and one for the brothers who aren't here anymore

George Barry

David Kopek

Gwen Ladd

Guerry Roberts

Mark Finlay

Margie Ranew

horoscope crystal balls

At the beginning of this year, one of the local entertainment weekly newspapers had the following horoscope for me.

Here are some of the experiences I hope to help you harvest in the coming year: growing pains that are interesting and invigorating rather than stressful; future shock that feels like a fun joyride rather than a bumpy rumble; two totally new and original ways to get excited; a good reason to have faith in a dream that has previously been improbable; a fresh supply of Innocent Crazy-Wise Love Truth; and access to all the borogoves, mome raths, and slithy toves you could ever want.

Honestly, it was that bit about the borogoves that hooked my interest enough that I clipped out the horoscope and taped it to my kitchen cabinet, under my calendar. Periodically I would review the short paragraph, to reaffirm what I recalled of its forecast and to wonder when any of it would come to pass.
Today, the last day of this year, I thought an analysis was needed to see if the author had some divine link to the future - or was just stringing some random thoughts together for entertainment.
In other words: which is more on point, the horoscope, the Dove promises, or the fortune cookie?
Then again... isn't there something else I should be doing right now?
Probably.
Bye!

one last time, brother mine!

To my youngest brother,
This will be the LAST TIME I write to you... this year. Ha ha ha!
Yesterday I received your Christmas Day letter. I'm so glad you received the goodies! I know how nice it is to have some new things sometimes, even if they look exactly like the old ones. There's something about the feel of new stuff - you know? So, new towel, new hat, new warm shirt... little things, but new.
Not a whole lot going on here with me. I really haven't made any plans for tonight. Can you believe it? Lots of options, but I'm just not excited about any of them. I guess that when I hear the right one, maybe I'll jump on it - but, so far, nothing. Trust me, if I end up staying home, by myself, that will be just fine, too. Maybe I'll catch up on some of my blogging or do some preparation work for school... Hah! I doubt that last one!
I'm looking forward to 2014 and some nice changes. I especially like that you're going to be a much better brother - fabulous! I am being absolutely serious. It's hard for folks to do the right thing, to make the good choices, because the temptation to go the other way is so easy. No one ever said anything worth doing, or worth having, is easy. A little hard work makes it all worthwhile.
with so much love!

unwritten postscript: Most of the reason I would rather stay home is the problem with my car. Every time I have left the house lately, I've had to get a push start from strangers to get back home. Very fortunate to drive a stick shift, or that wouldn't be an option. And I have had a lot of practice with popping the clutch to get started and have successfully done it once by myself. How cool is that? Still, a sufficient incline is not often available and I very much dislike having to ask strangers for help. Especially if the day is rainy. Right? So, better to stay home.

79 pints of blood on the wall, 79 pints of blood

Dear Dood,
I do hope you have received the package of new towels and such that I bought for you. I thought it would be nice to start the year with some new clothes. Of course I ordered them online at the site for y'all to make sure the items would be in regulation.
I'm recycling this card, even though this is the first time this card has ever been used. Say what?! Well, it's a Mother's Day card. It came with the package of cards, much as the Home Shopping Network is part of the cable package, even though I never watch that channel. As you are the "baddest Mutha" I know, YOU are getting the card!

Guess who called me this morning? The American Red Cross! I'm one of their VIP donors, Silver level, which means I have pledged to give blood at least three times this year. I had already planned to give today, so their timing was pretty good. The really nice thing? She kept thanking me for helping to save lives. After all, each pint donated helps three people. What a lovely first phone call of the day!
I'm sure you're wondering: how much have you donated? Well, I wasn't sure until now. She told me I've given 78 pints. Seventy-eight! Wow!
Happy New Year!
with my love!

postscript: In case you're wondering, these are not the usual cookies on this card. They're meringue cookies, a French treat. The whipped egg whites and sugar are formed in cookie tins and baked, then the sweet goo is put in the middle. These are typically small cookies, too - one bite and they're gone!

walking on a Sunday afternoon

Ya gotta sing it.
Think, Queen's "Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon", one of my favorites on the album, "A Night at the Opera". Yes, I am well aware that "Bohemian Rhapsody" is regarded as THE hit from that one. However, given my penchant for listening to an entire side of an album, not just a single song, I can assure you that all of the songs deserve more recognition.
Ahem. I digress, ramble, stray off topic, yet again.
As I am wont to do.
So there.
Um... let me see... what was I saying?
Oh! I see! I hadn't really started yet.
Good!
Today had started out overcast and a bit gray, as the weatherman had predicted. My niece Emily and her family came by around 10:30 AM, to visit. As we had not seen each other at Christmas, I gave her and her music-making husband two tickets for Afterlife Tours (garnered in a fundraiser for Savannah Stage Company). They immediately said "Date night event!" Major coolness!

