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The concept for Sky Watch came from Dot and if you want to join up or to see other Sky Watch photos, please visit Sky Watch, a dedicated site for this growing meme, kindly hosted by Tom at Wigger’s World, Sandy Carlson from Writing in Faith and imac from imac’s photos from the mind’s eye.
- the view from Ala Moana Mall at Center Stage
Anna, of Anna Carson’s Photography, hosts Project Black
check out her website for the links to other players.
my other Project Black photos
I went into Honolulu yesterday afternoon to join OC for a team potluck. It was raining when I left home — and pouring by the time I hit the freeway. Traffic was moving at about 35mph, and there were cars pulled to the side of the road. I was considering doing the same, for fear of being rear-ended by the jerks in the SUVs who were still driving 60 mph and weaving in and out of the rest of us, when I saw the storm line about a half-mile ahead. Clouds on one side, bright, shiny, blue sky on the other.
When I drove into blue sky and safe diving conditions, traffic stopped all but completely! The next 4 miles or so we moved at about seven miles an hour. This was the freeway, three lanes of traffic bumper-to-bumper, and behind me I heard sirens, then I saw flashing lights, then two police cars, a firetruck and the ambulance passed us using the grass meridian as their road. Finally I came to the scene of the accident. One vehicle — a dry van — was on it’s side and blocking all three lanes of traffic. We slowly rolled past on the shoulder of the road. I could see that the jaws of life were used to open the top of the cab. The ambulance screamed away from the wreck about three cars ahead of me. We were on open, dry freeway and moving again.
In another 10 miles traffic once again came to a stand-still as cars tried to leave the freeway in droves for local city streets. This is a common occurrence and happens daily at about this time. OC called to see where I was. It looked like we were probably going to miss the potluck I’d come to town to join him for. At this point my hands were permanently tension welded to the steering wheel. I was exhausted from an hour and a half of stop, go, stop, go, stop, go and the accompanying nastiness. NOBODY was moving, so what’s up with the people who were honking horns and waving fingers?
I finally drove out of the highest congestion area. Two more exits and I’d be off the freeway and safe. I moved right one lane. I moved right another lane — and I safely made my off ramp. Yay! Only a couple more blocks to the college. At the foot of the off-ramp a pedestrian waited to cross the street. A line of cars was coming from the left. I stopped at the merging traffic sign — and the guy behind me didn’t.
split seams
Pow! My car moved forward about two feet and my forehead almost bounced off the steering wheel. It took me a few moments to figure out how to unbuckle my seat belt and get out of the car. The guy who hit me was waving his arms frantically. I looked up and realized the exit ramp was full of cars and backing up onto the freeway. I got back in my car and drove around the corner.
There is nowhere to stop on University Avenue, so I turned right onto Dole Street. There is nowhere to park there, either, but the college parking lot is just a half block away. I looked in my rear view mirror. The guy who rear-ended me came around the corner behind me, but he switched lanes and was headed for a forced right turn onto a one-way street leading back downtown. He motioned to me that he was turning. I had passed the traffic divider and couldn’t. I got his license plate number and drove to the college campus. Once there I called OC, then I called the cops, then I called my insurance agent.
black scratches
I am fine. I wasn’t so certain last night because my shoulders and back were tense and I had a screaming headache, but like I told OC — I had most of that from the stress of driving before the guy ever hit me! This afternoon my shoulders are still a bit tender, but I am not in any pain, I have complete mobility in my back, neck, and arms. My head doesn’t hurt — well, my sinuses do, but I didn’t remember to take my allergy pill last night (wonder why?).
My bumper looks like it has a few cosmetic problems, the trunk is sprung (it will latch but there is a gap where none used to be), but the biggest deal is that the tires rub when the car takes a sharp corner. we’re having a damage estimate done tomorrow. Afterward I would very much like to take it to Mike, my favorite mechanic at the Chevy dealership. I hope they will let me. He knows my car was in excellent condition before the accident.
- bent out of shape
When the police officer arrived to take my statement, he ran the license plate number I gave him and it turns out the guy who hit me only lives a couple of blocks down that street he turned on. I explained to the cop that I was NOT reporting the guy as hit and run. He had tried to signal me to take the corner, but it was too late for me to follow. The cop said that if the guy was waiting for them at his home, good and well, otherwise, he would be considered to have fled the scene.
So, we never made it to the potluck, and I can no longer tell people that my car is 5 years old and in almost perfect condition. However, I am uninjured. That’s the important part.
Anna, of Anna Carson’s Photography, hosts Project Black
check out her website for the links to other players.
Getting Malled
Anna, of Anna Carson’s Photography, hosts Project Black
check out her website for the links to other players.
Wordless Wednesday
more players here
The Red-Vented Bulbul seems always to be in motion. The bulbul are monogamous, non-migratory birds who mate for life and raise two broods (up to three eggs per clutch) yearly. Bulbul eat fruits and do hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of damage to Hawaii’s fruit crops each year. They also eat insects on the wing.
Bulbul are a non-native species and are considered invasive — not just because of crop damage, but because of their aggressive nature and breeding practices. Bulbuls have crowded out many of the native birds and claimed those territories for themselves.
I took this photo on the University of Hawaii at Moanoa campus, but there are many bulbul right here at home. Quite a large contingency of them live in the mango tree outside my front window. They squabble and sing, fight and play within its branches all day long. They also dig long thin gashes in the mangoes when they feed. Once the fruit is opened by the bulbul, it becomes infested with other critters — flies and such — and is often spoiled beyond redemption before the tree releases its grasp and drops the fruit to the ground.
