AngelMay's Growing Pains

There It Sits!

2012-01-28T13:09:00.000-08:00

Well, there it sits. Taunting me. Don't be fooled by the little green blankie covering it up during the long intervals of non-use. The blankie is cat barf insurance. And when you have a cat that periodically barfs - wherever she happens to be - cat barf insurance is well worth the expense and trouble.

They say these things are easy to set up. Well... maybe if you are a very big and very strong man. It took myself and my husband and a set of those little teflon furniture-moving sliders to get it into the living room. Once there, the box was opened and we stood there, silently, mouths open, wondering what on earth to do next. Read the instructions, right?

Yeah. Right. Read the instructions. Bwahahahahahahaha!
Excuse me. But that was funny.

Lots of styrofoam - sheets - posts - blocks. And plastic sheeting. But wait! All was not lost. The box contained all the parts. ALL of them. Heck fire! I was ahead of the game already. And, and hour or so later, the thing was put together and I was on board with the safety key in hand. I've owned one of these things before so I know what to do with the safety key. Can't fool me. No sir.

I plugged in the safety key and pressed "START". Nothing. Ummmmmmmm. What the heck? Press "START" again. Nothing. Again. Damn! Did we hook it up wrong? No. Don't think so. Pretty sure we did everything just as directed by the .... Bwahahahahahahahah!.... instructions.

We look around. No on or off button. That's strange. What is this? An APPLE product? Steve Jobs have a hand in this design? ;o)

Search the console. No button. Look around look around. Aha! An on/off button - WAY down near the floor on the very front of the "thing." Flipped the button. Got back on the torture track part and pressed "START."

The belt began to move. I began to walk. Faster. Faster. RAMMING SPEED!

Now I'm in for it. Now I have no excuses anymore for not exercising.
My god. What have I done???

~ AngelMay ~

Winter Wonderland

2012-01-20T09:57:00.000-08:00

It doesn't often snow here in western Washington state. We have a very mild climate considering how far north we actually are. But for the past 3 or 4 days it has been snowing almost constantly. Soft, tiny, downy white flakes of snow. Once even big poofy flakes of snow.

This is the view out my living room window of my neighbor's house across the street. Do notice that I still have my "Happy Lights" up. My neighbor came over day before yesterday and asked if she and her kids could use my driveway to sled in the snow. Her driveway, as you can see, is not very steep and is pretty short to boot while mine....

As you can see, my driveway is steep (steeper than it looks in the photo) and long. It continues up and out of the range of the photo to the right for another good 30 feet, at least. Her 12-year-old daughter and her little brother (about 3 or 4) went sledding down the driveway the past couple of days - having a great time on their little plastic sleds.

The sleds are about the only color in the neighborhood right now - except....
Just take a look at what I saw a few minutes ago:

Isn't he just gorgeous?!!! Or...maybe it's a "she". I never can tell the difference with Jays.

Then, looking out the windows to the driveway side, I spotted this lovely thing:

And another paused from munching on my trees long enough to give her a good look:

There were two others just to the right of this girl. Two males with small antlers munching on my trees. Hard to find a decent meal in the snow:

Normally, I have a lovely view of the Olympic mountains from my living room windows, but today (and for the past several days) they have been hidden behind clouds. In fact, for a while I could not even see the land just there across the bay. Everything is white and gray:

But inside, all is snug and warm.

I hope you enjoyed the view from my windows this morning. We do have a Winter Wonderland out there. I, however, am staying inside.

~ AngelMay ~

New Year's Day Dinner: Southern Style

2011-12-29T16:08:00.000-08:00

Here's a typical Southern New Year's Day dinner that will be served all over the South this Sunday:

Yummy Baked Ham!

Collard Greens - Slurpin' Good!

Candied Yams! (Do NOT ruin them with marshmallows!)

Blackeyed Peas! Gotta have 'em for Good Luck all Year!

What meal is complete without Sliced Tomatoes?

Hot Cornbread right out of the oven!

And, of course, Iced Tea with Lemon!

Ya'll Come!

AngelMay

Cat Caught in Cat Trap!

2011-12-26T13:10:00.000-08:00

Isn't she Pretty?

These cat traps work every single time!

AngelMay

Happy Holidays!

2011-12-24T11:08:00.000-08:00

Happy Holidays and Best Wishes

for a Very Happy New Year!

To one and all

from

AngelMay

The Prettiest Ornament

2011-12-24T08:33:00.000-08:00

This is the prettiest ornament I've ever seen in a Christmas tree.

In truth, I miss seeing these fabulous birds and hearing their sweet "chink! chink! chink!" as the pair of mates call to each other every morning and evening just before dusk. There are none of these birds in Washington state, alas. But I found this photo this morning and thought I would share it with you.

Such a lovely ornament. How could man ever hope to compete?

AngelMay

AngelMay's Tips: Never Buy Shampoo Again

2011-12-13T10:04:00.000-08:00

My hair used to be dry and lifeless. You would not believe how dead and dry it looked. And I wondered how on earth that could be. After all, I was spending a fortune on every brand of shampoo touted in every commercial on the planet. They all promised miracles and delivered nothing. In fact, they stripped the natural oils from my hair and scalp such that my scalp constantly itched and I had to used conditioners on my hair to try to "save" it, somehow. The conditioners simply made it overly oiled. Why all this expense for no results?

Now I have discovered the answer. One day I was surfing the 'net and discovered someone else who was doing this. At first, I wasn't sure it was going to work and so I have waited until now to reveal my little "secret". For months now, I've been shampooing my hair in nothing but baking soda and water. I haven't spent a cent on regular, commercial shampoos.

I have found the most wonderful little bottle (you could use any bottle you like, of course). I found this bottle at the Whole Foods Market here in California where we are currently on a vacation in our RV. This little bottle is SO marvelous that I have bought FOUR of them. Well, if one is good.... four would be even better, right?

I put about 1 level Tablespoon of the baking soda into this 3 oz. bottle and then fill it the rest of the way with warm water. Shake it up to dissolve the baking soda - and that's my shampoo. I use all of it each time I shampoo. First I "shampoo" with about half of it, and then rinse. Then I use the remainder of it for the second cleaning and rinse.

This is absolutely the cheapest "shampoo" you will ever use. It cleans your hair and scalp beautifully and does not strip the natural oils.

Next, I use a "conditioner" made of aloe vera gel and water.

This one I mix about half gel and half water. I want it to still be gel-like after it's mixed. I squeeze out a good palm-full of this mixture and put in all through my hair and let it stay in my hair while I shower the rest of me.

It stays in for about two or three minutes. I don't dawdle in the shower. :)

Then, I rinse the aloe vera gel out of my hair and give it the final treatment.

This rinse consists of apple cider vinegar diluted with water. You can dilute to whatever strength you like. I usually dilute about half vinegar and half water. I put the diluted vinegar into a spray bottle and have it ready in the shower. Once the aloe vera gel is rinsed out I give my hair a good spritzing with the apple cider vinegar. I run my fingers through my hair to be sure the vinegar covers all the hair, and then I rinse it out clean.