Then I gave their darling daughter, my ocean-loving great-niece, her gift. Yeah! I had made (i.e., stuffed it myself) a turtle to cuddle, making sure it was extra cuddly, like her. I had left the blue-themed Hawaiian shirt and shorts off, to allow her the option of dressing him or not. (She started putting the clothes on him as soon as she saw them.) Then she named him: Scutzles, I think was the final name, though it may have morphed into Scuttles. Very nice!
They stayed and visited for a while, then life called and they had to leave. But not without first making plans to share dinner some Tuesday or Thursday in the near future. I will certainly look forward to that!

As they left, I noticed the day had brightened.
Not just figuratively.
No, literally.
The sun had muscled its way past the clouds, clearing a space for blue sky to arch above.
Well, then.
This was entirely too pretty a day to spend inside!
And it was reasonably warm, too!
This called for a trip to the real beach!
And so that is exactly what happened. I contacted my NK! Barbara, who had recently spoken of wanting to walk on the beach. No better time than the present! She was at my house within the hour and we were at Tybee Island's Atlantic Ocean sands shortly after. Yeah!

We were not the only ones on those sands, either, basking in the glow of this glorious day in late December. Oh, no! Lots of folks were there, strolling along the water's edge, testing out new metal detectors, splashing in the surf, catching waves. Nice!
We stayed for two hours, until the time on the meter was up, then we dined at the The Flying Fish Bar & Grill on the way back to town. She had never been and I love the food there. Now, she knows another good place for shrimp! I highly recommend the appetizer sampler: fried shrimp, fried calamari, fried conch, and delicious shrimp salad - and five different sauces for dipping! Definitely a fun food!
What a thoroughly relaxing day!

pineapple upside-down ...cornbread?

Yep, that's what I said: pineapple upside-down cornbread.
A while back, I had combined a can of crushed pineaple with a box of bran muffin mix - adding no other ingredients - and baked them to make quite a nice breakfast for several days.
Successful experiment.
Thursday, I had pulled a can of crushed pineapple out of the pantry and a box of "Jiffy" corn muffin mix. Hey, everyone always says that "Jiffy's" cornbread is like cake, so maybe I could combine the two and have something good. Right?
Evidently, I needed to think about it overnight.
Yesterday, I looked again at the two ingredients on my kitchen counter.
And the thought popped into my mind, with an image tagging along: crushed pineapple on the bottom of the loaf pan, prepared muffin mix on top.
And so it came to pass.
I drained the pineapple, mostly. Then the loaf pan was lightly oiled and the muffin mix combined with 1/2 cup of water and allowed to stand for a moment (as if I was making corn muffins). The mix was gently spooned on top of the pineapple, smoothing the top for appearance. Then, into the oven it was popped for 22 minutes.
Golden-brown crust? Yep!
Turned loose from the edges of the pan? Yep!
Okay, let's invert it onto a plate and see what we get...
Success! Woohoo!
I served it alongside the stove-pot casserole for the night: diced Spam (low-fat, low-sodium version, thank you), some fresh onion, a small apple, the leftover pineapple, and brown rice.
Very nice combination!!!
I just may have that for breakfast tomorrow.

bad gallbladder! BAD!