Anna, of Anna Carson’s Photography, hosts Project Black
check out her website for the links to other players.
Karen of 3 Garnets & 2 Sapphires, (aka Karen of Sillymonkeez.com) gifted me with an award. Apparently I have a “must see” blog! Who hoo! [I'm doing my happy dance].
Btw — I have you all — yes, ALL of you — on feed reader and I check it several times a day and read you as you post. That means that any and everyone on my blogroll is free to claim this award from me. You wouldn’t be on it if you weren’t a must read!
What person (proper noun) does this photo represent? email your answers and leave a comment designed to either help or confuse your fellow game players.
The first contestant to EMAIL me the right answer wins a featured link in my blog which will display until next Monday when we’ll play this little game again. Enjoy.
PLEASE, do not write your guess in the comments. It spoils the game for the other players. Your guesses will be shared when the game ends.
Winners!
July 14th, 2008 at 12:42 a.m.
Hilary
Johnny Cash!
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July 14th, 2008 at 3:11 a.m. — Melli – Johnny Cash!
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July 14th, 2008 at 3:21 a.m. — Doug – Johnny Cash!
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July 14th, 2008 at — 4:56 a.m. — Cath — John Doe!
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July 14th, 2008 at — 7:51 a.m. — Jules — Mr. Money Pants!
See You All Next Monday!
Anna, of Anna Carson’s Photography, hosts Project Black
check out her website for the links to other players.
My Project Black #4 post was supposed to be a marvelous and mysterious little black bug, but O’Ceallaigh stole it and took it here! To see the Project Black #4 post he allowed me to keep, scroll down.
The last week before school dismissed for the summer, I found my car in the school parking lot with a flat tire from a nail puncture — the nail in plain view for me to see. I called road service and they changed my tire and had the car ready to run a full hour before quitting time.
After work I took the “nailed” tire straight to our local Goodyear Tire Service Center. I asked the guy at the front desk to fix the flat, and told him we’d been having trouble with a slow leak on another tire for a couple of weeks. I said I suspected the valve stem, and asked him to check it out.
When I returned to get my car the young man at the front desk told me that they’d patched my tire, but I shouldn’t expect it to hold. He said, “Your tires are old, bald, and no longer legal. You need to buy new ones.” I said, “These tires are only a year old, and if they’re in that bad of shape, I’ll be returning them to the place that holds their warranty.”
I asked about the second tire. He told me the valve stem was fine, and if I was losing air, I was losing it through the worn tread. He assured me that my life was in jeopardy driving home.
That evening when OC came home, I told him all this tire talk. He said, “There’s nothing wrong with your tires, but next week when you take it in to Mike (at the Chevy dealership) for the oil change, ask him to take a look.
Well, all week I worried about those dang tires. I fussed. I fumed. I put air in the rear tire three more times (it never went flat, just low), then finally came my Thursday appointment with Mike. “Oil change and check the tires,” I said. Then I left.
Twenty minutes later my phone rang, it was Mike. He said, “About your rear tire on the passenger side — no wonder it won’t hold air — did you know it has a big honkin’ nail in it?” I’d picked up nails in both tires, probably at the same time in the same place, but only one tire went flat. I asked Mike if the tire was worth patching. He responded, “Hell, these tires are almost brand new. Yes, patch it.” I told him what the Goodyear Sales guy had said, “See, that’s the thing about commission sales, they make people lie. You come in here, I can talk you into 20 extra things you don’t need, but why? They aren’t gonna pay me any more for it. Never go to commission shops if you want an honest answer.”
* * *
Anna, of Anna Carson’s Photography, hosts Project Black.
And this week, special thanks to Jeremiah of, My World in Pictures, for inspiring this shot.
On the other side of this black wrought iron fence is a charming brick sidewalk, Kalakaua Street, a rock garden with a fountain, and beyond that, where you cannot see, the pink sand beaches of Waikiki. This is where the tourists come to party.
The first time OC and I spent any time in Waikiki (we have both attended conferences there), I said to him, “But none of this is real!” He chided, “Don’t be silly, Honey. It’s as real as any reality money can buy.”
Anna, of Anna Carson’s Photography, hosts Project Black.
Visit her site for links to the other players.
About a week ago, with no idea that Project Black was coming, I began exploring silhouettes & shadows. Deep, dark, black shadows. Now, on this end of the island the best shadows come out to play about sunset, and they need a light source for contrast, so please note that each of these photos also qualifies for Sky Watch Friday.
Evening Falls on Kailua-Kona
Sunset at Sunset Beach
(Windward Oahu)
Early Evening in Makaha Valley
Dusk in Makaha Valley
Makaha Valley Sunset
(Leeward Oahu)
Sunset at Nanakuli Beach
(Leeward Oahu)
* * *
Project Black hosted by Anna Carson Photography
Sky Watch Friday hosted by Wigger’s World
Anna, of Anna Carson’s Photography, has just announced Project Black. I was really excited. I knew just what I was going to start with — a photo I took a few weeks back and was saving for just the right occasion … and then I read: “please…no black and white images! Find black in color!” Well, the photo I was planning to share is “black in color” and I will share it — later.
In the meantime (those of you who know me, know I like to break rules without actually breaking them) I offer you five black and white photos.