That's it. You won't find a cheaper way to have beautiful hair. I can't even begin to tell you how dry and awful my hair looked before I started doing this. And, even though I'm not so young any more and my hair is getting rather thin, I think it has never looked more beautiful or healthy.

What do you think?

And that's AngelMay's tip to save you money and let you in on how to have healthy, shiny hair - whatever your age.

AngelMay
~

Theme Thursday: Inside

2011-12-01T14:32:00.000-08:00

Inside.

Such a lovely word: Inside.

It’s where you yearn to be when it’s raining or snowing or just really cold outside.

Inside.

The warmth of the lights from the windows through which can be seen all the happy friends and families gathered to decorate the tree and share in food and laughter.

Inside.

Snug and safe against the world of dangers that lurk “out there.”

Inside.

Heaven when you are cold.

Heaven when you are homeless.

Inside.

Heaven when you are friendless.

Heaven when you are standing in the dark looking in.

Inside.

Heaven when you are always outside.

AngelMay

Theme Thursday: Tomorrow

2011-11-24T08:09:00.000-08:00

Yesterday - Today - Tomorrow

At any moment in our lives we can look back, over our shoulders, at all the yesterdays we have experienced. We can recall, often with great clarity, the things we did and the feelings we felt and the people we knew. Sometimes we have photographs that prove we were there and that we lived and experienced those things we recall.

We can look at today and know how we will use it, if our plans are played out as we hope they will be. We can mold it. We can share it and taste it. We can simply wander through it with no plan at all. We can even take photographs of ourselves doing the living of it. We can use it up however we please to do. And then we wave it good-bye as it becomes our most recent yesterday and we turn forward toward tomorrow.

But -

In one split-second, at midnight, tomorrow shoots 24 hours away from our grasp like a frightened squid leaving before us a dark, inky cloud and we find ourselves facing yet another today.

No matter how many yesterdays we have already experienced and piled up behind us it becomes clear that we have, to use as we will, only today. This day. Today.

We will never have tomorrow. Tomorrow is always just out of our reach. Tomorrow is to dream about and wonder about. Tomorrow is to imagine. No one has photographs of tomorrow.

Tomorrow never comes.

Today is all we will ever have - one long endless today.

What will we do with it?

AngelMay

A Word of Praise for Perfection

2011-11-21T18:18:00.000-08:00

Perfection.
It isn't something we are used to seeing. But when it comes along, unexpected, we are given pause - even taken aback - and find ourselves in stunned silence for that single eye-opening moment.

This happened to me with, of all things, the humble soup spoon. What you see in the photo above is a place setting of my own tableware: Variations V by Dansk. I chose it for its elegant simplicity for I'm a form-follows-function kinda gal. There are no ornate carvings and patterns within which to catch bits of food that will turn into a cleaning nightmare once dried. These are just the finest, smooth stainless steel eating utensils.

And yet...
And yet they are not just ordinary eating utensils. I learned this the first time I dipped into a bowl of soup with this spoon and placed it in my mouth. As I drew the spoon from my mouth I became aware of the spoon itself. Who does that? Who ever thinks about a soup spoon? I certainly had never thought about it before. But this - this amazing tool - was not just a soup spoon. It was a miracle of design though you'd never know it just by looking. It FELT amazing in the mouth. It FELT like silk. It was smooth and perfectly shaped. There is no sharp edge. There is just a smooth continuation from the bowl of the thing to its edge. It is beveled into a perfection of form that I had never experienced in a spoon, of all things.

I found myself thinking about the spoon. I found myself actually looking at the spoon - amazed. Wow.... I thought to myself. I took another bite. Silk!

I've owned this tableware for about 15 years now and I never take a bite from these spoons that I don't marvel at them... That I don't notice them... That I don't think of them.

Perfection.
Sometimes it's right there under our nose.
In the design of a humble soup spoon.

AngelMay

*Just need to add a note: I'm speaking here of the original flatware - not the current product which is made in china. If you are moved to ever try this flatware, do try to locate some of the original pieces made in Scandinavia, Japan, or Korea. I understand the later version made in China is an inferior product. And that is a shame.

Theme Thursday: A Nine Word Philosophy

2011-11-17T09:53:00.000-08:00

Is his treasure

Not the measure

Of the man?

(This goes for the woman, too)
Something to think about on a random Thursday....

AngelMay

What. An. Idiot!

2011-11-13T07:46:00.000-08:00

Ford’s Theatre on O’Reilly ‘Lincoln’ book
The historical study of ‘Killing Lincoln’ by the deputy superintendent of Ford’s Theatre National Historic Site.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/fords-theatre-histori...

Seems to me that if you are going to write a book about an historical figure you would, at the very least, want to get the history correct.

O'Reilly is an idiot.
Why would anyone buy his book? Or listen to anything he has to say about anything? Wake up, people! Your brain is at stake here!

It's one of the great mysteries of the universe: How does this man stay on television? Or tie his shoes, for that matter?

AngelMay
(having a political moment)

Hey! Hi! Yoo-Hoo! Here I Am!

2011-09-18T17:23:00.000-07:00

Didn't recognize me, didja? Well, I'm not surprised. I've been in the dental chair getting two new implants. Ouch! Two uppers in the back. Double Ouch!

Everything went fine and no pain at all afterward - until now, that is. Today feeling very touchy in the roof of my mouth. Maybe it's healing. OMG, I hope it's healing!

I had this done on Tuesday so this next Tuesday will be a whole week - and that's when I get the stitches out. Ouch! Again.

Today was very difficult eating. The roof of my mouth above the implants has become very touchy and is giving me fits right now. But let me tell you, this is worth it.

I already have two implants on the bottom of the other side of my mouth and, believe me, people should be born with these things. They don't hurt. They don't rot. They just sit there behaving themselves and chewing good stuff like ... steak! Yeah! Steak! Or crunching on a chilly little salad with carrots and cucumbers! Yum!

Can't wait till I'm all healed and feeling in the pink once again.

AngelMay

.

Spendin' Money: All Revealed

2011-08-19T19:20:00.001-07:00

If you haven't read it, read the last post first for background here.

Then....Since you asked.... ;o)

As I said (in the last post).... there I was scrolling down the pages and then I saw "IT". And here "IT" is:

Can you see why I had to have it? Isn't it gorgeous?

I can't believe I got it for five dollars. Well... lucky me, I did. And it wasn't smashed or broken. And now it sits on my vanity awaiting my every touch on its silky black surface...and is filled with my moisturizing cream. Just because.

And then when that other package arrived containing the small amount of perfume in a very lovely bottle that I had wanted.. and I took a sniff and fell in love....

I ended up buying this (but not for five dollars, I can assure you!):

Then I bought more. (Ha! I do not want to run out until the day after I die.)

