30 Day Photography Challenge - Technology

UPDATED: Summer exposes the Mirror of Erised.

There's no question that I am a fan.

I love it that I can Skype with my friend in France or that we can join in the family holidays even when they're in Chicago and we're in Georgia.

I love that I can watch live music remotely.

It's wonderful that people who would have died not so long ago can now live because of science and technology.

An aside - don't you love it when people use technology to proclaim a disdain for science? Silly humans.

I'm glad that when a hurricane or a tornado or a blizzard is heading our way, we can now prepare for it.

I am still a little amazed that I can walk around with a roomful of milk crates jammed full with record albums and audio books in my pocket.

It's pretty damn cool that my kids can watch movies and TV shows and read books on these little devices they hold in their hands.

I like that when I talk to my mother, I share with her the Rising Sun gossip and goings on because I'm on Facebook and she's not.

I will never regret the worlds I've tapped into because of this infernal typing machine. (Love you guys!)

I love it that when my kids need me that they can reach me. And I'm pleased that they've done a good job of figuring out when it's really important to call. Or text. They text when they don't want a lecture.

I don't exactly love it that MathMan can text me every time he pees, but it still makes me laugh.

The daily essentials.

A gratuitously edited shot.

My old friend. I miss you. And all the content that died with you.

I love that I can take a million photos and keep the best.

But all this comes at a price doesn't it?

Technology is changing us.

And I'm not even talking about the ridiculous bitching that goes on when Facebook changes something or that people tweet about what they're eating (me included!) or reality television or spammers who fill our inboxes with penis enlargement emails or that haters can more easily spread their hate and scammers can expand their reach or that I'm struggling to keep up - Google+, Facebook, Twitter, StumbleUpon, Blogger, Wordpress, Klout, iTunes, Amazon, Goodreads, Pinterest, and who knows what else I'm forgetting or that when something doesn't work right, people (read: me) lose their shit in the most appalling displays of crybaby hysterics or that we're seriously fucking up the environment and all this technology won't be able to save us from ourselves.

No, I'm talking about the fact that this technology creep, this influx of stuff is turning me into a charger hoarder.

Summer at Phoenix Berries is someone I know only through blogging, but over the years, I feel like I've gotten to know this incredibly intelligent, talented, and spiritual young woman. One of the beautiful things she shares with her readers is her children. I've watched Summer's little family grow from three to four and it's been a delight to see how she's raising her young children in this changing world. Yesterday she told the story of how Pip got his name.

Randal gets very artsy and angers his muse.

Geoffrey reaches out and touches somebody.

Love/hate technology? Let us count the ways in comments.

30 Day Photography Challenge - Long Exposure

"Hey, when you take your shirts down from the closet, can you grab the hanger, too? Toss it on the bed or put it in the hamper. That way I don't have to go hunting hangers when I'm in the basement doing laundry." She turned and looked at him. His eyes were on his computer screen and he didn't reply.

"Honey?"

He looked in her direction.

"Did you hear me?" She wiggled the hanger in her hand interrupting the heavy air between them.

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Hangers in the hamper. Okay."

"Thanks."

*****************

Nothing changed in that regard. The hangers remained askew from where he'd yanked the shirt down in his rush to get out of the house. She'd sigh that annoying martyred sigh, reach up and pluck the hanger from its spot, often having to untangle it from its neighbors.

On her bad days, those hangers are the symbol of one more thing she does for people who could do such things for themselves. She knows this because there was once a time when she, too, rushed out the door to get on with her day and the hangers made their way to the laundry room without her morning hike around the house.

On her good days, she'd remember that those hangers never made it to the laundry room unless she reminded him and the children to bring them down. Or, as was often the case, she spent her evenings after work and weekends going from room to room retrieving them and resenting the fact that despite of her job and long commute, she bore most of the domestic duties, as well.