Salt & Pepper
Rock Dove
Lava Rock, Sea Snails & More Salt
Black & White Marble Statute
Humboldt Penguin
Bill, The Old Fart (who isn’t old), gifted me with an award about a week ago. I was busy with the Holidays and tucked it in my electronic folder, planning to get to it today or tomorrow — maybe — if nothing more pressing arose. Then today, Dr. John issued a proclamation from his Fortress and gifted me with the same award and I read all this stuff …
The “Arte y Pico” award was was created to recognize bloggers who inspire others with their creative energy and their talents, whether it be writing and/or artwork in all Medias. Receiving this award it is considered a “special honor”.
… and realized I was dishonoring Bill’s respect for me by putting off acknowledging it — so you can just imagine my shock when I opened the folder and saw another award languishing there.
Near the end of last April there came an incident at work that left me upset, distracted and soul weary. After the incident I found just coping with my normal tasks to be more than enough. During that time, Carolyn, from Laughing Alone In The Dark gave me the above award. I tucked it away in an electronic folder reserved for such things, thinking I’d deal with it later — except I forgot about it.
Carolyn, I hope you can forgive me for forgetting to acknowledge this award which I an certain I no longer deserve. I am very sorry. Had I paid attention to it then, it might have cheered me up!
* * *
In an effort to retrieve as much of my honor as I can, I wish to pass these awards along. I bestow the YOU MAKE ME LAUGH award to Melli of Insanity Prevails. She has the talent of wringing huge drops of humor from life’s disasters, and multiplying life’s joys abundantly, and she shares that talent with any and all who venture near. I also bestow the YOU MAKE ME LAUGH award upon Cath of CrazyCath’s Reflections. Even when her life isn’t joyful, she is. She has a knack for finding silver linings and sharing them.
The instructions that came with the Arte y Pico award said I was to pass it on to five people whose creative energy and talents inspired me. I took that to mean people who challenge me to be more and better than what I already am. In that light, I am certain you will all understand if I bestow the award upon O’Ceallaigh, the man I love. Everyday I strive to be the person he already seems to think I am.
If I could, I would offer the award back to Dr. John, who shares the light and love of Jesus with all who come his way — even a few people I think he should bap on the nose. If I were more like Dr. John, I know I would be more like Jesus. But, since I cannot pick Dr. John, my other four recipients are:
- Doug of Waking Ambrose. Doug commented on my very first real post when I ventured timidly into blogland, and in so doing gave me the courage to stay. Plus, his blog is a daily challenge in creative thinking.
- Polona of Crows & Daisies. Polona’s photography first inspired me to pick up my camera and try to capture my visions on film. And the words she pens for her photos led me to create my poetry blog. On top of all that, I found in her a kindred spirit who often sees the world as I do.
- David of Authorblog. David McMahon is an inspiration on many levels. He freely shares his outstanding photographs and the skills and techniques he used to achieve them. He shares his punny humor with extra servings of relish; his acerbic comments with just the right amount of salt; and his sweet stuff with just a touch of syrup. His blog is a smorgasboard for the brain.
- Ilona of One Crazy Dame. Ilona Andrews is the pen name of one of my favorite writers. Ilona and I started out in an online writers workshop together years ago. She is now a published author with multi-book deals. Her star is rising. I know I will never be Ilona, but because of her, I have decided to write once again.
I suppose some of you are thinking that having a full band play in a fast food place is a bit of commercial overkill — not to mention the lack of space they left for customers ….
It is interesting how photographs change perspectives. Not only was the band not in the fast food restaurant, there was an open air hall between them and the restaurant. The band played Kahala Mall the afternoon of July 4th, and they were on the entertainment platform. However, lots of folks grabbed food from the various restaurants and sat down to enjoy.
Why don’t you enjoy, too? Again, the video quality is bad, but the sound is good!
You are listening to, The St. Louis Blues, by composer William Christopher Handy. This has to be the sexiest march ever written.
What person (proper noun) does this photo represent? email your answers and leave a comment designed to either help or confuse your fellow game players.
The first contestant to EMAIL me the right answer wins a featured link in my blog which will display until next Monday when we’ll play this little game again. Enjoy.
Hint: American Celebrity
Winners!
July 7th, 2008, 2:06 a.m. — Melli — Candy Man or Sammy Davis, Jr.
July 7th, 2008, 6:53 a.m. — Crazy Cath — Truly Scrumptious (from Chitty Citty Bang Bang)
July 7th, 2008, 8:10 a.m. — Doug — John Candy
July 7th, 2008, 9:58 a.m. — Dr. John — Sandy Patty
July 7th, 2008, 12:15 p.m. — Crazy Cath — John Candy
To enjoy his words of wit and wisdom, click here.
David McMahon of Authorblog asks:
Do you ever procrastinate?
Me? Well, let’s put it this way — I have had this prompt bookmarked for attention for a week ….
Actually, my procrastination follows a pattern and seems to have purpose. It is something I noticed when I was in college. Even if I tried to do a paper early, I just couldn’t get my ideas to gel or make sense until the deadline loomed like a major specter over my head. The pressure of having to produce and the mad dash for the deadline seems to be a necessary component for my success.
I had a major paper due for my reading theory class. The paper was worth 50% of my grade and if I didn’t pass, I couldn’t go on to student teaching, which is all I had left of my degree classes. Every night for a week I sat in my bedroom ankle deep in drafts (the semester before I bought my computer) and all I could write was crap.