This is truly heaven in a bottle. Made in 1937 by Paul Vacher of the house of Le Galion which is no more. One reviewer that I happened upon while trying to learn about this fragrance said that it was an unmistakable reference to Chanel No. 5. She goes on to say that she is "struck by its sexy intensity, yet it never overwhelms.... This lady knows how to keep a secret to herself. Even one drop lasts for many hours of pleasure. It's one of the most light-infused of all the classic scents I have ever smelled, and somehow it's never too 'bright' or intrusive in the way of other more modern floral bouquet perfumes. This is one of the fragrances that most represents classic French perfumery.... effortless beauty and chic with a warm heart and a little mystery for good measure. For many people the ultimate is Chanel No. 5, but just give me Sortilège."

You can find the review here if you are interested:

http://perfumesmellinthings.blogspot.com/2010/10/le-galions-parallel-universe-sortilege.html

I must agree. I have Chanel No. 5 - yet I much prefer this scent. As I said in my last post, you put it on and suddenly you are just in love with yourself. That's a pretty heady feeling if I do say so myself. At the moment, my Joy is taking a back seat to this "newcomer" on my pink crystal vanity tray. And the most amazing thing about it is that you don't even have to wait until dry-down to be enchanted by it. You start off enchanted from the second it hits your skin ... and you stay that way all the way through to dry-down and for hours afterward.

This particular scent was "adopted" by the Stork Club in NYC and was given as gifts to their patrons.

Wiki says:

Owner Billingsley was well-known for his extravagant gifts presented to his favorite patrons, spending an average of $100,000 a year on them. They included compacts studded with diamonds and rubies, French perfumes, champagne and other liquors, and even automobiles.

Many of the gifts were specially made for the Stork club, with the club's name and logo on them. Some of the best known examples were the gifts of Sortilege perfume by Le Galion.

Well, if it was good enough for the Stork Club, it's good enough for me.

Actually, I had never heard of it until my little nearly-empty bottle arrived and I smelled it and put it on and then began doing research on it. Most people today have probably never heard of it. But I can tell you than I'm awfully glad I found it. I'm glad there was a Le Galion and a Paul Vacher with the talent to invent it.

I've had a hard and upsetting past few months and if spending this money on myself makes me feel better then what the heck! It's my money and sometimes I just feel like going a little bit crazy.

And one of the best parts (besides smelling divine) is that almost no one else will be wearing this fragrance. It's mine! All mine! My Precious....

AngelMay

Spendin' Money

2011-08-18T20:25:00.001-07:00

Ha! Betcha you didn't think you would ever see me again, huh? Fooled ya, I did!

Is it possible to be so bored that you just decide to spend money? Whether bored or no, I've been spending money like I had a printing press. Just little stuff. Stuff other people don't want. I know they don't want it because they have put it up for sale on eBay for foolish people like me to come along and buy it.

I have found all manner of lovely little doo-dads. I'm a sucker for little bottles and jars and now I have a drawer full of them. I also have a lovely new vanity tray and some salt and pepper shakers. I have a wonderful green bottle and a brown bottle (those will go into the kitchen) and a sterling silver bell. The bell will go beside my bed so that I can summon help in an emergency - like needing my back scratched.

I have a new old sugar shaker that works just fine for sprinkling sugar on strawberries and I have a second pair of salt shakers that I ended up with after I changed my mind and no one else would bid on the damned things.

Then there was The Jar.

I was scrolling down the pages - page after page - looking for vanity jars when suddenly I spied "it." OMG! It was lovely. It was enticing. It was smooth, black glass with a lift-off lid of the same smooth black glass. I was in love. I started to drool. This was something special. This was no ordinary jar. This was magic. Black magic. I began to shake. I must have that jar, I thought. I must! I looked at the price and my jaw dropped. What's the matter with this seller?, I wondered. Is she daft? She was asking $5.00 for the most wonderful jar on the planet in an immediate buy-it-now transaction. I could scarcely contain myself. I would have paid a hundred! My heart was beating (and a damned good thing, that, too) and my head was spinning. I carefully moved the mouse over the "buy it" button - and pressed! It's mine! MINE!

For days I worried that it would arrive broken or smashed (there's a difference?). But the gods were with me. It now graces my vanity and I love it still. Who says love at first sight doesn't last?

Then, one afternoon one of my other packages arrived. (It's been like Christmas every day for the past two weeks - and all for ME! - because I'm worth it...) I opened it to find several miniature perfume bottles with partially-used contents. I had just wanted the bottles, but I decided to give the perfume a sniff before dumping it all. One of them was like pulling the stopper on heaven. I think I've never smelled anything quite so wonderful in my life. I put some on. Oh. My. God. In love again.

I had thought no fragrance would ever enchant me quite as much as Joy. But this one did. And the most wonderful thing about it - besides it making you fall in love with your own self when you put it on - is that it is long discontinued. Created in the 1930's - oh my. The 1930's must have been a fabulous time - assuming you didn't lose everything you had in 1929. But today, that wonderful house is no more - long gone. Lucky for me, there are still bottles of this fragrance to be had if you keep an eye open. And I've been buying it up like the well is going to run dry any minute. And who knows? It might! So I'm after a life-time supply - and, at my age, that is not all that much I can tell you.

But HA! I know you are wondering what this fabulous fragrance might be - but it shall remain my little secret for the moment. You see... I have a bid in on another bottle and I just don't want the competition. It is my precious....

Besides... I need to get it now before I run out of money. And, if the stock market treats me tomorrow as badly as it did today, perfume may be all I'm wearing for quite some time.

Here's lookin' atcha.

AngelMay

Still Alive!

2011-06-12T09:06:00.000-07:00

Oh My Gosh!
I just checked and....
I'm still alive!

Doin' stuff here.
It's all complicated and time-consuming.
But I shall return!
Just can't say exactly when.

For those of you who are tired of waiting, I'll understand if you delete me.
For the rest of you nice peoples - thanks for keeping me in the queue even if it's not very fruitful at the moment. You are pretty special.

~ AngelMay ~

The Worst Hard Time

2011-04-25T17:28:00.000-07:00

AngelMay rates it: 4.9 stars

Oh. My. Gosh. This was a jaw-dropper. I can NOT imagine living through what these people endured. I discovered that I don't think much of Herbert Hoover who would not release a single penny of government money to help these people. It was not until FDR came to office that they received anything in the way of help.

This book must be read to know what life was really like for those who lived in the great Dust Bowl of the United States during the late 20's and early 30's.

I cannot give it 5 stars because the author misspelled a word - and the editor (if there was an editor) didn't give it its due attention so that it was corrected. I have great respect for the printed word and I am very unforgiving of grammatical errors within it.

Having said that, this is an amazing book that details an era in the United States we should all know - and vow never to allow to happen again. The strength and endurance of the people who experienced this catastrophe is nothing short of phenomenal.

Read it. You won't be sorry.

~ AngelMay

~

Nothing To Envy

2011-03-30T17:22:00.001-07:00

AngelMay rates it: 5 Stars!

This is an amazing read. It's shocking and horrifying. It's like the worst train wreck you've ever seen and you just want to look away -- but you can't. You have to keep looking. And as you look you pull your warm comfortable quilts and pillows ever closer to you and remind yourself how very lucky you are to be here. To be home. To be safe. Warm. Fed. Above all.....Fed.

~

What Is A Friend?