The conversation had begun on the 16th, late at night. As is usual for him, he broke the topic with a cryptic text: "They gave you your gallstones after the surgery, right?"
Apropos of nothing, out of the blue, no precursor.
So, I texted back that I thought they did, what's up? Eventually, I tired of texting and made sure he knew he could call if he wanted to talk.
So, he did.
And we talked for over an hour, until the clock had gone into the hours of the next day.
He had been having intestinal problems. They thought initially that it was pancreatitis, but eventually ruled that out. Now, they were thinking gallbladder. Testing had confirmed that his bile storage unit, aka gallbladder, was full of gallstones and no longer functional.
Not a big deal, I had assured him. The surgery was laparoscopic, so there would be a few small scars and some extra gas for a while, but moving around would not be an issue. The bigger problem, I had told him, would be recovery from the anesthesia. Especially as we age, that recovery time lengthens into ridiculous spans and includes no decision making for up to a week.
He hadn't recalled that recovery from going under had been an issue for him when he had the four stents placed into his heart (two in February 2004, two more in February 2007). I told him that perhaps he had not, but that he should expect to now as he was now older.
I don't think he cared for that, but, as he would say, "there it is".
He was mostly bummed out that he would not be making his usual drive south to visit his daughters during the holidays. His consultation with the gastrointestinal surgeon was slated for the day after Christmas. So, he could drive down, but would miss seeing the girls on Christmas Day as that day would be needed for the return drive.
Also, I don't know that he would have been physically able to perform that 17-hour drive in his current condition.
I don't think he wanted to admit that aloud, true or not.
So, in Michigan he would remain this December.
His 49-for-the-first-time birthday was last Friday, the 20th. I sent him a text, knowing he would be at work and not answering his phone. I then sent a few reminders to folks about his birthday and then hooked up with my first niece and her family for a last night with their three foster children.

Last Sunday, I was awakended at 5:30 AM with diarrhea.
I rushed to the bathroom, barely making it in time. Afterward, I got back in bed and had just snuggled into the warmth when I had to rush out of bed again. And again.
Continuously.
Then, at 8:00 AM, my body added vomiting to the repertoire.
Thank God for the little plastic trashcan by the toilet.
After that, it was repeat, repeat, repeat.
I have no idea where my body was still getting the stuff it was spewing out of me.
All I could think was: I haven't been this ill since my gallbladder went bad six years ago.
Same symptoms, same nasty results.
Was this what he had been going through, too? Most likely. Given the fatty foods he loads into his diet, I was sure his body had been as violently rejective of input as mine was being.

The physicist texted me later on Sunday night.
bfe: Yo! You be going to Odd Lot tomorrow?
me: I certainly plan to do so. Have been crazy sick today.
bfe: That's not good. if your nose is running I hope you catch it! ha ha.
me: Thank you. My nose is fine. It is my stomach and digestive tract that have had me running to the toilet since 5 AM. Hope it is just 24 hour. Going to try to sleep again.
bfe: I'll check with you tomorrow to see how you are feeling. Get some good sleep and rest Faustina. Have pleasant dreams and feel better.

On the 23rd (i.e., the next afternoon), he did check back in;
bfe: Hey, Faustina, how ya feeling? I know how much it sucks to be sick.
me: Better. Mostly been sleeping a lot. Had some chicken soup and it stayed so that is good. :) That was five hours ago. Making some pasta now.
bfe: Sounds like you might have had a bought with da flu. :( It both is good and it sucks to get sick on your own time.
me: Possible but i may also have overloaded my system on fat at a Christmas party Saturday night.
bfe: Ever since I texted you yesterday my nose has been running. And I have been sneezy. Did I catch something from texting you yesterday?
me: My NOSE is fine. :) I just need to be more mindful of beef and chocolate and such.
bfe: Oh, that's not good for you at all. I'll look on eBay and see if we can find you a gently used gall bladder.
me: I am still not sure about Odd Lot tonight. Are you going?
bfe: I was thinking of going but I am going to pass. A cursory search on ebay has not turned anything up so far.
me: Drats. I think the sale of body parts is discouraged. At least in this country.
bfe: Marilyn Monroe had gall bladder surgery.
me: Really? i wonder how old she was. I was 49 when i had my gall bladder evicted.
bfe: She was 34 years old when her gall bladder was removed. Joe DiMagio was standing by.
me: That was sweet. Sorry to hear about your nose. :(
bfe: It's ok... More annoying than anything else.