The assignment was straight forward. I was to describe in my own words the various theories on reading acquisition, then I was to explain my personal thoughts on reading acquisition and the approach I would take with a beginning reader. I tried writing that paper and it was unbearably stilted and boring. Reading is — or should be — exciting and dynamic and interactive. I wanted my paper to be the same.
I sweated through the week writing every single second I had free, and tossing reams of paper — one sheet at a time — at my overflowing trash can. The essay was due Monday. By Friday each tossed draft was accompanied by tears. Saturday I wrote and wrote and wrote and finally cranked out a stiff, starched, dry, one-paragraph-per-theory (including my personal theory) technically-correct paper — with no personality or soul whatsoever. Sunday morning I took it to the computer lab and typed it, but I hated it.
Sunday evening, 10 p.m., I crawled into bed, turned out my light, and thought about handing that paper to my reading instructor — who was about to have her opinion that I was a bright, dynamic, out-of-the-box-thinker changed forever. A little caricature of a crazy psychiatrist with a horrid and ever changing accent popped into my head, “Vhat did ju vant to zay?” He asked. “Well,” I thought in answer. “First off, I would explain that one of the first steps in reading acquisition is the recognition of environmental print, and that letters have meaning.” And the little psychiatrist asked, “Whad ish environmedal printz?”
And I hopped out of bed and started writing. I popped out a five page paper in under an hour. It dang near wrote itself. The little psychiatrist poked and prodded and questioned me through every step of language acquisition. Occasionally throughout the paper I could question him about his ever changing accent — which pulled the whole paper into my final paragraph about the ability of an accomplished reader to read text for meaning even when it is written in a non-standardized manner.
I was at the computer lab at the crack of dawn and typing furiously. I arrived in class and looked at a few of the papers written by my friends. They were formal reports, everyone of them. I’d brought my formal paper with me, just in case I decided I didn’t really want to be cute with an assignment worth 50% of my grade.
My instructor entered the room and asked that the papers be passed forward. Just because of where my seat was, I carried the stack to her desk. As I handed her the papers she said, “I am especially looking forward to reading your paper. I heard about the speech you gave yesterday in Psych class.”
I walked away from her desk scared to death. My speech had been very formal and by-the-book. We had been given a very precise outline to follow and were told not to deviate from it. I hadn’t — but I had seriously deviated from the outline given for this assignment. I told my friend Robin I didn’t think I was going to pass the class.
On Wednesday I entered the room with great trepidation. Shawna, the reading instructor, came straight across the room to me. Smiling, she said, “I won’t be giving that assignment again. I have never been so bored in my life as I was reading those papers — until I got to yours. I laughed until I cried. Oh thank you! You and that crazy psychiatrist probably saved my sanity. “
What I learned from that incident probably saved my sanity as well. After that, if a paper wouldn’t flow, I didn’t try as hard to force it. Most of my best grades were received for papers written just hours before they were due. That’s how I give sermons and speeches as well. I study the material. I make possible outlines and I try out thoughts and ideas, but I don’t commit to my course until I have no more leeway. That always leaves my nerves just a bit on edge and my stomach just a tad upset, which apparently is my most creative condition.
On my resume I have a line that reads, “Works well under stress”, but the truth is, I work BEST under stress, but I’d just as soon you not tell my boss that. Another thing she doesn’t need to know is that if things are too easy, they’re apt not to get done at all.
It is 10:23 p.m. here in the last inhabited time zone at the end of the world. Everybody else has passed on to Sunday. I suppose there are still a couple of hours left for me to spruce this post up and make it better, but since there is no dire consequence attached to assure perfection, I declare this “close enough.”
OC and I just passed our one year anniversary as a cohabitating couple. A few things have changed between then and now. THEN.
Now:
I woke. OC was still asleep. I left the room quietly so I wouldn’t disturb him.
In the living room I read my email, checked my feed reader, and commented on a few blogs. OC slept. I went into the kitchen and emptied the dishwasher. He slept. I got the waffle iron out, mixed up some batter — from scratch! — and set the table. OC slept. I mixed some orange juice. He slept.
I returned to the couch, leaned forward to retrieve my laptop from the coffee table, and looked up to see an intruder come through the lanai door. OC slept.
I stared at the intruder in terror and thought briefly about screaming, but that’s too much drama even for me. Instead I lept from the couch, dashed to the kitchen, grabbed the bug spray, and blasted the intruder with at least a half a cup! The intruder writhed on the floor in agony. OC still slept!
I grabbed a piece of old newspaper and bundled the intruder up in it, squeezing until I was certain it was well and truly dead. OC slept.
Having vanquished the intruder, I headed to the bathroom for a well deserved shower. OC slept. However, when I emerged from the bathroom, he was awake and ready to start the day. He was overjoyed to see the waffle iron out. I plugged it in and took the condiments from the fridge. OC sat on the couch and opened his lap top.
I said, “We had an intruder this morning.”
OC looked up with great concern. “Who? Wha–”
“A centipede,” I said.
OC looked around. “Where?”
I pointed at the can of bug spray. “I murdered it.”
“Oh,” OC said. His attention returned to his laptop.
“It tried to murder me,” I said. “And you slept right through it!”
OC grunted.
“Hey,” I said. “It could have killed me. You’d have come out here and found my dead body on the floor and the centipede doing high kicks on my nose.”
OC looked up from his computer, raised his eye brows and said, “Right.”
“You are the hero,” I said. “It’s your job to save me. You’re not supposed to be asleep when I am in mortal peril.”
“Uh-huh,” he answered, eyes still on his computer.