2011-03-16T08:23:00.001-07:00

What is a friend?

Seriously.

I'd like to know.

~

Deadliest Sea

2011-03-05T18:14:00.000-08:00

AngelMay's Rating: 4.8 Stars

This is the exciting, true story of a factory fishing trawler in the Alaska seas - Bering Strait - and the brave people of the Coast Guard who rescued them when their ship suddenly began taking on water and sank in the icy, 20-foot wave seas.

This is an excellent read. The names are real. The events are real. A wonderful job by the author of pulling everything together for an informative and exciting experience for the reader.

~

A Dawn Like Thunder

2011-02-04T07:41:00.000-08:00

AngelMay rates this one 4.5 stars.

Good book. Makes you wonder how we ever won WWII - so many accidents, misdirections, goof-ups, incompetent officers, blunders, and just plain bad luck. Yet, somehow, through all of it we made it.

And that's why we still speak English today. :o)

~

A Map And A Flashlight

2011-01-17T07:30:00.001-08:00

A Map And A Flashlight

Often, I will meet the dumb

The incorrigible

The numb

And they will bellow nice and loud

Pontificating

Quite unbowed

And then my patience, sorely tested

Leaves me fuming

And unrested

Until I claim they can not find

With map and flashlight

Their behind

Even with their hands in pants

They wander lost

Within their stance

Is it too much for one to ask

With all these aids

They find their ass?

A Tenth Daughter of Memory Post

I Read A Book

2011-01-01T00:01:00.000-08:00

AngelMay Rates It: 5 *

I read a book.

That, in itself, is not extraordinary.

It is the book that is extraordinary.

It’s a marvelous book. A thoughtful book.

A horrible book. A book of nightmares and hopes.

I still find myself trying to wrap my head around it.

The thing is… I was alive during most of it.

A little tot when some of it was going on and I grew up in parallel (and geographically very close) to some of the characters – real people – in this book.

While I never experienced the horror and humiliations of the people in this book, I did share a certain culture. And even more so because I came not from the wealthy or the low-class scum that visited the horrors and humiliations upon these people, but because I was from a very modest family in the same geographical area – only miles from one of the people in the book – and we shared a culture of food and manners and ties to that earth that lives to this day.

The book, of course, is the one pictured above. The Warmth of Other Suns. It’s informative. It’s thought-provoking. It’s horrifying. It’s amazing in its honesty and carefully-documented and -presented individual three lives out of the millions of black people who were a part of the “Great Migration” that took place between the first world war and 1970. One of those three lives was a physician (a surgeon) who left Monroe, Louisiana for California. Another was a Mississippi woman who went to Chicago with her husband. The third was a man from Lake County, Florida who picked oranges and grapefruit and who ran for his very life out of the state and up to New York.

As young as I was, and as far from the reality of a situation as you can possibly be, I never knew of this “great migration” until I read this book. Yes, I knew that black people sometimes moved up north and to other places, but I never gave a passing thought to the scope of it all which was enormous. It was monumental. Its impact was felt all over the south.

As I said, I was born and grew up within miles of one of the people this book documents – George, who escaped to New York from Florida. We lived in different Florida counties, but not all that far apart. George was an adult and I was just a little thing and I did not know back then the horrors that black people – colored people, then – endured at the hands of people with skin color like my own.

I didn’t know it back then – back when I watched the black people go to the back of the bus to sit down. And I didn’t know it when I watched an elderly black man stand at the end of the soda fountain waiting to get something for take out because he was not allowed to sit down at the counter beside his fellow human beings.

I didn’t know the horrors. I only knew these small differences that, in the grand scheme of things were not small at all. Yet even as a young girl I knew these “differences” were wrong. I don’t know how or why I knew they were wrong. I just knew. The “why” of it never came to me until now. Now I, at least partially, know. It was because my own privileged place in society (humble as it was) was undeserved. Unearned. Unjust. By virtue of the color of my skin – something over which I had no more control than did they – I was allowed to sit at the counter and take any seat on the bus that I wanted.

I knew it was unjust for others to have less – to be able to do less – because of their color. But it never occurred to me that it was unjust that I had more. It was not about me in my mind back then. I never compared me to them because I was unaware of just how much I actually had, and, in all honesty, I never really had the opportunity to personally know any black people but I benefited from their work – like the absolutely yummy food prepared by those wonderful black ladies in the elementary school cafeteria. I simply saw, from a distance, the wrongness. I knew it. I felt it – even at my very young age.

Still, I don’t want to give the impression that the injustice went only in one direction. While it was amazingly unjust that I had certain freedoms and privileges because my skin was white, the overwhelming injustice was that these “others” did not have such freedoms and privileges because their skin was black.

After reading this book, I have finally felt a real shame for my own race. I’m ashamed of them. I’m ashamed to have been related to any of them – except my daddy (in the south we call him “daddy”) who was a Kennedy Democrat and who would never have hurt a single soul. I still have relatives there who are free and loose with the n-word and having not a clue in this world why they are so hatefully prejudiced.

As I mentioned above, I knew some of it.

I knew black people made less money than whites – and did harder work for it. What I did not know was that their employers often cheated them out of part of their pay since many couldn’t keep track of the work and wages they were entitled to. And they couldn’t keep track, not because they were stupid, but because the whites built beautiful schools (with many of the black’s tax dollars) and then did not allow those same blacks to attend those schools. Often they (the whites) would steal (misappropriate?) the money coming to the blacks for the second- and third-rate schools they attended. The black students and faculty would drive to the white schools every year and load up their cast-off textbooks – often with torn or missing pages.

The black sharecroppers were at the mercy of their white landlords who robbed them of entire seasons of pay. Yet no black could dispute what the white landlord had written down as his “share” for all that labor. To dispute would be to end up hanging from one of the very orange or grapefruit trees he had spent backbreaking hours picking.

I lived so close, yet never knew the horrible events that happened in Florida. I grew up only miles from one of the stories told in this book. Yet I might as well have been a half-world away from the suffering of the blacks at that time because I never really saw it. I only saw that they had to sit at the back of the bus and weren’t allowed to go to my school. And I saw the wonderful old black men in tuxedo-like jackets who carried our trays of food to our tables in the Morrison’s Cafeteria. Beyond that, I knew little. My small family (I was an only child) was too poor to afford “help” so my exposure to the indignities suffered by those people was minimal.

The only orange groves I was personally familiar with could scarcely be called groves. They were more like several consecutive lots that had been hacked out of what was once a large grove and were now mostly filled with small wooden houses set on cinderblocks with, perhaps, an acre or two of orange trees all lined up neatly in their rows beside and behind the houses.

In fact, the place where I grew up had formerly been orange groves that had been cut up, mostly cleared, and sold as individual lots. We had orange and grapefruit trees in our back yard. We also had a huge mulberry tree that I could climb and get onto the roof when I felt adventurous. But the best trees were the guava trees and the loquat tree that grew at the very back of our lot. Living where I do now I will probably never taste a guava or a loquat again. These don’t pack and ship very well. But I get oranges and grapefruit up from California – only rarely from Florida.