Odd. I hadn't mentioned my symptoms as being those of a gallbladder in distress, but the topic had risen of its own accord. From flu to gallbladder distress in one fell swoop. Oh, and some Marilyn thrown in, too, as we must remember at all times about the thirteen-year-old boy.
(Smile.)
So, back to the topic at hand: the ex's dilemma.
Today, the day of his GI surgical consult, I waited for his result. I didn't want to text him, partly because I had no idea what time he was to see the doctor. Better to wait for his call or text.
Finally, at 5:45 this afternoon, word came.
ex: Cardiac stress echo scheduled for January 2nd. Wants to make sure there are no surprises, given my medical history.
me: What about the gallbladder surgery? When is it scheduled?
ex: One thing at a time.
me: Well, at least it will be after the new year. What kinds of tests are to be done?
ex: Stress echo, just like I used to have at Hardigan's office.
me: Have you talked to Auntie about all this?
ex: Thursday, I think. Her card played that hamster song you used to adore! And thank you for the tree, honey.
me: You are very welcome. And don't use energy worrying about the cardiac test this next week.
ex: I'm not worried about that. Stress echo? I can do that in my sleep.

He probably can. He's had lots of practice these past ten years.
I hope all will go well.
I really do.

o holy night

Yes, I know the photo isn't centered.
In that way, it mirrors life perfectly.
My life, that is.
That's truly the only life I lay any claim to knowing much about.
Which is a truth for everyone.
We all have one life, one opportunity to experience the sights and sounds and tastes and smells and feel of what it means to be alive on this magical planet as it circles its yellow star.
Tonight, I experienced something different from the Christmas Eve routine I have followed for more than half my life. My stepbrother George had hosted last year's family gathering and no one had stepped forward to do so this year.
Completely undrestandable.
Sometimes, a break is needed, to allow new strengths to be found.
This year, instead of meeting in the early evening hours to break bread with family and share gifts, I found my seat at God's table with my church family.
The experience was incredible.
The service was filled with scripture readings, liturgical dance, and song.
Lots of song.
In other words, the service was much like the usual uplifting Sunday services here.
The pacing was different, though.
And there was no sermon.
Some of the early songs made me miss Mama terribly.
Others brought the loss of Daddy to my mind and my weeping eyes.
I found myself going through the litany of family members lost, recently and through the past years.
Then, there was a shift, in both the tone and tempo of the music, an uplifting, reassuring hand upon my heart.
Quite wondrous.
That calm, joyful reassurance was maintained throughout the balance of the service.
Most wondrous.

And quite a few of us (at least thirty!) even went caroling in the neighborhood afterward, ending the time with the church family by singing "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas" to Miss Virginia, as she swang on the front porch at the house she has lived in much of her life.

My love, and many thanks, always, to the ever-huggable, ever-hugging Hai, and my gratitude especially for his company on this different journey tonight.