“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” I queried.
“When’s breakfast?” He asked hopefully.
* * *
Happy Anniversary, OC. I love you. Aren’t you glad to have me?
Once upon a time I lived in a land I was unquestionably proud of. The National Anthem would play and I would stand with my hand on my heart, my head held high, and tears in my eyes. I truly believed that truth and justice were the American way. My eyes have been opened to unhappy truths. Questions have been raised. Some of them have ugly answers.
Many blame the current World climate and the status of America on George Bush and Co. Others blame it on the bombing of the Twin Towers. Or the Taliban. Or Osama Bin Laden, himself. Most blame in on a combination of all of the above. I disagree on ALL counts.
If you want someone to blame for the opinion the rest of the world holds of Americans step to your window and look out at your city streets. Do you see people reaching out, helping and taking care of one another? Do you see people stepping out of their SUVs to conserve fuel for things like heat and electricity? Do you see people cleaning up the streets, or dumping garbage without care?
Are there recycling bins on every corner? Is an active effort being made to conserve and preserve? What have you done to become more green at your house?
If you want someone to blame for the opinion the rest of the world holds of Americans step into your bathroom and look into the mirror — and then start questioning. What is it you can do to help? One thing I hope you are certain to do — a lesson Americans should have learned because it came at a very high cost — is to vote, and do so with deliberation and caution.
Am I still proud to be an American? Yes, most of the time, but I would like to be even more proud. I would like to be once again a citizen of a nation that the rest of the world looks up to — not out of fear, but because the world is better for our being in it.
Happy Birthday America. May your future find you living up to your promise of allegiance of life, liberty and justice for ALL.
For those of you who have been patiently — and not so patiently — waiting, over a year and three months later, I have once again posted a short story, “Sticks & Stones” on my memoir blog:
Sugar Jay was my best-friend, but she was as spoiled as her name implies. She would never do things my way. My mud pie recipe had specific ingredients. The perfect mud pie has a firm, creamy texture, but Sugar, one of those “whole earth” freaks, kept adding rocks, sticks and pine cones to the mix.
Source: “The Grownups Wanted Us Dead” by Quilly
Both Dr. John and OC frowned on the idea of me going outside and tossing rocks at the mangoes with the children. I explained to OC that our lease forbids climbing trees, but it doesn’t say anything about tossing rocks. OC said, “That’s probably because throwing rocks is already against the law!” Now I need to check a copy of the Hawaii penal code before I decide whether or not to join the rock throwing children. (Such decisions were much easier when I was a kid.)
Well, the good news is, enough Mangoes already littered the ground that there were plenty for me to gather up, bring into the house and feast upon. Mangoes are very pulpy — at least the kind that grow in our yard are — and they are very juicy. I eat mango while standing over the sink. What’s a little stickiness when one is munching on sweet, yummy mango?
Those of you who have been around awhile might recognize a quote from OC written on my blog about a year ago, as we were preparing to move to Hawaii.
I quite happily told OC that, members of the Poison Ivy League or not, mangoes didn’t bother me. That turned out to be a rash proclamation. It seems that an occasional mango is fine, but indulging in them everyday is not.
I’d gathered an armful of mangoes and brought them into the house, where I proceeded to eat them, one or two at a time every day for three days. The evening of the third day I said to OC, my face really hurts and it’s all sore and chapped feeling. OC looked at me and said, “You have a rash around your mouth.”
I immediately looked down at my plate in concern. (We were eating out when the conversation occurred.) I said, “There’s nothing on my plate I haven’t eaten before.” He said, “I noticed the rash when you picked me up from the boat.”
I said, “You know, my arms really itch, too.” I showed him the angry red stripes (for want of a better word) on my forearms. OC looked at them, turning my arms this way and that and then queried. “Have you been eating mangoes?”
“Well, yes,” I said. “But –”
“Those look like juice streaks,” he said, pointing at my arms. “You might want to lay off on the mangoes for awhile.”
Yeah. A looooong while.
What item (singular noun) does this photo represent? email your answers and leave a comment designed to either help or confuse your fellow game players. The first contestant to EMAIL! me the right answer wins a featured link in my blog which will display until next Monday when we’ll play this little game again. Enjoy.
I hope this is a little more difficult than the first one was!
Hint #1: Not all of the props pertain to the name, but they all pertain to the theme.
Hint #2: It’s a compound word.
Winners!
Monday, June 30th, 11:59 p.m. — Herbgirl — Deck Chair
Tuesday, July 1st, 3:35 a.m. — Dr. John — Ocean’s Eleven
Tuesday, July 1st, 4:56 a.m. — Melli — Card Shark
Tuesday, July 1st, 5:04 a.m. — Doug — Deck Chair
Tuesday, July 1st, 5:11 a.m. — Jeremiah — Sand Castle
This is easy. What “phrase” have I photographed? Leave your guess in the comments.
I am getting older. I can tell this not because of what my mirror tells me; I don’t spend much time with my mirror. I can tell this not because of what my aches and pains tell me; they are still petty annoyances for the most part. I can tell this not because of the color of my hair; Clariol started taking care of that long before I had gray to cover.
I can tell I am getting old because of my attitudes.
I disapprove of the neighbor children throwing rocks into the tree to get the mangoes down, yet once I was a child who might have done such a thing (although it is more likely I would have climbed the tree).