I think, though, that after reading this book I will never again be able to look upon an orange or grapefruit without thinking of the horrible price paid to get them to people like me by another, separate but very unequal (as if you could ever be separate but equal), race of people.

The South, I’m ashamed to say, was particularly bad. And Florida, I now believe, was among the most egregious of those southern states.

If you read this book – and I hope you will – you will read of unspeakable horrors. And you will read of the bravery and suffering of these very real people who migrated north and west leaving the South behind them forever. The hardships of these trips (escapes) alone are mind-boggling. Some of these people who were a part of this great migration you will recognize. The famous Bill Russell of basketball fame is just one that comes to mind. Go to Wikipedia and read of his “Early Years” there.

I found myself asking “Why?” a lot as I read this book. Why did the whites treat the blacks so abominably? Why? So far, I have no answer. Maybe there just isn’t one. Many of the whites were quite well off and the blacks were in no way a threat to them – yet they exploited a helpless people as even law enforcement would not investigate and would look the other way (if they were not personally involved in the atrocities – as many times they were) when a black person bore the brunt of beatings and lynching.

And then, when the blacks left the south by the millions, these same white people looked around and wondered who was going to do the back-breaking work they had demanded of those who left. And, stupidly, instead of doing the right thing – the thing that would have actually worked; that is, paying them an honest wage for honest work and affording them the freedoms they were already entitled to by law (and which the whites ignored) – they threatened them. They caught them at train stations and tore up their tickets and arrested them. They beat them. Sometimes they killed them to send a message to others. But the message the blacks heard and felt even louder was “leave the south.”

Did you know that blacks were made to sit at the back of the bus, but ride in the first train car – even though they paid the same as whites for their tickets? It was because the first train car was the one that caught all the soot and smoke from the engines. Humiliation upon humiliation.

As I said, the south was particularly bad. But the north was not that much better. These people who came – sometimes with everything they owned in a paper sack – were not hired in jobs available to immigrants from Ireland, Germany, and other countries – in other words, people with white skins. When they bought a drink in a bar, the bartender would break, beneath the counter, the glasses from which they drank so that no white person would ever have to drink from them in future. Even in the West they were refused accommodations when they traveled. They were forced by riots and pickets and sometimes by their homes burning down to live in certain sections of the northern cities and not venture into areas where white immigrants lived. They suffered more than other immigrants because of the color of their skin. Immigrants from Slavic countries, for example, could change their names to more common American names – leaving their pasts behind them since the color of their skin allowed them to melt into the vast numbers of people in those cities. No name change could so camouflage the black person.

Years and years and years after this great migration of blacks from the South, I found myself also leaving it. And I, too, did not look back – at least not as we left. I faced forward and gave it not a backward glance. After reading this book I feel a great kinship with those others who left long before me because, like them, I’m a southerner and so much of the south is still with me. I miss the food, mainly. And the memories of soft summer nights with cicadas whirring loudly in the trees. I miss Spanish moss hanging from the oaks. I miss the easy manners. The people whose lives are documented in this book carried the south deep within them their whole lives. And so will I.

I see parallels today in my own life with this great migration from the south. Today it is not racial. It is political. I left and moved to a state where my Blue vote is finally counted. I left the bigotry and the heat and the bugs and the intrusive, hate-filled fundamentalist controlling religions. I left the politics of hate and greed and intolerance. Did I find a politics of less hate and greed and intolerance? I’m not sure. Perhaps not. I only know what I left.

But like those blacks who migrated and tried to take their culture with them, I suffer the same unique kind of isolation and loneliness. This never occurred to me when I left Alabama (where I had lived for the biggest part of my adult life after growing up in Florida) that sunny day and laughed and said, “I’m not looking back.” I thought then that it would be a whole new adventure with welcoming friends who would appreciate me for the good person that I am. But I have discovered, as those migrating blacks discovered, a unique kind of loneliness since there are few people here who share or understand the culture from which I came.

Those blacks took their culture with them. They planted collard greens and sweet potatoes and other southern delights in their tiny little gardens. They longed for the foods they had known all of their lives and tried their best to maintain them. Soul food restaurants grew within the northern neighborhoods in the big cities. Oh! If only one would grow here in the Pacific Northwest! I’d be in heaven with some grits once in a while – or fried catfish and hush puppies. Collard greens and cornbread – real southern cornbread (not the sweet, yellow cornmeal cake-like stuff that southerners call muffins) – would be totally wonderful. But, alas, if I want these foods, I must make them myself – when I can get the ingredients. (Even I must confess, however, that I use self-rising cornmeal to make my cornbread and do not work at it the old-fashioned way described in this book.)

Today, there is a reverse migration going on. The grandchildren and great-grandchildren of those who were a part of the great migration (which, according to the book, lasted officially from the first world war to 1970) are beginning to look again to the south and some are moving there – to a place they have never been; a place they did not grow up; a place with a culture they only share by some kind of distant default.

Those original immigrants mostly did not ever return to the south except for funerals or family emergencies. They left for a freedom to which they were entitled by law but denied by custom. And they, mostly, proved themselves by becoming doctors and lawyers and city planners and teachers and laborers and hospital workers and…

Only the later generations have suffered the drug-riddled neighborhoods and the prostitutions and the hardships of living person-on-person packed tightly into high-rises and decaying buildings.

Here is a Poem by Langston Hughes that describes the feelings of those original people who decided to escape, to leave, to do whatever it took to get out of the Jim Crow South:

One Way Ticket

I pick up my life
And take it with me
And I put it down in
Chicago, Detroit,
Buffalo, Scranton,
Any place that is
North and East?
And not Dixie.
I pick up my life
And take it on the train
To Los Angeles, Bakersfield,
Seattle, Oakland, Salt Lake,
Any place that is
North and West?
But not South.
I am fed up
With Jim Crow laws,
People who are cruel
And afraid,
Who lynch and run,
Who are scared of me
And me of them.
I pick up my life
And take it away
On a one-way ticket?
Gone up North,
Gone out West,
Gone!

Read this book.

It doesn’t matter what part of the country you came from or in what part of the country you currently reside. It doesn’t matter the color of your skin. You can only be better for the reading of it.

As I said, I'm still trying to get my head around it all. It has made a profound impression and has touched me at the deepest levels.

AngelMay

27 December 2010

Happy Holidays!

2010-12-13T11:26:00.000-08:00

Just want to wish each and every one of you Happy Holidays!

And a very prosperous, healthy, and Happy New Year!

AngelMay

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Silver Fox Decorates Tree!

2010-12-05T09:11:00.000-08:00

Breaking News!
Spied this weekend through frosty windows, that ever elusive Silver Fox decorating his holiday tree!

Wait a minute! Hold the phone!
Izzat Skip? Izzat Skip decorating the Fox's tree?

Film at 11.

.

Happy Thanksgiving Everybody!

2010-12-03T17:35:00.000-08:00

What?

Oh.