Also on her good days, she'd remind herself that he was busy. Always working. Away from the house and at home. She'd recently joked (okay it wasn't so much a joke) that with the hours he put in planning and grading and answering emails and all the other things a teacher does, his hourly wage was probably hovering near minimum wage.

All their married lives they'd struggled for balance between them - who was giving enough, who was giving too much, who wasn't paying attention, who was using work as an escape, who was looking out instead of in. These last two years had been a real test of their ability to adjust the scales.

So what was it about the hangers that lit the pilot of her ire?

********************

"Where's the hanger for my jacket?"

One simple sentence. A legitimate question asked by a reasonable man who just wanted to hang up his hoodie now that the day was warming. At other points in their twenty-three year marriage, she would have been thrilled that he even thought to hang it up.

"I must have taken it when I collected them to take downstairs. I'm sorry."

He stood holding his jacket and frowning. "I just wanted to hang this up."

"I'm sorry. Put it on the chair and I'll bring up a hanger in a little while." Unbelievable. He was pissed at her for keeping the wheels of domestic order in forward motion? Did he think all this shit got done by magic? She'd asked him more than once (and yes, that matters when you're keeping score) to deal with those fucking hangers at the time he took his shirts out of the closet and he'd either forgotten or refused (which would not be unlike him to spite her in a little way like that!) and now he was bitching about not having a hanger.

He repeated his grievance. "You know, I just want one hanger."

"I'm sorry. I said I'd take care of it!"

These words got said over and over, louder and louder until she left the room, slamming the door behind her.

********************

Monday morning came and everyone with somewhere to go raced out the door or, in the case of some of them, dragged themselves out. She wandered the house, picking up things that had been discarded without a thought as to where they belonged, making beds, tidying this and that. The closet door stood open and there hung an empty hanger slightly askew. She reached up to take it then stopped.

UPDATED: Geoffrey has a different and essential perspective.
Randal is not Armin Tanzarian, but you might remember him from such blockbuster films as Librarians Go Wild.

30 Day Photography Challenge - Silhouette

First things first: A lot of you will relate to Summer and her 13 things.  Randal's 13 things better not topple over on him or his eye.

UPDATED: Geoffrey is rescued by a cat.

UPDATED Encore: We could call Summer Hazel.

Today I'm supposed to give you a silhouette so I walked around the house camera in hand and determined not to point the dang thing at myself again.

I dicked around with a few things, but it felt pointless because the image stuck in my head when I think silhouette is this one that graces The Storialist's Facebook page.

Now this is what I think about when I think silhouette. Delicate, a beautiful cameo. And if you haven't read Hannah's poetry, you're in for a treat.

************************

There's an unemployment diary post at my other blog. I'm feeling a bit raw and ready to nutpunch someone.

30 Day Photography Challenge - Eyes

If the eyes are the window to the soul, then what do you suppose these eyes are saying?

Randal turns up the pretty on Cleveland.

UPDATED: Geoffrey is being watched.

30 Day Photography Challenge - 13 Things

First I took a photo of myself with thirteen books that meant something to me.

Okay now that I got that out of the way, here's one where you can actually see the books and not simply the narcissist with the camera and a mad penchant for photo editing.

1. Steven King's On Writing given to me by Lola Sharp.

2. The 3 a.m. Epiphany by Brian Kiteley, a gift from Kirie.

3. Trouble De Ville by Steve Denton who has also published the graphic novel Hip Deep Mountain High.

4. Do Not Disturb - Hotel Sex Stories, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. My friend Lillian Ann Slugocki has a deliciously erotic story included.

5. The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. One of my favorite stories ever.

6. The Adderall Diaries by Stephen Elliott. Writer's crush does not even begin to describe it.

7. Betsy Lerner's The Forest for the Trees. This book and Betsy's blog opened up a whole new world of friends to me and I'm forever grateful.

8. The Pat Hobby Stories by F.Scott Fitzgerald. I can still see myself reading these as I munched a turkey on rye with lettuce, tomato and mayo in the cafeteria of the Rotary International building in Evanston, Illinois. Back then it never would have occurred to me that I would take an active interest in the writing of screenplays and scripts.