I disapprove of cars that pass me when I am driving 65 miles an hour in the 55 mile an hour zone. They’re going to get somebody killed. It might be me. Yet once in my youth I leaned out of a car going 80 miles an hour to knock on the window of another car and tell them that blinkers were invented for a reason (perhaps I have always been cranky).
I disapprove of the neighbor’s music in my home. If he can’t keep it in his own home, he shouldn’t be allowed to have it. Yet once, when I was a teen, my friends mother cut the plug off the stereo cord because we would not keep the music at a level she deemed reasonable.
I disapprove of children pushing and shoving and splashing and dunking one another in the pool when I am also subject to these happenings; yet once I was a child who relished just that type of play.
I disapprove of the kid doing back flips from the edge of the pool into the water. He could have slipped and cracked his head open. Yet for many, many summers of my childhood I did those same kind of backflips and never once hit my head.
I disapprove of just about anything that I don’t care to be bothered with, which means I disapprove of my own disapproval. Yet I don’t want to be known as ThatCrankyLadyinApartmentC. I need to relax a bit and lighten up. My body has to grow older, (I disapprove of the other option), but my attitudes don’t. I need to do less disapproving and more enjoying. The next time the neighbor kids are outside throwing rocks, I am going to join them …..
She was in the kitchen attempting to make potato salad. The security strip on the new mayo jar was giving her a hard time.
[Clang. Clatter.]
“Ouch!” She yelled, then added, “I am out here in the kitchen poking holes in myself with sharp objects.”
He sat on the couch watching the baseball game and didn’t look up. “That isn’t an activity I would recommend,” he said.
“There is blood leaking out of me,” she said.
“You’ve proven my point,” he said, still without looking up.
“Hrumph!” She grumbled, and wrapped a bit of paper towel around her thumb and went on about her work.
Later, she sat beside him on the couch and reached for her laptop. She had removed the paper towel and washed and dried her hand, noting nothing amiss; but with just a bit of typing, the cut on her thumb reopened. “Look,” she said, shoving her hand in his face, “Blood!”
He glanced at her thumb, gave her that look over the top of his glasses and said, “Get a Band-Aid.”
She looked at him in a perplexed kind of “thinking it over” sort of way and queried, “Band-Aid?”
“That is what most people do when they have a cut,” he answered.
“But –” she waved her finger for maximum blood display, “– if I cover it up with a Band-Aid, how will I get any sympathy? Not,” she said pointedly, “that I am getting much sympathy as it is.”
He smirked at her and said, “I don’t know why but there is a Band-Aid on the piano. Get it and paste it on your hand.”
She said, “I am waiting for sympathy.”
He said, “You can put the Band-Aid on so you’ll have something to do while you wait.”
This is post 900.
900!
A number like 900 calls for something momentous and weighty.
I got nada.
NADA!
So I’m just going to regale you with some of my favorite moments from me:
(’cuz I’m modest and unassuming)
- June 3rd, 2006 — Starbucks Coffee
July 26th, 2006 — Wordless Wednesday
August 31, 2006 — Flashback
September 23rd, 2006 — Flying With Wonder Barbie
October 6th, 2006 — Rico’s Riot
November 13th, 2006 — Generous to a Fault
December 16th, 2006 — Ho Ho Ho
- January 15th, 2007 — Weekend in Review (OC & I meet face-to-face at last!)
February 19th, 2007 — The Coolest Kid
March 15th, 2007th — I Am From …
April 8th, 2007 — All Dressed Up For Easter
May 12th, 2007 — Pizza: The Gift That Says, “I LoveYou”
June 28th, 2007 — My Sisters, Laurel & Hardy
July 6th, 2007 — Together At Last (OC and I began life as a couple)
August 22nd, 2007 — Collaborate (the first He Said, She Said)
September 20th, 2007 — It’s Magic
October 18th, 2007 — Learning
November 6th, 2007 — Moving
December 21st, 2007 — Remedial Intervention Required
- January 3rd, 2008 — Diversity
February 1st, 2008 — Spinach & Ham
March 31st, 2008 — The Country Club Bum
April 9th, 2008 — I Shot The Peacock
May 14th, 2008 — N is For Wordless Wednesday
June 2008 — Brings you to date. On June first we (my blog and I) celebrated our third anniversary. Today I have posted my 900th post. A lot of pictures and a lot of words have graced these pages. I have had much fun here and met many wonderful people — OC included.
Each of you have touched my heart. You’ve opened my eyes, challenged me to care and made me think. I cherish you all more than I can say. This anniversary is yours as much as mine, because if it weren’t for my readers, I wouldn’t be here.
Thank you.
25 months — approximately 750 days — 900 posts
Good Vs. Evil
One day, over Oahu, the cumulus clouds and the cirrus clouds got into a fray. A rainbow came out to mediate. A minimum amount of tears were shed. Umbrellas were not called into play.
SKY WATCH comes to us via Wigger’s World,
in the United Kingdom.
Thanks, Tom!
He came home from work in a good mood and was joking and laughing and teasing Her. Soon He had Her so mixed up she was sputtering and almost speechless. That’s when She said, “You know, you should really be being very nice to me. You should be telling me that I am perfect and wonderful and beautiful and how much you really, really love me.”
He said, “Oh, I should, should I?”
She said, “Yes, you should, or later you will be very sorry.”
“Oh?” He queried, “And why will I be very sorry?”
“Because,” She said. “I made a homemade banana cream pie today and I am seriously thinking about not sharing.”
He blinked his eyes and stared at Her quietly for a few moments, then He said, “I really, really love you!”
