers. Even more surprised by the subject matter and expansiveness of body art. I am also talkative about my observations so Mermaid was vigilant , keeping her elbow cocked and at the ready. I really do not think I am as bad as all that but clearly Mermaid does. I spent the entire bus ride looking out the window and letting the sounds of the eager wash over me.

Once we got to the launch site I noticed there were a lot of babies being sent out in their tubes making me think of Moses in the rushes. Most were in life vests, a few had on helmets and all were lashed to other tubers. This really was a throwback to my own youth when extended families gathered in one place to reinforce the bonds. Aunts and cousins, grandparents and infants were all taking to the "lazy river" ride on a hot summer's day. Older cousins or siblings were enthusiastically telling the younger ones how much they would love this trip and to stay in the tubes and to mind their sticks. All generations were represented. All age groups were eager with excitement. There was merriment everywhere and we were no exception. We lashed our tubes together, waded out and launched.

Mountain rivers are very cold. I think it fair to say I have body parts which have never been that cold . Never. I can't imagine this is a popular choice for honeymooners. But it is fun. In this activity there is something very liberating in the shocking contrasts of hot sun and freezing waters and recognizing you have no control over the river. It will take you were it takes you in it's own time.

Part of this river ride is through nature but along much of the banks are rental chalets , condos or restaurants with balconies cantilevered over the waters. The residents are friendly calling out greetings and occasional advice if you are traveling backwards toward dangers. Mostly they are up there laughing at the entertainment floating by. The tubes have a mesh middle. This does not allow for actual sitting up for adults. You are sort of draped over the edges with your bum as the center weight. Trying to navigate from this position is apparently, a great spectator sport. I am not sure Mermaid and I had actual conversations as every time we opened out mouths laughter came forth. Lovely. I think I was still laughing when we started picking up speed and hit rocks on our way over a drop. I don't think you could rightly call these 'rapids' but it did become clear the entire journey would not be all floating down the river and some heads up awareness would be prudent.

Also along the route are places where you can climb out and take a hike, or go for lunch or stop to collect a river rock or two. This station for 'lost soles' was one of Mermaid's favorites. Clearly flops are not the best footwear for this activity. While this certainly does not qualify as 'natural art ' something about the rhythm and the colorfulness reminded me of Klimt's art.

We were maybe half way in our journey when we became fully aware of why you need a stick if you did not want to become trapped. Or worse. Shortly after watching Moses float past sound asleep, I went whirling around and down by some rocks and wham my tail bone slammed into a big sharp rock. Suddenly I heard that dreadful sound old people make when you move their parts for them. That awful, keening, oh. oh, oh! I had a frozen moment when I thought "Mama?" Still laughing Mermaid said, " Mom are you okay? You were making that wailing sound just like Meems".

" Yep I heard it too. Call the exorcist, I've been posessed."

Eventually we figured out we were in a bad position. And there was no stick to pole ourselves out of the badlands. One of us would need to get out and unwedge us. It's not easy to stand on slippery, unevern boulders in a rapids. It is also foolish. We had heard some folks say there had been storms in the mountains so the water level was high. It was one of the reasons for not needing a stick. Right. 'Swollen river' also translates to' faster current'. We managed to get unstuck without getting in trouble but not far beyond I started maneuvering to get us over to the shallows.
" Mom, what are you doing?"
" Help get us over to the edge, we need a stick"
"You can't do that Mom, that is private property".

" We need a stick, I can't go slamming into these rocks"

I am eternally grateful there was no video of my attempted tubular exit. I thought I could get over into the shallows and just stand up. Not so. I will say my ungraceful exit was maybe the pinnacle of comic entertainment in Mermaid's day. She tended the tubes while I scavenged us a stick. On my way back she started to frown,
" Mom, are you okay, you are walking funny."
"Nope"
"Are you hurt?"
"Yep"
"What happened?"
" I think my tail bone broke smashing into that rock".
" seriously?"
"yep"
"What should we do?"
" I'm going to put my butt back in the cold water to keep the swelling to a minimum and use this stick".
Mermaid starting laughing really hard. Eventually she reached a point where she could get enough air to speak,
" Mama three cheeks?"
" Shut up and take this stick"