yes, Santa Claus, there IS a Virginia

And her last name is Holliday.
How about that?
Tomorrow will be her 90th birthday.
Today, the church honored Miss Virginia with a surprise birthday party. She was unaware that the "Big" Coffee Hour, usually held at on the first Sunday of the month, had been changed on purpose to this date, the day before her birthday. She had even made her specialty - deviled eggs - for the BCH and had poured the drinks for all there, as usual.
She is an amazing woman.
How did the church manage to sneak this over on her? Well, in the monthly newsletter, it was written that "We will not have our “Big” Coffee Hour after the worship service on December 1st, but we will have it two weeks later on December 15th. This will help feed those who will go caroling to our homebound members that day."
Clever, right?
But then how to let the rest of us in on the surpise for Miss Virginia?
Email. She doesn't do computer stuff and nonsense. So the church's head honchos sent an email to those of us who DO play with computers, advising us of the real reason for the change of date. Here's the message: "Okay, everyone...here's the scoop! Sunday's "Big" Coffee Hour isn't just a Big Coffee Hour. Virginia Holiday will be celebrating her 90th birthday on Monday...so the Big Coffee Hour is actually a surprise birthday party for her. Virginia doesn't get email so she will not be getting this church email...so she will not know. So let's keep it a secret - bring your vittles to share with others, and let's celebrate the life of this one who has given so much to Asbury Memorial. We will still go caroling to our homebound members after the party, but we will getting a later start than usual. Hope you can go to the party and caroling!" Very nice!
The church even arranged for her brother (who she had not seen for a couple of years) and his family to join us for this special occasion. How cool is that! She was unaware they were coming until they entered the church for the singing of "Happy Birthday" to her. What a grand surpirse!
Especially for this woman full of love.
Last February marked the 20th year that she has participated in the Love Walk, in support of the projects and works of the Wesley Community Centers of Savannah. Two years ago, she raised $3300 for the mission. I can only imagine the funds she has raised for them during her twenty years of being in the walk.
So, in case you missed it: this is her 20th year of walking for the fundraiser. That means she started doing this when she was 69 years old, in 1993. Amazing. Want to see more? Go here. She's the child-sized smiler in the orange jacket.
Amazing.
She is known as an ElderBury. She has been a member of the church for almost fifty years. (I expect that milestone will be marked sometime in the new year.) She was one of the 25 church members still present when Reverend Billy Hester took the helm in 1993 and steered the church away from the rocky shore of destruction. How did he do it? Well, he built a place where "the Joy of God is expressed creatively". Miss Virginia has been a part of those theatrical productions, adding her voice to both the commercial works ("The Pirates of Penzance", among others) and the "God on Broadway" series each October.
In November, she was part of the Asbury CHEER Team, during the Rock'n'Roll Marathon here. The team members wore costumes from the theatre closet; Virginia chose the traditional clown, the face of Asbury Memorial UMC. Clad in the huge white garment and topped by a purple wig, waving colorful pompons, she was credited with helping the church's team garner $750 for their efforts.
Amazing.
So, Santa, whatever she wants for Christmas, please do give it to her. If anyone is deserving of presents, she is.
Merry Christmas!

chasing a shattered asteroid, catching sun

Early this morning, around 5:40 AM or so, I rose to take my anti-hypothyroid pill. Actually, I rose to relieve my bladder, but then to take the little lavendar pill with its required cup of water.
When I saw the time, I checked the view outside: no meteor shower met my gaze.
I returned to bed.
I did not return to sleep.
Come on, you know you need to go outside to really look.
It's cold out there and looked cloudy.
No, I definitely saw some stars. You need to look for Orion's belt, then to red Betelgeuse, then stay on that line northward to Gemini. That's where the shower is to be.
I only saw a few stars.
And it's too chilly.
And it's too early in the day.
Or maybe it's too late at night.
I think it was to become invisible again by dawn.
It isn't dawn yet. It's still dark out. You need to go look.
Come on. How often you do get the chance to see meteor showers?
Go look.
You know you want to. It's the Geminid shower. You must.
I must?

So, I did. I dressed warmly, threw on my shawl, and headed out.
I was rather surprised that the night air wasn't cold.
Chilly, sure. But not cold.
That was a good omen.
I walked around, looking up, scanning the dark sky for the cluster known as Orion's belt.
I found the Big Dipper.
It was huge, too, spanning an enormous expanse of dark velvet, as it did in Okinawa.
I walked around toward the ocean, toward an area I knew would not have much light pollution, scanning the sky.
Still no bits of shattered asteroid known as 3200 Phaethon.
Maybe I'll have better luck tonight, I thought.

And as I was gazing toward the star-sprinkled dark above the ever-singing Atlantic Ocean, I paused.
Was that the Milky Way sprawled up there???
No... I think it's just an odd cloud formation... I think.
Look at the wind whipping the air around under that lamp! Wow!

Then I wandered around, enjoying the wind and the solitude. I kept trying to take a photo of the possible Milky Way stretched overhead, but the little camera on my six-year-old phone could not detect anything.
Then I noticed an odd fringe in the sky. What was that?
And the barest glow emanated just south of where I stood on the beach.
Well, why not? I thought.
That must be the start of the sunrise and I very rarely see those.
Why don't I do my own time-lapse photography, using my trusty phone, and see how long it takes for the sun to rise?
And so I did, snapping a new photo, in roughly the same place, every three to four minutes.
The first one in the series was shot at 6:26 AM. The last photo was taken at 6:58 AM.
No alterations have been made.
This was a fun experiment and certainly made it more fun for me to be up so early.
Now - YAWWWWNN - I'm going back to bed to await a more seemly hour.

tuscawilla

As I was entering the Tuscawilla outdoor exhibit, I had glanced toward the sky to check on the daylight remaining.
Amazingly, I was standing in the perfect location to see this driftwood crane winging toward the blue sky and a rising moon.
Then an upward-climbing plane joined the tableau.
Sometimes, I am in exactly the right place at exactly the right time.