“Yeah,” She said. “I thought you might.”
O’Ceallaigh
This post deleted at the request of music critics everywhere.
The problem with video is finding a reliable uploader. Google spent four hours uploading my video and captured only two seconds of it. Youtube is still “uploading” and it has been over an hour. The video is only three minutes long! I am now trying Photobucket. Don’t hold your breaths for video.
Now — the photos — ugh. The band played on the fantail of the USS Missouri at high noon! All my pictures are light burned. My little point and shoot camera has no adjustment for bright sunlight or overcast days (I had a cheaper model which did, but Canon thinks it’s good enough to auto compensate. I have ruined photos that prove it isn’t so!)
An attempt to capture a photo of my favorite trumpet player.
He says he didn’t know he still had his phone attached to his ear.
Sunday I spoke in church. I began by introducing myself and giving the people who didn’t know me a little background: I moved here from Las Vegas where I ran a children’s ministry called Sidewalk Sunday School. I was under a lot of pressure from my church to make Sidewalk succeed. Then — since I don’t actually write what I am going to say and only outline, leaving the actual words spontaneous — my sermon went something like this*:
The Gift of Importance
Sidewalk Sunday School had been running for several weeks — at least ten because the day’s lesson was review over our unit on the Ten Commandments. The church people were happy with my leadership and I was feeling pretty good about myself. Then, Friday afternoon a contingency of teachers came to my classroom and told me they and several other teachers were concerned about what I was teaching the children. They said they would be at Sidewalk on Saturday, and if they didn’t like what they saw, they were shutting Sidewalk — they were shutting me — down.
I did not want to lose Sidewalk. I didn’t want to disappoint the children. I didn’t want to disappoint the members of my church. But — most of all — I did not want to lose my feelings of importance. I determined that Sidewalk was going to be perfect. PERFECT!
Saturday morning I drove the volunteers who worked with me nuts. They were incredibly competent wonderful people who had been doing their jobs flawlessly all along. Suddenly there I was questioning, correcting and nagging. “Why did you do that?” “Does that have to be there?” “I need you to work a little faster.” “Check the sound system again. EVERYTHING HAS TO BE PERFECT TODAY!” I was a hair pulling nervous wreck before the teachers even showed up!
Now, at Sidewalk Sunday School when it is time for the worship service, the children don’t get bulletins. We have a huge poster with the scripture verse of the day on it. Since this was review week, we had all ten of the posters with the Ten Commandments. Each poster was designed to look like a stone tablet with the verse chiseled on. I needed ten kids to come up on stage and hold the signs. And I look out at the kids and I see bright, fiery red-hair atop a shining face. Oh, please, not today, Lord!
Now, every school has at least one kid every staff member knows by name. There are only two ways you can get to be that well known. You are either the straight A, perfect child, OR you’re the worst behaved child on campus. Wayne — he of the fiery red hair — had never received an A in his life. And behind him, behind all of the children, stood a semi-circle of teachers with their arms crossed and a “prove it” scowl upon their faces.
I turned to my second in command, Dan, and said, “Help me keep that kid in line, and if he gets too far out, escort him off campus.” So, before beginning the lesson I had already decided I was likely throwing someone out of church.
I began with the words “I need a volunteer” … and Wayne’s hand shot into the air. “Pick me!” He yelled. “Pick me! Pick me!”* He was jerking his arm up and down; waving it back and forth, and literally bouncing on the ground. The children’s “pews” at Sidewalk Sunday School are carpet remnants. We bring them in on the truck every week, take them off and roll them out on the ground for the kids to sit on — or in Wayne’s case — bounce on. “Pick ME!”*
I was not picking Wayne. He was enough of a distraction in the audience. I could just imagine what he would be like on the stage. I ignored him completely and picked someone else — who politely walked to the stage, held the poster and listened quietly while I briefly reviewed that particular lesson and questioned the students about what they’d learned.
Then I asked for another volunteer. “Oh! Oh! Pick me! Pick me!”* Wayne went right back into hyperactive mode. “I wanna do it! Pick me!”*
Again I did not pick Wayne. In fact, I did not pick him several times over — even though his jerking and waving was beginning to grow quite alarming. I quite happily pretended the child did not exist, and the contingency of teachers still stood behind the students, arms crossed, looking grim*.
I was on Commandment Six or Seven when I noted with relief that Wayne was losing steam. I was on Commandment Eight when I noticed that he was perfunctorily raising his hand, but no longer held any anticipation of being chosen. He was a child on the verge of having his heart broken — but if I picked him, he would destroy my entire lesson. I knew it — and chose someone else.
Wayne drooped. His body sagged like a wilting flower and he drew his knees to his chest. I picked another child for Commandment Nine — only one to go and I would have made it through with flying colors — and I looked down at Wayne and could tell my his posture that I was destroying that child. I knew if I picked him he would ruin my lesson, Sidewalk would be shut down, and I would have failed the church — but …
I looked at Wayne and could no longer ignore him. Someone needed to act like an adult and — unfortunately — it was going to have to be me. I called Wayne to come up and hold the poster for the Tenth Commandment. He shot off the carpet, bounded up the stairs, grabbed the poster and jumped up and down.