9. Elizabeth Berg's Say When. It's the first of Berg's books I read. I have quite the collection now. 

10. The Art of Table Dancing by DC Stanfa. Pee your pants funny. DC does things I only wish I had the gonads to do.

11. The Preacher's Bride by Jody Hedlund. As a sore-headed agnostic, I am clearly not the target market for this book, but I was lucky enough to win this from Jody's blog and by page three, was a fan. Between topnotch research and wonderful prose, Jody writes the kind of historical fiction that has broad appeal.

12. The New Bedside, Bathtub and Armchair Companion to Agatha Christie. It's full of detail about the novels and the movies. And Christie's relationship with her characters.

13. Philip Roth's The Plot Against America. I love Roth's novels. This one knocked my sandals off.

And then I had an email exchange with Randal who gave me an idea. He asked if I'd be photographed with thirteen bags of kitty litter? While that would have mass appeal, I'm sure, I don't have thirteen bags of litter hanging around. (I wish!) I thought about other items I could photograph myself with, but ended up dismissing them mostly because I didn't have 13 of this or that.

1. Thirteen cats. (We're six short and I intend to keep it that way.)
2. Thirteen sex toys. (Where would I hide that many?)
3. Thirteen clean towels. (It is to dream.)
4. Thirteen whistles. (I wish I had thirteen whistles!)
5. Thirteen vintage cars. (Alas I am not Jay Leno.)
6. Thirteen jars of olives. (Not even on my best stockpiling trips did I snag that many jars of olives!)
7. A baker's dozen of donuts. (Come one, like they'd survive past the first photo intact?)

Having hit all those brick walls, I went with this which I fondly call The Writer's Life. The sound I was making was like a cross between the yowling the cats make when I don't feed them fast enough and Fran Drescher's laugh.

Geoffrey makes glorious sounds. Please go and tell him that his butt looks fine.
Summer offers swoon worthy sunsets. SWOONWORTHY.

30 Day Photography Challenge - Sunset

The scattered tea goes with the leaves and every day a sunset dies.
 - William Faulkner (source) 

Sunset, May 4, 2010

Geoffrey and the Prairie Sunset captured by C3PO.
Randal delights us with blue prose. I mean prose about the color bleu.With bonus poetry.

Last night I sat on the deck and watched the sunset turn the sky a baby chick yellow until it faded to a pale buttery light behind the backdrop of the tall pines that stand guard over our back lawn. Somewhere in that moment I thought I should take a photo for the day when sunset is the subject for this 30 Day Photography project. I took another look, closed my eyes to capture the imprint then picked up the book I'm reading - The Egg and I  by Betty MacDonald - and continued to read and guffaw until I snorted red wine through my nose.

Silly me. Today the subject is sunset. Thank goodness for all the photos I have stored over the years (years now?) at Facebook (Flickr won't let me have all my old photos until I pay up my pro fee). There's a cautionary tale here about how we make decisions about our intellectual and artistic property and content vis a vis technology, but damned if I can suss it out. It's Sunday, I'm still feeling like muck and just want to get back to that book. Betty MacDonald is hysterically funny in an Aunt Betty kind of way. And if you're related to me, you know what that means. And maybe you do even if you aren't.

Not that I don't love you for being here. You know I do.

30 Day Photography Challenge - Blue

Peacock. Indigo. Cerulean. Light. Sky. Prussian. Sapphire. Azure. Federal. Baby. Columbia. Cobalt. Falcon. Electric. Powder. Cornflower. Egyptian. Royal. Ultramarine. Oxford.Turquoise. Brandeis. Steel. Persian. Eton. Teal. Navy. Cyan. Tiffany. Teal. Denim. Air Force. Maya. And true.

These beauties.

 From Lunatique.

They are so gorgeous and delicate. Thank you, Cindy!