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The Baker-Man

2010-10-31T08:29:00.000-07:00

The Baker-Man

He not at all likes Halloween

And greedy children he can’t stand

He hates to hear them run and scream

And roam the streets in costumed bands

He hates their little spooky threats

As they thrust forth their greedy hands

Those dirty little fingered-nets

That snatch and grab and make demands

He wants to put away the sweets

Remove the pies and buns from view

Hide the truffles and the treats

From that obnoxious, grubby crew

In fact, he wants to close up shop

On this of all the nights he dreads

And take a break from stirring glop

That forms the tangy gingerbreads

He reached to turn the sign to CLOSED

Yet something stayed his fleshy hand

A tasty circumstance arose

And so he let the OPEN stand

A mother with her tot in hand

Stepped inside the steaming shop

And, at the bell, the Baker-Man

Appeared behind the lemon-drops

He rubbed his hands and smiled his smile

And, quiet, flipped the brassy lock

He stretched to better see the child

Hidden in its mother’s frock.

“Come in!” he cooed, all warm sincere

And glided forth with not a sound

He bid them sweetly to come near

And deftly turned the CLOSED sign ‘round

He waited, oh so patiently

While they surveyed the treats

And dialed the oven “blistery”

As mom began to speak

"Do you serve little children here?"

She asked, and pushed the tot full-view

He could not check his creeping leer

And answered with impassioned cheer

“Yes, madam,” he hissed. “We DO!”

~ AngelMay ~

Have a tasty Halloween everybody.

.

Sometimes

2010-10-26T15:55:00.000-07:00

Sometimes nature is just so good to us. About 10 minutes ago I looked out my window and saw this magnificent creature lying in the weed-overgrown flower bed in the front yard. I'm sure he is one of "Mommy's" babies from several years ago. Maybe even this one from Spring, 2005:

I went downstairs to get a closer look and he didn't move. He knew I was there, just inside the window about 8 feet from him. And he just watched me:

Isn't he gorgeous?

Sometimes....I just feel glad to be alive.

.

I Am Not Dead

2010-10-20T15:25:00.001-07:00

Contrary to popular opinion, I am not dead. Really. See? Here I am?

Well, no I guess you can't see, can you? But it's I - me - AngelMay. In the flesh. Alive and kicking. Alive, anyway. Just so much going on.

First, my exorbitantly expensive sewing machi...er.... computer had a glitch. The little thingys that pull the fabric through beneath the needle (called the feed dogs) wouldn't feed. They just sat there looking at me while the needle went up and down, up and down, up and down in the same spot - over and over and over and over and over.

I tried giving the thingys a dirty look. But they just sat there - doing nothing.
I checked to be sure I had the thingy button in the thingy-UP position. I did.
Still they would do nothing. I was completely bummed.

Gathered up the exorbitantly expensive sewing ma...computer and drove the umpteen dozen miles around two bays and over to the next town from whence it came. The thingy repair guy there sent us off to eat lunch while he looked over the obstinate thingys.

Back from lunch, we learned that a thingy inside the sewing ma....computer was just too tight. It was so tight that the thingy would not slide between these two other thingys and so would not engage the feed dog thingys such that they would pull the fabric beneath the needle. He loosened the thingy which then slid easily between the two other thingys and engaged, as it was supposed to, the feed dog thingy that pulled the fabric beneath the needle.

I brought the sewing ..computer back home and it is now once again in its lovely new cabinet. I just haven't had the energy to test the fix to see if it really is fixed. This is called blind trust.

Next, my new computer desk arrived. Some assembly required before it will look like the photo above. Actually, COMPLETE assembly is required. We got all the pieces up here in the living room floor and discovered that three of the smaller pieces - shelves - were missing. So I called the place (on the internet) from which I ordered it and they said they would get the missing pieces out to me ASAP. Yay! Meantime, we go to town to buy an "Autumn Flame" maple tree to go in the hole made when the stump was removed from a tree that used to be in the hole a couple of years ago.

On the way back from town, and standing there in the garage going through all the mail that goes immediately into the compactor-file, I noticed three small, nicely finished boards leaning up against the kitty condo (another story entirely) and looking awfully like the pieces to the desk we weren't able to put together this morning due to three missing pieces just like them.

OY! I scream up the stairs to AngelSpouse and told him to come down and check out the three boards. Eyes rolled in both our heads while black clouds of gloom formed above. I RE-called the internet company from which we purchased the complete-assembly required desk and left a message that we had found the missing pieces and they should just cancel that order.

I would ask at this point, "What ELSE can go wrong?".... but I have learned that as soon as you ask that particular question something else will invariably go wrong.

So I didn't ask the question.

And how was YOUR day?

.

Sweet Distractions

2010-10-11T14:08:00.001-07:00

Well, it arrived. My new sewing cabinet. Isn't it a beauty? It's sitting where my computer desk used to be.

The computer desk has been moved to where the china cabinet used to be.

The china cabinet has been moved to an available space along the living room wall where a teak secretary used to be.

The teak secretary was moved into my bedroom. Isn't buying new furniture fun?

A new computer desk is on order and, I hope, on its way to me as I type. So I have no photos - as yet - of the new computer desk.

But here is the sewing cabinet opened:

You will notice at the lower left a fuzzy person getting ready to jump up and check it all out and generally cause as much trouble as possible.

And yes, that is my new sewing COMPUTER sitting right up there like the Queen of the May. I'm still in the admiring stage. Soon, I will have to break down and actually sew something.

So yeah, I've been distracted lately.
Oh! And I also ordered a wireless mouse for my computer because my good friend Sandra has one and I was jealous.

Thanks for stopping by.

.

Color Me

2010-10-07T07:46:00.001-07:00

Color Me: Lazy

I can’t seem to keep up lately with this blog. I try to race around reading everyone else’s blog, but some of you are so prolific that I just can’t keep up with you, either.

Color Me: Sad

I believe the Mommy deer (whom I call “Mommy”) was killed about 100 yards up the road last week. I’ve seen her twins in the neighborhood without any sign of her on several occasions. Last night I heard coyote yipping and howling and I held my breath hoping they had not found one (or both) of those twins. I don’t do the “red in tooth and claw” thing very well. The horrors of nature are beyond my ability to bear.

Color Me: Angry

The horrors of humanity are even more difficult for me to bear. Yesterday I read of a man in Tennessee whose house burned to the ground while firefighters watched and refused to help because he hadn’t paid his $75 “subscription” fee.

And I read of a 4-year-old girl who died in NY and who only weighed 18 pounds. Her mother has been arrested. Four years too late.

Color Me: Outraged

I read also that the “Tea Partiers” have made a propaganda-filled coloring book for children; a book that not only gets our own history wrong but also mangles the English language while doing it. Both are unforgivable. Children should not be the victims of politics.

Color Me: Anxious

It’s October. As an investor I always get nervous when this month rolls around and I try to keep a close eye on my stocks. The market does not love me. The market does not love you. The market is like an undisciplined child that runs around getting into all sorts of trouble. And my little “stash” is at its mercy. Must watch. Must watch. And keep finger on button…

Color Me: Excited

I have sprung for an expensive sewing machine. Er… excuse me… it’s NOT a sewing machine – at least not according to its manual. It is, instead, a sewing COMPUTER. (Times have really changed since my mother’s old treadle-powered Singer.)