At this point I am on stage, Dan is on stage, nine other kids with posters are on stage — its a very small stage — and Wayne is bouncing around like a red dot ping pong ball. He’s also talking a mile a minute. “Oh, you picked me! I didn’t think you were ever gonna pick me. You picked me! You picked me!*”
Dan clamped his hands down on Wayne’s shoulders and held the boy’s bounces to three inches or less. The other kids crowded together — away from Wayne’s babbling and jumping. I asked Wayne to hold the sign still and — much to my surprise — he calmed himself some, but then he started babbling!
He asked questions about the truck, about Dan, about the stage … he asked what was for lunch and when were we serving it and how much longer until Sidewalk was over — not soon enough as far as I was concerned — and Dan finally got him to calm so I could end the lesson review. Then we bowed our heads to pray …
“Hey,” Wayne says, “What’s everybody doing? Why’s she the only one who gets to talk? Are we going to do anything besides stand here and hold these stupid signs?” And I was fuming — Dan, still patient — calmed Wayne and I finished the prayer, dismissing him from stage with a huge sigh of relief.
Then it was time for our birthday celebrations. It is tradition that on your first Sidewalk Birthday you receive a Bible. Beverly handed me the list of children celebrating birthdays that day — and there was Wayne’s name. I did not want to give him a Bible. We only had a few Bibles left, they were very expensive, and I wasn’t up for giving one away to a kid who had just been in trouble for destroying library books. The Bible wouldn’t mean a thing to him and he’d probably destroy it, too. But his name was on the list so I had to call him.
Wayne and two other boys came to the stage. I handed them each a book and asked them to bow their heads while I offered the birthday blessing. Wayne complained. “What are we doing now?” “Is that it? All we’re getting is this stupid book?” “Hey, you’re holding on too tight!” “What do you mean ‘be quiet? All I asked was –”
I said a fast AMEN and dismissed the kids to go get their lunches and whatever attendance trinket we were passing out. Wayne shot off the truck and ran toward the food. I thought “good riddance” and seriously hoped to never see him again. I started to clean my work area and pack up the truck.
Usually after Sidewalk I mingle with the kids — talk to them, play with them, answer any questions they may have — but not that day. I was too upset. In fact, I was so upset Dan suggested I leave before all of my volunteers quit. I hopped off the truck and stepped around the back — and there was Wayne.
He was sitting on the pavement behind the truck. Beside him — unopened — was a sack lunch AND his toy. He had the Bible open in his lap and was talking to one of his compatriots in crime. “Do you know what this is?” Wayne said, his voice full of awe.
“A book,” his friend answered dismissively.
“It’s the Bible!” Wayne said. His voice was full of awe. “It’s the Bible and they gave it to me. I asked that man. He said I could KEEP it.”
“They gave you a Bible?” His friend sat down next to him as they reverently turned the pages.
“Yeah,” Wayne said. “They must think I am really something special.”
I backed up so the boys wouldn’t see me, climbed into the truck and sat down and cried. I had planned to teach a super lesson that morning, but instead I ended up learning one. It had just come to me that that child I thought had no value at all, was infinitely precious and important to God — most probably, looked at in the light of my behavior toward him — more important to God at that precise moment than I or all my “good works” came close to being.
Wayne taught me a lesson that I took to every Sidewalk thereafter — and one I thought important enough to share with each of you. Your mission isn’t to successfully carry out the work you do for the church, it is to nurture the people you meet along the way. You are always in the mission field, so react accordingly with your family, your friends and the strangers you meet on the street. Each of them is very important to God.
I’d like to tell you that Wayne instantly turned into a model child and never gave anybody a bit of trouble again — but it isn’t true. Wayne remained irrepressible and impulsive. And those teachers with the crossed arms and the scowls on their faces? They went away and I never heard from them again, good or bad. My panic was for nothing.
Now, as you get up from the pews and leave this church, I want you to remember that everyone you meet — everyone — is part of your mission field. Give them the gift of feeling important, because they are important to God.
*for emphasis I acted out these parts
7:40 p.m., just in the door from friends/food/fun swimming and barbecue — which followed speaking in church, which was preceded by Saturday’s visit to the USS Missouri from 11 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., which was followed by dinner out.
What I’m trying to say is: I need a weekend to recover from my weekend! New post sometime Monday — I think.
For those of you who don’t know, my OC is a trumpet man. Tomorrow he will be playing in a concert on the USS Missouri. I am accompanying him with my camera. I hope to take picks of the SHIP.
The Band
The awesome trumpet section, including my dearest love.
Just a bit of blue …. This week the skies have been cloudy and gray. Makaha has had much rain and our usually barren rock ridges are covered in greenery. But one day sunshine and blue sky made a brief appearance, and I took this photo of these nascent Shower Tree buds.
[enlarge]
SKY WATCH comes to us via Wigger’s World,
in the United Kingdom.
Thanks, Tom!
We were at the Makaha Valley Golf Club sitting on the lanai enjoying the breeze, the view, each other and a couple of exquisite sandwiches. I took some photos of the birds, then I turned back and looked over my shoulder at the building. The reflection in the windows was picture perfect and I have always wanted to take a picture of perfection, so ….
Perfection
(with, perhaps, a couple of slight flaws)
~:~
I have not forgotten you, but I am busy typing my story AND preparing a sermon. (Pastor is out of town.) I have convinced OC to sing a solo. I doubt I will get to video tape it — or that he would allow me to publish it if I did.
Tomorrow I have a luncheon in town. Saturday OC has a concert at Pearl Harbor on the USS Missouri (yes, I’ll take pics), and Sunday I am leading worship at church and attending a party straight after (if I am still invited). I hope all of you are enjoying your summer as well!