Geoffrey asks the question....

and I answer his question with a question.

Or this because I cannot decide which version I like better.

On the other hand, Randal has candy colored memories.

And Summer has the man of her dreams.  And makes childhood memories.

What do you think, what do you feel when you see blue?

30 Day Photography Challenge - A Childhood Memory

It was a snow day in January of 1978, but it came before the Great Blizzard, I think.

We'd played in the snow all morning - sledding down the hill at McMurray's where the kids at the bottom watched out for cars for the kids at the top. We were a snow dusted, ragtag bunch. Kids didn't come outfitted in squishy snowsuits back then.

Snowpants? Nah. We toughed it out in layers - a pair of long underwear, jeans, some fleece sweatpants if you had them. On top we wore more layers - those itchy long underwear shirts, a turtleneck that choked you, maybe a sweater, a thin coat and all of it covered with an enormous hoodie you dug from the back of the hall closet.

We were shrouded in knit scarves until they became too caked with snow and became a nuisance. We discarded into a colorful pile of knit hats, lonely mittens and the occasional odd boot.

We wore our fathers' old work gloves when we couldn't find any dry ones (someone forgot to turn the dryer on) and whatever hat made us look the least dorky. I remember my blue and white knit cap with Rising Sun Shiners emblazoned across the front. By the time I got home, the words were twisted around to the back. But who cared? What mattered were the number of times you made it from the top of the hill to all the way across the street without turning over, colliding with a tree or crashing into one of  your siblings. A crash with them could turn into a brawl.

We breathed in the cold air, but didn't really feel it. Just like when you jump into the pool during the summer and your skin tingles and goosebumps cover you, it only takes a few minutes to get used to the cold. And besides, you had so many layers on you looked like that poor kid in A Christmas Story and you were sweating down your back anyway.

After hours of that, we finally dragged ourselves inside to thaw out in front of the television. New Christmas toys still held their novelty. Kelly from next door - the same little blond beauty who had once paid the ice cream truck man with gravel - wanted to play at my house. Her mom had worked the swing shift at Seagram's or was it Schinley? and she was asleep in her perfect blue bedroom with her super chic sleep mask over her eyes. Kelly's brother Michael who was dying of something I never quite understood would yell at us if we got too loud and he'd ask her to bring him stuff - one thing at a time. He was dying angry and who could blame him? He never got to have a life the poor kid.

If we played at Kelly's house, we'd have to be quiet. If we played at my house, we'd have to put up with my little brother. We chose my house and settled in front of the TV - we were probably watching soaps on ABC before the afternoon reruns of The Brady Bunch and Gilligan's Island came on - I dragged out the TV trays so we could play beauty shop.

My aunt worked for Kenner and so we got a lot of cool Kenner toys for Christmas each year. That particular year, I got a styling head based on Lindsay Wagner aka Jamie Sommers, the Bionic Woman. Kelly had the classic Barbie styling head. There's a photo of us on that day. My sister took it with the Polaroid camera she got that same Christmas.

I wonder what ever happened to Kelly? Did she keep her Barbie head? I can't believe my mother saved Jamie Sommers. She kind of creeps me out sitting on the shelf of this weird little closet over the stairs, but I can't bring myself to toss her out. She's bionic, after all, and I might want her around to keep me company after the kids put me in a home.

Jersey Shore Style

What did you do on snow days?

P.S. I'm kind of sick today and our internet connection is full of attitude so I'm not sure I'll be back to put up links. Don't forget to check out what Randal, Geoffrey and Summer are getting up to. xoxoxo

Geoffrey takes a stroll down Memory Lane.
Eeek - it looks like Randal has what I have.
I could use some of Summer's bad habit.

30 Day Photography Challenge - Someone I love

I struggled with this one because, once again, the list is long. I will never believe that the ability to love is finite. There is not just so much to go around. Nor will I ever subscribe to the notion that the most enduring love comes from family ties or proximity. While those things are huge, there's so much more that goes into it. For me, at least.