Amazing.
i thank You, God, for such little miracles to brighten my days and nights.

909

Home.
This is the view that greeted me as I set down my travel bag.
The sun was on its way down on the other side of the building.
The ocean was lit only by the waning light of the eastern sky.

Home.
This is not my first stay in this room at hall's end.
I was here last year, too.
Thank you, dear John, for remembering how I like this suite.

Home.

carcass o'plenty

Today, I ate the last of the meat I had garnered from the carcass of one of the Thanksgiving turkeys my biggest little brother had prepared for the family feast this year. On that day of thanks, I had waited too late to prepare a to-go plate. By the time the rest of the family had gotten some of this and a bit of that, there were just carcasses, some cranberry jelly, and some s'more cookies my eldest niece had made.
My sister-in-law helped me bag, and then double-bag, the largest turkey carcass. I had said I would try my hand at making broth with the bones. I rightly thought that would be all I do with it, as the bones had been picked pretty clean.
So, she sent me home with the bones, the jelly, and the cookies. I put them all away when home, then settled in to watch a marathon of "Monk" and to psych myself up for making broth.
I knew I had seen a recipe for New York Penicilln in my worn copy of The New York Cookbook. This is one of the best cookbooks I've ever had! The recipes are those of (mostly) famous people, accompanied by stories and anecdotes - quite entertaining, especially for a book of recipes! As it happens, the soup recipe I recalled reading was from Guardian Angel Curtis Sliwa's elderly aunt. (How appropriate! A guardian angel led my memory to that recipe!)
Sure, I hear you now: that recipe was for chicken broth. To you I say: Fowl is fowl and poultry is poultry.
Meanwhile, the clock is ticking. It was already approaching 8 PM and the recipe called for all of the ingredients to simmer for four hours.
FOUR HOURS.
Good thing I'm a night owl. Hoot, hoot!
So, I grabbed my largest pot, poured in the gallon of cold water, submerged the bird remains, and set it to heat. The recipe called for garlic (got it!), an onion (whole, peeled, but not sliced: got it!), and two carrots ("peeled, cut into hunks": got baby carrots!). It also requested celery, a bay leaf, parsley, salt, peppercorns, and chicken feet or chicken wings or a turkey wing.
Oh, and it started with a whole chicken, not just bones.
Hmmm... nah, didn't have it, so didn't add any of that. I was cooking turkey broth, so I figured I was free to make other alterations.
(By the way, that's fairly typical for me to use a recipe as a springboard, not a rulebook. Used to drive my ex crazy.)
It was well past midnight before the broth was done. Then, the decision to be made: go ahead and strain it and gather the bits of meat and discard the bones - or, close it all up, put it into the fridge, and tackle the onerous task of picking some other time?
You mean, when it would all be cold?
Nah, that didn't sound appealing. At all.
So I took care of it then and there.
Pulled out and discarded the larger bones and the onion and the carrots, as the recipe said to do.
Fetched my strainer and pulled up spoonfuls of meat and gunk, drained them, then picked out the meat.
Repeat, Repeat. Repeat.
By the time I was down to just broth, I had about four cups of meat.
WOW!.
I had thought I came home with no turkey and here I had four cups of ready-to-use meat!
It was also 4 AM and definitely time for bed, after covering the broth and setting it in the fridge to cool, so I could de-fat it later.
I ended up with about six cups (1500 milliliters) of broth!
Quite impressive. Especially as I thought I took home bones.