About 2 hours into our journey we heard the first rumbles. We could see patches of sky between the trees some was clear blue, other areas were darkening. We thought the predicted afternoon rains were maybe starting to show up early but seemed to be pretty far away. But the rumbling got closer, more frequent and the temperature dropped . I cautioned Mermaid we would be getting out of the river if there was any lightening.
A man near us said, it wasn't far til the exit, it's just up here around this bend. Right. Rivers have lots of bends and unless you are a local it is hard to discern one from another. We made it around that bend a few more while the sky darkened and rumbled. Most everyone was still laughing and floating but as we were sticking our way past boulders I saw lightening.
"That's it kiddo, we are out of here"
" That's cloud to cloud not cloud to ground, we're good".
" We're out of here"

" Really Mom, look, even the babies and old folks are not worried"

Think Lucy and Ethel lashed together in bright pink tubes paddling and kicking in opposite directions.
It was so damn funny even we were laughing.
" Mom. we ca';t get out here these are not public grounds"
" We're getting out"
" No! Mom, are you really going to make me walk through town in this bikini?"
" Yes. In case I failed to mention, we Fishy's don't play with lightening"
Eventually the current came to my rescue and delivered us to the town side of the river.
A man floating by said to me,
" Lady, you don't have to get out these tubes are rubber".
"No sir, these tubes are plastic and lots of your body parts are in the water and that is lightening" My statement was punctuated by the skies opening up.

We were not the only family to leave our tubes to the currents, climb the bank and start the trek back to our starting points. It was quite the parade we people in squelchy shoes, adhered clothing and debris matted hair .
Children driving by in cars had their noses pressed to the glass. Teen boys had commentary.

It wasn't long before Mermaid started laughing really, really hard.
I gave her my raised eyebrow quizzical look. Eventually she said,
" I have a mother who can break her ass floating in water".
Talent.

This morning I sent her this text message:
"Do blue butts out rank blue bloods?"

God Bless America

2011-07-04T07:17:00.000-04:00

God Bless America
land that I love
stand beside her
and guide her
with the Light
from above
From the mountains
to the prairies
to the oceans
white with foam
God bless America
my home
sweet home

Haiku Monday: Short

2011-06-26T18:10:00.003-04:00

Yum!

Southern style short ribs
pan seared in bacon drippin's
braised in home brew'd ale

Easy Rider:

Riding the short bus
to Sesame Street at Main
is simple exclaimed .

Gene:

Contestants enter
hoping to make the short list
for organ transplants

Virtual trumps Real

2011-06-22T13:36:00.001-04:00

During lunch, my friend Gee suggested I get in touch with Daniel Website Developer. We had been discussing the particulars of what works and does not work well on websites from the view point of both users and hosts.

Gee is a contractor with a franchise business primarily focused on outdoor living spaces. Decks, porches, sunrooms, pergolas, trellises, gazebos are his forte`. The parent company is the source of the engineering and architectural documents by which permits are pulled and projects constructed.
It works well.

Daniel Web Designer is this regions associate for a Virginia based company which specializes in websites for construction and construction related businesses. Gee shared a story of one franchisee who was failing. Daniel and company did a website for this franchisee to supplement the national website. A local focus of SEO ans SEM.

In a month the franchisee had to call Daniel and ask him to dial it back a bit as he had way more contact than desired. A bit of fine tuning and now the former failing franchisee is a top dog.

I reviewed many websites designed by DWD before filling in the online contact information. In a day or two Daniel responded with a one line query,
" What is your budget?"
Hmmmmm. I responded with this question,
" Would it be possible to set an appointment to review your services and the concurrent costs?"
" You mean like a face to face?"
" Yes "
" We could. But why? All the data you need is on our website with a sign up page"
" I like to meet the people I hope to trust with my business".
" Is this necessary?"
" No. Thank you for your time".
" Did you just blow me off ?"
" Declined your offer? Yes."
" What's that about?"
" Communications."

A week went by then I received an e-mail from Daniel,
" Hey Fishy! I think I am going to be in town this week, you want to meet somewhere?"
" Okay"
" How about Tuesday at 9am, my office?"
" Okay"
Later that same day I received this e-mail,
" Fishy, if your only day to meet is Tuesday it will have to be at 1pm @ WebNerds"
Wow, did he want a business meeting or a free lunch?

I went. He was late and called to tell me his order and would I have it on the table for him when he arrived? Really?