And as Stephen Elliott said in a recent Daily Rumpus email, maybe we're trying to use the word love to describe many different emotions.

Yes, definitely that.

I photographed two of my favorite subjects. The love I have for them is enough to keep me going. Unfortunately, neither Nate nor Chloe were around so please note that this does not even come close to being a comprehensive list.

Watching Wilco's live webcast on CBS's David Letterman last night and reminiscing about our recent trip to New York City. Yeah, we could live there. And oh my word, watch that webcast. There's a reason Wilco's fans are a passionate crowd.

Sophie. 

Monday evening, she opened a book of fifteen one act plays and treated Doug and me to a performance of The Man Who Died at Twelve O'Clock including appropriate accents. 

We were blown away. Where did that come from? we wanted to know.

She simply smiled and shrugged, pleased with herself, but not in an obnoxious way.

It's all ahead of her. I hope she grabs it by the tail and never lets go.

Doug. It would take me pages to describe the nuances of how I love this man. 

It's complicated and simple. Unquestioning and conflicted. Dizzying and calming.

Now go to a mirror and take a good look because I think that's the only way this post will come close to being comprehensive.

xoxo

Lisa

Geoffrey, my friend, you have such beauty in your life.


And Randal brings Poe and Shakespeare into his bad habits.

30 Day Photography Challenge - Bad Habit

Too easy? I know. My bad habits are an embarrassment of riches.

I mean, what would you have me do? I damn near exhausted myself with the mustachioed exploits of one clever Red Delicious.

I suppose I could offer photos of the following:

1. A forlorn shot of my last bowl of Quisp. The spoon at just the right angle so that a bit of the ridiculous skim milk shows through. May as well be a photo of a bowl of sugar.

2. A well-centered and garishly colored list of my favorite porn sites. With marginalia. And flash. Dear Brazzers - Yikes. Too much.

3. An artfully angled bottom of an empty ice cream container in black and white with the shadows ratcheted up to show you the ripple of marshmallow left behind.

4. A photo of a pencil sketch of a burning cigarette, but I've quit. Really. I have. 

5. A series of photos showing me relieving the liquor shelf of its burden while judgmental cats stare balefully on.

6. Screenshots of filthy and delicious emails I've got buried in various accounts, but that would take way too much effort to protect the guilty. I'm looking at you, Senator.

Oh, it all seemed so cliche as I pondered the possibilities on my chaise aka The Lawn Chair. So I went with the most cliched cliche of them all.

What are your bad habits? Spill it, silly geese.


Also - Randal goes hero. And fruity.


UPDATED: Geoffrey is da man.


Summer's low angle shots are a picnic! And then there's this. 

30 Day Photography Challenge - Fruit

First, please go wish Geoffrey health and healing. He's been sick and yet he continues to post. Feel better, G!

UPDATED: Suzy Vitello is inspired.

So today is fruit and I whined at MathMan that this was a problem because all we had in the house were some pathetic red delicious apples, what's left of my mojito lime from the weekend, a tomato ready to go off and some past due Fuji apples.

It's enough to send a blogger into a murderous rampage.....

Miss Lemon, is there no mail?
I'm sorry, Monsieur. There is nothing. Only the sales ad for KMart.
Bah! Poirot, he is not used to this inaction. My brain will atrophy if I don't have a crime to solve soon!
Perhaps a nice walk? I'll join you.

Miss Lemon. Remind me if you please, when is the last time we heard from Captain Hastings?
Oh, I believe it was when he wired us from his ranch in Argentina. Why?
No reason. I am simply trying to piece together something he told me about his friend from Puerto Rico.
Puerto Rico?
Oui. He mentioned that his friend Monsieur Le Bacardi Rum had taken up residence in a home in Georgia and that he was fearful that he'd in-ad-vertantly become involved in some sort of crime.
Oh, Monsieur, what do you plan to do? Could this be the case you're looking for?
Pas de tout, Miss Lemon. I shall wait. Sometimes Poirot must prevent the crime and sometimes Poirot - he must solve it.