Since then, I've eaten quite a bit of turkey. Sometimes (four days) as breakfast sandwiches, made with dill pickle dip mix in "sour cream", on hearty white bread (4 grams of fiber per sandwich). What a grand way to start the day!
I've also had turkey and mayo sandwiches (twice), turkey with pasta and vegetables (twice), Italian ribollita (twice, made the quickie way with a pint of my broth, some fresh onions and chopped broccoli, and a cup of stove-top stuffing mix), fajitas (twice, using leftovers from a veggie fajita lunch with my first niece and some Ro-Tel of my own).
Today for lunch, it was the last of the turkey meat, fresh broccoli florets, leftover red rice (from the Post 36 fundraiser on Friday), and some of the cranberry jelly. Oh, and toast points, for a little crunch.
I still have two pints of broth in the freezer, too.
Not a bad haul from bird bones.
It just shows to go ya: Appearances can be deceptive.
Don't count something as worthless before it truly is all used up.
Reduce. Reuse. Recycle.

alliteration in the mornin'

"Mild-mannered, money-making men", Ben Bailey, Cash Cab.

Spoken after the exit of two soft-spoken, non-high-five-ing, intelligent gents with $950 in hand for their forty-block ride on video.

Nice.

rippling waves of distance

Yesterday, I wrote the following to my youngest brother.

Dear Tony,

Before I become totally immersed in grading Lab Final Exams, I thought I would heave a few lines across the miles to let you know I was thinking about you. Just like the picture on this note, distance can be seen as water, an expanse of water between here, where I am, and there, where you are. If our vision was like Superman's, we could stand on our two shores of the same lake and see each other waving.

Alas, my vision cannot see across such far distances. However, the air around me eventually finds its way to the shore where you stand, just as the air in the blue sky around you finds its way to me. When you think of it that way, the distance is not such a large factor. Right? And the stars you see are the same ones I see, as are the moon and the sun.

Here's looking at you, Tony! See me waving? Feel the hug in the breeze?

with my love!

giving tuesday

Today was designated #GivingTuesday.
For those who don't tweet, the above is referred to as a hashtag and is used to denote the topic under discussion.
A label, if you will.
I must admit, I had not been aware that today was to be The First in what is meant to be an annual day of giving.
The #GivingTuesday term has only impinged on my consciousness for the past few days. I'm sure others may have been more aware, certainly any who were directly involved in the birthing of this newly-minted national, and international, day of charity.
Perhaps one of the reasons I have been so unaware is the time of year. No, I'm not referring to the holiday season. My mind is more on the grading of papers and devising of tests.
Then again, my lack of acknowledgement of the intended importance of today may be due to a lack of acknowledgement of this day of charity by those in my environs. I have not heard a single family member, friend, colleague, or student say the first word about #GivingTuesday. Does that mean the marketing of this abligatory day of charity toward others has failed? Maybe. I am part of some quite diverse circles - you would think someone would have organized an event centered around this day's theme. If so, I have missed the news.
However, I suspect the primary reason I didn't lend importance to the concept of #GivingTuesday is this: I am a regular supporter of charitable organizations, near and far. I don't require the designation of one day out of 365 to prompt me to help support the non-profits in my community and elsewhere in the world.
Hopefully no one needs such prompting, except perhaps children who are young and still learning their roles as inhabitants of Earth, Milky Way.

look! up in the air! it's a plane!

Here's one from the outlaw Bunny's mom, received this lovely day, the same day I shot the above photo.
Nice timing!

> The Pilot and the Priest
>
> A priest dies and is waiting in line at the Pearly Gates. Ahead of him is
> a guy who's dressed in sunglasses, a loud shirt, leather jacket, and
> jeans.
>
> Saint Peter addresses this cool guy, 'Who are you, so that I may know
> whether or not to admit you to the Kingdom of Heaven?'
>
> The guy replies, 'I'm Jack, retired airline pilot from Houston.'
>
> Saint Peter consults his list. He smiles and says to the pilot, 'Take this
> silken robe and golden staff and enter the Kingdom.'
>
> The pilot goes into Heaven with his robe and staff.
>
> Next, it's the priest's turn. He stands erect and booms out, 'I am Father
> Bob, pastor of Saint Mary's for the last 43 years.'
>
> Saint Peter consults his list. He says to the priest, 'Take this cotton
> robe and wooden staff and enter the Kingdom.'
>
> 'Just a minute,' says the good father. 'That man was a pilot and he gets
> a silken robe and golden staff and I get only cotton and wood. How can
> this be?'
>
> 'Up here - we go by results,' says Saint Peter. 'When you preached -
> people slept. When he flew, people prayed.'
>