And… we all know how one thing leads to another. This thing led to the additional purchase of a cabinet in which to house it. You can’t just leave an expensive sewing COMPUTER lying around to be tripped over and/or dropped down the stairs as you schlep it from hither to yon. No way. It requires its own expensive sewing cabinet with a hydraulic lift and drawers and stuff.

The cabinet, of course, requires space. To get the space, furniture must be moved. Even with the moving of the furniture, there is the problem of the cabinet expansion into even more space when it is opened. This required head-scratching. And…

…led to the purchase of a new computer desk. Yes, it’s a leap. But, trust me, I know what I’m doing here.

Meanwhile…

Color Me: Procrastinating

I could be cutting out the fabric for my next quilt (which will be made on my new sewing COMPUTER which will probably be placed where my current REAL computer currently sits and which will be moved to the space formerly occupied by my china cabinet when the new computer cabinet arrives – whew!).

As I said… I could be cutting out the fabric for my next quilt but I procrastinate. I dilly. And then I dally. And then I take a nap.

Color Me: Retired.

Arriving In Style at the Willow Ball

2010-09-30T08:53:00.000-07:00

This is my very first trip to the annual Willow Ball:

My date for the evening is the absolutely wonderful Hugh Laurie who has promised to amaze me all evening by keeping up that impeccable American accent, which, to me of course, doesn't sound like an accent at all:

Of course, he has also promised to appear in the proper attire for the evening:

Oh wow! Who could ask for a better date?

I, of course, will also be in the proper attire - shown here on a model who displayed the gown to all its best angles and appearances:

I do love red and so found these wonderful red velvet shoes as well:

I have no doubt that within an hour these will, however, find their way into some safe corner while I whirl happily barefoot beneath my lovely gown.

An evening such as this also deserves a little sparkle so I'll be adding:

And, of course, we will be arriving in style:

And even though our chariot is climate-controlled, when I step out of that particular luxury I could find the evening air a bit nippy and so I'll be contentedly snuggled in this lovely faux fur:

Why not the real thing? I'm so glad you asked.

I never ever wear the real thing because I respect those lovely little creatures to whom it rightly belongs. To kill them for their fur is just something I cannot do. I will not do. Ever. I only have to look at my own little darling fur-ball to know why:

Click the poster for the ball (up top) to be transported there.

Have a great evening!

~

Theme Thursday: Reveal

2010-09-18T07:40:00.000-07:00

Perusing the offerings at Netflix, and mostly not content with the five thousand, four hundred, and fifty-two films already in my queue, I found this little gem recently and had it routed to my own mailbox in short order:

Nice cast, I thought. Samuel Jackson and Ed Harris. I'm not as familiar with the female lead here. (This could very well be because I don't get out much anymore.)

The first thing I noticed was that Samuel Jackson had put on a little bit of weight since his film with Geena Davis, "The Long Kiss Goodnight." You can see it in his face, mostly.

Jackson in "Cleaner":

Jackson in "Long Kiss Goodnight":

The second thing I noticed was that the actress who played Jackson's daughter, Keke Palmer, should have had much higher billing:

She was simply wonderful in the part. No... not just wonderful. She was excellent. Believable. And that's what you want from a good actress. She was, in short, perfect in this part.

This little film, "Cleaner", is what I would definitely call "Film Noir." Interesting in its photography and lighting and a little bit mesmerizing in its sequencing, I found it thoroughly enjoyable. Here, you have humanity at its best and worst all tangled up into one little ball of a story (just as we all are).

This film was an official selection of the Toronto International Film Festival in 2007. How come I'm only just now finding it, I ask myself. I answer back, "I'm old! Mind your own business!" But then I do soften and tell myself that I'm glad I found it now.

There is one scene in which Jackson is cleaning what appears to be a mom-and-pop quickie food store. He hears someone crying. Slowly he moves toward the sound and sees, through the partially-opened backroom door, an Asian woman sobbing. For a moment he does nothing, and then he reaches up and slowly closes the door. I found myself absolutely fascinated by this scene. Does he close the door to give the woman privacy in her grief? Does he close the door because he finds the crying disturbing? Both? We don't know. But this little scene lends a depth to both the film and the character Jackson portrays.

The basic story revolves directly around Jackson's character who is an ex-cop and current cleaner of crime scenes (and other messes too much for the property owners to handle). He cleans a home specified in a job order that came in to his business and later discovers a dark mystery concerning the house and the job.

All is ultimately revealed near the end. (Bet you wondered how I was going to work Theme Thursday into this post, didn't you?)

This film, like life, is a little bit messy, a little bit satisfying, a little bit haunting, a little bit unsettling. If you haven't seen it, do. I think you will enjoy it.

Birthday Comin' Up!

2010-09-15T10:04:00.000-07:00

Oh lordy - I have a birthday coming up. Yep. ANOTHER one. I'd have a cake but I'm afraid I'd catch the house on fire trying to get all the candles lit. Maybe I'll just get myself lit instead.

Of course having a birthday is, as THEY say (whoever THEY are), better than the alternative. But when you start seeing more birthdays behind you than you know are ahead of you it gets a little depressing.

At least I can still dream. I have a dream date for Willow's annual ball. So I should go ahead and share him with you now:

An appropriate choice, don'tcha think? After all, if I have some kind of attack brought on by age-related decrepitcy (I made that up), he'll be the perfect companion to take care of me. Furthermore, I'm crazy about him. And he has promised to stay "in accent" for the entire evening - just to blow my mind.

My god, I am one lucky gal! See you at the ball (wait till you see my dress!)

Theme Thursday: Reason

2010-09-09T09:16:00.000-07:00

Well, I had been looking for a reason to post this poem. And, Theme Thursday seems to have given me a reason. I'm not sure if it is reasonable to post a poem that has nothing at all to do with reason, but I reasoned that I would post it just the same - because I can. Hope you enjoy it.

Burning Up

Being not of entire mind

Yet near on half-aware

I recognized the flames that burned

Were torture – yet I did not care

My skin seared from the torrid heat

My face full hot on fire

I tossed and moaned and sought relief

A primal, animal desire

The heat rose ever more intense

The fire burned aching hot

Release from this delicious hell

Was all my conscious thought

At last the blaze, in final flare,

Left embers kindly glowing lower

A foot I thrust into cool air

And tossed aside my tangled hair

And turned the pillow over

AngelMay

9 September 2010

Things I Sometimes Think About - #4

2010-08-25T08:06:00.000-07:00

Unicycles.

I’ve always wanted to learn how to ride a unicycle. Of course, I think I’ve waited way too long now. At this point in my life I would probably break my neck, or worse, my hip. Then it would all be over. Bah! I guess I can check that one off my bucket list.

TV Programs

Specifically, the new tv program called “Covert Affairs.” Sometimes I wonder what the producers and directors are thinking when they cast the characters for something like this. Now, the lead lady in this show is very pretty – even engaging. But she has this mane of long, blonde hair that flies out in all directions when she’s running away from – or after – some perp. Anybody with half a brain would understand that someone who is undercover and in a position to be in close proximity to the “bad guys” would need to have a haircut that is so short the bad guy cannot grab it to catch her and hold her – so short it can’t get caught in elevator doors or any kind of machinery. She would want, in short (pun intended), a kind of a crew-cut for women spies.