Monsieur Poirot! You've had a call from Inspector Japp. He'd like for you to meet him at Golden Manor.
And now it begins, Miss Lemon. It begins.

My old friend Sunny D! I did not expect to see you here.
Poirot! How are you, old man? Terrible muck up we've got here.
Mais oui, terrible indeed. I'm here to see Inspector Japp. Have you seen him?

Poirot, I see you've already begun interviewing the witnesses. Although, I might say that this particular witness, Sunny D, doesn't really belong here. Fruit, indeed.
Inspector Japp, Miss Lemon said that you'd like me to help with this investigation, n'est ce pas?
Yes, but let's get one thing straight. This is one messed up bunch of fruits. And no one claims to know anything.
Oui. I am not surprised. I understand that the body was found in the library?
Who told you that? No. The body was found right over there. On the kitchen counter.

I see. And this is the knife that was used to commit the murder?
I expect so. Pampered Chef, self-sharpening. We're checking it for finger prints.
Oui, d'accord. And the witnesses? May Poirot speak to them now?

And so you say, Monsieur Le Fugi, that you saw nothing?
That's right, sir. I was in the wooden bowl having a nap.
And my friend Sunny D, you too saw nothing?
Yes, yes, that's right. I was here on the top shelf of the refrigerator keeping myself to myself when I heard some great commotion.
I see. Thank you, Monsieur D, Monsieur Fugi.

What's the question, again, Monsieur?
I merely wanted to know if you were anywhere near the kitchen counter the night that Monsieur The Lime was murdered.
Oh, what a terrible thing to happen to such a small, green jovial fellow. No, I'm afraid I wasn't here. I was still locked in the laundry room waiting for my release.
Oh? You have been in prison, Mademoiselle?
Not prison, Monsieur! No no, not prison. The laundry room. I was locked in there for my own safety. If I'm left out in the open when the young master has guests, I'm likely to be drunk up in a single night.
I see. Hmmmm.
You can ask my sisters, if you like. Several of them are still hidden behind the Minute Rice, bottom shelf on the right.
Thank you, Mademoiselle.

Inspector Japp. Will you ask the Constable Hunt to verify the story of Mademoiselle Minute Maid? She claims she and her sisters were locked in the laundry room the night of the murder.

And why would you tell me this, Madame? Why would you want me to know that Mademoiselle Minute Maid is not telling Poirot the truth about her whereabouts on the night of the murder?
Pardonez-moi, Monsieur. I thought you'd want to know when you're being lied to. Forget I said anything.
No, Madame. Poirot cannot put that genie back into, how do you say it? The bottle? If Mademoiselle Maid was not with her sisters in the laundry room, then tell me, if you please, where was she?
No, Monsieur. It is not for me to give you all the answers. Ask the cats. I heard it from the cats.
Bah, Madame! I assure you the supreme confidentiality and all you tell to Poirot is to ask the cats? Bah!

 

Do you know this for sure, Monsieur Dill?
I just said so, didn't I? That little juice box was on the coffee table in the living room where the daughter of the Manor left her. She was out all night, the little tart.
Le daughter of the Manor?
No, you daft little apple. The juice box.

There's something else, Poirot.
Go on, Monsieur Farkus.
Well, I don't like being a fink or anything, but I heard the Lady of the house up late last night. And well, you know, she's got a bit of a thing for .......
Go on, please.
Well, she likes her Latin drinks.
I see. Thank you. Poirot believes he has all the information he will need now.

Miss Lemon, if you please, go back to the office and find the letter from Captain Hastings. I must to know the exact address where his Puerto Rican friend was staying.

Et voila! Monsieur Le Bacardi! How long have you been here?
Senor, my friends Mint and Simple Syrup have been waiting to be rescued from this dark place. You will not believe what that monster has made us do.
Oui, Monsieur. It's a crime of many subtle layers.