He came in his cool little eco car barely larger than his computer bag. He was friendly, enthusiastic, starving. But before he picked up a fork he unpacked, plugged in and booted his computer. He asked if the coffee was the bold roast? No the coffee container was empty awaiting his selection. He returned from the coffee bar with a steaming cup to say,
" What is the purpose of decaf?"

No point in answering that so I just smiled while he organized his thoughts.
" You know my wife did not believe me when I said I had a f2f with an interior designer".
" Why was that?"
" Well my wife says only idiots use designers. I mean, she has a point, what is your purpose?"

Speaking of idiots, I wondered if in this day and age it is okay to have zero social skills as long as you have nerd skills for hire. The idiot was me, sitting there being insulted while Daniel scarfed down a lunch I provided. What I actually said is,
" How about I outline my website criteria while you inhale that sandwich?"
Which I did. In the course of the conversation I got a few head shakes indicating no, he had not taken a look at any of the websites I had referenced as being an example of what FishyDesigns needs. So I pulled them up on his laptop while he munched and I talked.

For a while there, he looked marginally interested.

He took a giant slug of caffeine and began telling me about the absolute importance of SEO ans SEM , meta data, web crawlers and the variable search algorithms. He carefullly
explained to me it was a numbers game. As he talked he pulled up a screen showing the graphs of the effects of properly keyed and buried meta words. He said in the beginning I should maybe have a landing page with a
contact form and establish a budget for right bar ads.

I asked to see examples and pointed out to him all the reasons that sort of approach was alien to my needs. That I had a fairly specific target market in mind and his recommendation was a scatter shot when what I needed was a sniper shot. He looked confused but typed in another example and set about persuading me to his view point.

"Look Mrs. Fishy you will like this, once we get you up to blank hits per 24 we can do links and ads and expansions on even that. Here's how it all works. It's about numbers! We imbed algorithms for your site which generates thousands of clicks. The more clicks the more successful the website. The more successful the website the more you can sell links and apps and ads for your website, Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter sites. If you can write, a daily blog is the way to really soup the numbers. If you are serious about this and can program a tweet every 15 linking back to the blog and target mentions for ads you want to host then you could get somewhere "

I looked him in the eye and said,
" Let me answer one of your earlier questions.
My purpose here was not to generate a hit seeking engine for ad sales.
My goals are a lot more real and a lot less virtual"

" What does that mean?"
" It means the thing I most want to hit is you".
" For real?"

Summer Soltice

2011-06-21T08:24:00.001-04:00

Blessings on your first day of Summer.

Mermaid is coming home today.

We will take the boat out to the Big Water where we will picnic,

swim with our pups and,

enjoy the gifts of the day.

Oh Joy!

Garden Woes

2011-06-11T14:55:00.002-04:00

The Pond is looking just plain sorry this year. We've had all sorts of property management issues even before these record high temperatures and this drought. In early Spring Blowfish put out some new high tech pre-emergent weed preventer. It has to get broadcast a goodly while before you put out the seed starter fertilizer and the grass seed. Blowfish got the soil tested at the university, spent hundreds of dollars, and labored for hours in an effort to have a glorious lawn. What he has is a barren, dead looking yard. Because of the early beginnings of the drought the pre-emergent stuff was not released until Blowfish began watering his precious new seeds. Yep, you guessed it. The weeds had already emerged and the newly activated pre-emergent stuff killed the new grass. Some of the weeds died too. Now we have a front yard of dirt. Think dust bowl capped with dehydrated clover. It crunches underfoot as if you were walking on potato chips. Gross. To increase Blowfish's misery, Brian came with a big trailer to haul away his beloved, vintage, Gravely tractor. Apparently the issues with the clutching system were too complex for on site repairs.
I swear it is not an exaggeration when I say the man is suffering from separation
anxiety for his tractor. He goes out and stares at the empty space in the garage.

Then too there is the issue of his new patch up by the row of holly trees.
That grass has come in fine but it is absolutely awash in every kind of weed you never want to see on your property. At first Blowfish thought the weeds were being carried by run off. But run off from what? Now he thinks the birds have doe it .... I think the weeds came in the expensive bags of seed. I have tried to go hand pull them all but by the time I get to one end of the patch they are growing anew on the other end.