And so it was when Poirot noticed the glass with the traces of lipstick that he knew for certain who the killer was. Who had sliced poor Monsieur Lime in half in order to make a minty drink? Such meaningless motivations. Some people kill for money. Others for love, even some out of depravity, but this! This!

Revlon's Wine with Everything Madame Golden? Did you not say to me once that it's your signature colour?

Oui, Monsieur. But isn't it possible that someone borrowed my lipstick and used it to frame me?

Ah, yes. That could be, but you were seen, Madame. You were seen in the kitchen assembling the tools. The tools you would use to kill Monsieur Lime!

I see. There's a rat in manor?

Not a rat, Lady Golden. A cat.

I see, Inspector. Thank you. Well, Monsieur. I'm caught. I should have known those cats would see me hung.

30 Day Photography Challenge: From a low angle

I interpreted low to mean physically close to the ground rather than the emotional low. Who wants to see photos of me lying slack-jawed and staring into the distance in my disheveled bed? Fully clothed. In yesterday's clothes.

Instead, I took up my trusty point and shoot (the only camera I own) and got things like this.

I lay on the ground for this one and after taking a couple of shots, rolled onto my back and looked up at the trees from below. A green canopy filtered the light from the rising sun.

How nice it would be to just stay there enjoying the cool breezes.

Then a neighbor drove by and stared at me.

What?

Getting up from that position required some serious negotiation with my knees.

I am reminded of the noises my mother makes upon standing.

Oy vey.

 These guys are waiting to be pressed into service. Lots of trees and all that.

I don't really share their enthusiasm.

 Of course cats would enter into this. I can't believe it took six days before this happened.

I realize looking at these photos that living in a split level means lots of stairs. I should be less curvy as a result which means only one thing. I'm going to have to lay off the salads.

Randal gives me a wee bit of vertigo and then redeems himself with a tender gesture.

Geoffrey explores point of view with some leaping results.

Summer gives us grief. And it's brilliant and beautiful and heartbreaking.

30 Day Photography Challenge - From a high angle

Rapunzel dangles her silver pony tail out the window
Tentatively into the quiet.
She was a brunette, a blond, a red head
Now she contemplates this prison
And wonders how much magic it would take
To get her life back.

And when is someone going to put that fucking dead rose bush on the compost?

Randal Graves goes green.
And cloudy. Don't know about his chance for meatballs.

I need wings. 

UPDATED:  Geoffrey takes the high view.

30 Day Photography Challenge: Green

Today.

Lunatique. My friend Cindy is so talented. Go look.

I love seeing her and her husband Ken. And Michele. I'm so lucky to have such delightful people in my life.

So cool. Made from recycled bottles. Especially wine bottles. I should donate my empties to them.

The grounds of Rose Lawn are so lush and beautiful.

The birdhouses are a labor of love, each a memorial to a son gone too soon. They're built to last, the man who creates this told me. The idea came about after the death of the couple's son. He used to love to come and sit with his mama in the backyard and watch the birds. Then one day three years ago, this man in his forties was on a business trip and died, just dropped dead in the bathroom of the B&B where he was staying. Tears came to his mother's eyes as she shared the story.

After he died, she'd go and sit in the backyard and remember. She'd talk to God. She asked for a sign and while she sat there in the porch swing, a flock of birds descended onto the lawn until it was covered up in them hopping around and making a quiet racket.

Birdhouses. Built to last.

 It's not a festival without food, y'all.

Alan Young can paint. This is just a sampling because I was sticking the green for this post, but when you see his website, you'll see the rainbow. Congratulations, Alan, on your upcoming exhibit at Fernbank!

Steampunk. The stuff some of my favorite dreams are made of. 

And the young woman who makes these rocked her goggles and corset.

 My favorite drive home.

 Geoffrey has his own take on green. Universal and true.