Blowfish is an even tempered fellow but these difficulties are about to wear him to a nub. He's a man that wants to feel proud when he comes down the drive and he's a long way from that these days. Just the other night he walked up and looked at this sorry patch and I could swear he was thinking about fetching a flame thrower. The droop in his shoulders as he turned away made me think about the same thing.

Before we started turning into the dust bowl of 2011 we had a early and wetish Spring. So when all the new Spring growth started coming up out in the Courtyard garden we were anticipating a bountiful, colorful, green spring. What we got was the plague. Some horrid soil based fungi got revved up and as new shoots on the annuals started making their appearance the leaves unfurled and promptly turned black. That same horror

ruined the peonies, threatened all the Carolina Phlox , the Hydrangeas , deformed the bulb plants and even the Anemones turned black on the edges. I took samples over to the Extension Office only to be told one has to remove all effected plant materials, letting none of the removed matter stay on the ground. Which means a leaf by leaf backbreaking effort. Then you have to spray everything with fungicide to prevent spread and total loss of the garden.

The first time didn't work. All new growth came up, turned splotchy, then black and curling.
More leaf by leaf removal and more poison was required.

That was before none of the Moonflowers and dern few of the Caladiums came out. But I did notice in one of the pots we seemed to have some giant species of dahlia volunteering. We do have a whole section planted in pretty little pink "Patio Dahlias" from Parks Seed Company. I thought maybe the wind did a little transplanting but as the shaft started looking as big as Jack's stalk and, setting largish bud,s I accepted the reality it was not going to be anything expected. There in the midst of my pink , white and blue garden is this huge, deeply

red, 4 foot tall giant Dahlia. They could write a new murder mystery over this bloody thing. It has remained only because it looks relatively healthy.

I took comfort in the thought the Hydrangeas were setting up for a big show this year. Some editing of the early growth had been required because of the fungi. Our Hydrangeas are under a giant Oak so they set later than ones that get more sun. I thought this was a good thing as the chemicals had been put out before most of the new growth had appeared. I am sure you all know Hydrangeas are the litmus paper of the garden, showing out in either pink or blue depending on the soil PH.
Some years we put out amendments to make sure the blooms will be true blue, not a hint of lavender or Heaven forbid purple.

That can happen if your PH is balanced.
Which is unacceptable.

Just a bit to the left of the begining of the blue Hydrangeas is the final resting place of my mother's beloved Scottish Terrier. They were here when he died so he stayed in the garden with us. I will always remember my mother's angst over leaving him "behind". Not taking him back to Florida with her was a painful decision. Necessary though. She had stood in the driveway by her car making me promise if I ever moved away from the Pond I would bring Angus with me and not leave him with strangers. He has a St. Francis marker out there and is planted over in Lemon Balm. He, like many terrier breeds, had skin allergies so he was not always the best smelling dog. I have over the years fondly thought of him being scratch free and enjoying the crisp lemony scents. Not this year. Either the fungi, the fungicide, the drought or the combination has resulted in peaked looking, fragrance free Lemon Balm.

I shrugged off the worries about this and tried to keep focused on how bountiful the Hydrangeas were looking. When the blooms first start they are a lime green. Then they start showing color along the perimeter before filling in with a uniform blue. This year they started filling in purple. It is out of the question for there to be purple in my garden. Especially not adjacent to the resting place of my mothers dog.
There has never been on this Earth a human with a deeper seated loathing of the color purple than my mother.
Think of it as a violent allergy. No purple allowed is a rule all of us kids honor and respect.

Until now.

I consulted with the extension people and yes the fungicide can change the soil PH and usually any amendments for bloom color must happen early in the season and blah-blah. I tried what they recommended and kept an eye out for changes. We got them . Dark purple instead of red grape purple.
Most mornings I start my day in the garden with a cup of tea. I wander around, listening to the birds singing their morning songs and enjoy the garden. Lately I walk outside and think "I'm so sorry Mom". Today

I put an end to my misery .

Bye Bye Purple Horror!

Then I went to lay in my broken hammock which Blowfish " fixed " for me.

I can swing in my hammock and just about ignore
the unplanted ferns around the Chinese Fringe Tree
Unplanted because the ground is baked into a brick
and I cannot did holes deep enough to plant the ferns.
So I must wait for Blowfish to come to my aid
with the gas powered auger.

Pray the hammock will not break with me aboard !