Skydiving

I have to confess that I’ve never wanted to jump out of a perfectly good airplane. I have no death wish at all. None. I also don’t want to ride roller coasters or climb the highest mountain. Of course READING about people who actually do these things is another story. It’s all very enjoyable as I sit snuggled into a soft leather chair or sofa in the comfort and safety of my home – like the coward I am.

Liver

Well, ok, I almost never think about liver.

Stock Market

I’ve thought a lot about this lately as I’ve watched my gains slowly evaporate into little poofs of nothingness. Why is the stock market trying to kill me? Why?

I should pin that one to the refrigerator door. No! Wait! Maybe this one:

Baaaaaah!

Intermission

2010-08-18T20:15:00.001-07:00

AngelMay will return after a short intermission.

Theme Thursday: Palm

2010-08-12T05:33:00.000-07:00

You tree!

You palm!

You prehistoric plant with rustling fronds

That whisper in the gentle breezes of soft summer nights

In pleasant harmony to rhythmic moon-lit waves

Softly lapping the evening-cooled beach sands

Such power lies in that soft sound to resurrect ancient memories

And call them forth in treasured scenes that float easily to the mind’s surface

Then stab deeply at hearts that ache for remembered nights long gone

Nights when piano bars in upscale lounges mellowed supple lovelies

In their backless, basic black and pearls

Their limbs smooth as the jazz notes from the gleaming baby grand

Their heels clicking on palm-lined patios and marble dance floors

Then gliding silently over deep plush carpet to their velvet-cushioned seats

On the arms of handsome, eager young gentlemen who opened doors

And fetched icy, tinkling, umbrella-bedecked highballs in frosty glasses

To set before them as offerings unto a goddess.

Laughter, then, was easy and the nights were satin and silk

Nights, it was imagined, that could never – and would never – end

For we were young and full of longing and passion for love and for life

Without notion of time and the ravages of which it is not only capable

But determined

You tree…

You palm…

You powerful, prehistoric plant

I hear your whisper and close my eyes

Floating back in time…

AngelMay

August, 2010

More Than Just A Pretty Face

2010-08-10T19:02:00.001-07:00

Actress Hedy Lamarr
(November 9, 1913 – January 19, 2000)

More than just a pretty face, actress Hedy Lamarr's true claims to fame have nothing to do with Hollywood. Without her, those few survivors left might this year be marking the 46th anniversary of World War III and there might never have been an iPhone 3GS for you to lust for.

Born Hedwig Eva Maria Kiesler, Ms. Lamarr, in 1933, married Fredrich Mandl, an arms merchant who was controlling and possessive. Mandl forced her to attend his business meetings, during which the mathematically adept Ms. Lamarr learned a great deal about the munitions industry.

But when her husband began consorting with the Nazi high command and holding grand parties for Adolph Hitler and Benito Mussolini, Ms. Lamarr sought escape.

According to some accounts, during a Nazi celebration, she drugged her husband, disguised herself as a maid and fled the country. She made her way to Hollywood by way of London and Paris.

During World War II, when her film career was in high gear, Ms. Lamarr had a conversation with composer George Anthiel that helped change the course of homeland security and human communication.

Anthiel, a Hollywood neighbor of Ms. Lamarr, was fascinated with the automated mechanism of player pianos that caused them to play the right notes at precisely the right times. He and Ms. Lamarr, who had learned quite a lot about torpedoes from her munitions-merchant husband, started trading ideas.

The two collaborated to develop a guidance protocol for torpedoes that couldn't be jammed by enemies of the Allied forces. The result was a patent for a process by which radio transmissions hop rapidly across 88 different frequencies like notes on a keyboard.

The US Navy thought it was a good idea but ahead of its time.
They were right. It was 1962 before the US military used the technology to aid in the blockade of Soviet ships carrying nuclear weapons components during the Cuban Missile Crisis.

And it was 1997 before the very same concept became an integral part of the spread spectrum technology that makes your cellphone and Wi-Fi network possible today.

Hedy Lamarr was once considered to be the most beautiful woman in the world but we salute her today as a Real Woman of the Apocalypse.

You can read more about this fascinating and intelligent woman on the website from which I collected the majority of this text. There are other links on the site as well.

There is much out there at Wiki and other websites, too, if you are interested. This week marks the anniversary of her patent: U.S. Patent Number 2292387 granted on August 11, 1942.

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Facelift!

2010-08-09T11:50:00.000-07:00

I decided it was time to give my blog a facelift.
What say you?

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Magpie 26

2010-08-06T10:06:00.001-07:00

Black Thumb

Perhaps the cause was a very black thumb.

Nor sure if it was or not.

But the flowers, parched and exhausted

Bent to the rim of the pot.

They wouldn't stand up. They wouldn't please.

They wouldn't sway gently in the soft, summer breeze.

They wouldn't do a single thing

You'd think a flower oughter

And all because of a silly black thumb

Or want of a drink of water.

AngelMay, August 2010

Click on the Magpie Stamp to find other Magpie Tales contributions.

Theme Thursday: Brown

2010-08-04T10:25:00.000-07:00

Color Me Brown

Brown is a great color. Who could resist this?

And brown is a very nice color if you are expecting a package.

But you want to be careful with brown in your clothing.

Some people who wear brown tend to be mean and walk funny.

Some people think these brown things are really good, but I’m afraid that I’m not one of them.

Here’s a cute little brown thing. But I wouldn’t want him in my house.

And here’s something brown that almost everybody likes:

I could go on and on but I have to stop somewhere so…

Finally, here is a little brown thing that everyone has seen at one time or another:

Some time back a co-worker of mine used to bake anatomically correct gingerbread men (and women) and bring them in to work during the holidays.

Of course nobody got a thing done on those days.

Pick-A-Lock Pete: Magpie Tale #25

2010-08-02T09:51:00.000-07:00

Pick-A-Lock Pete

Pick-A-Lock Pete was the most feared guy in town.

Not because he was mean or anything like that. But because he could pick a lock – any lock – faster than Harry Houdini. Nobody ever knew where he learned to do it and they for sure never knew exactly how he did it. Pete didn’t say a whole lot because he stuttered. And when he stuttered, people in the little country town of Maysville laughed and made fun of him. You also tend to keep your head down when you are only 3/5ths of a human being – if not in actual fact, at least in the reality of a small backwater town in the rural South in the 1930’s.

Seems strange to taunt that which you fear, but the simple folks of Maysville weren’t given to intellectual reasoning. If any ever experienced twinges of conscience, it wasn’t immediately apparent to the accidental bystander. And, in truth, the only bystanders ever found in Maysville were definitely accidental.

If Pete owned a pair of shoes to his name they were never in evidence and the soles of his feet were always clay-red from walking those dusty roads in and around the town. His best and only friend seemed to be an old yellow dog named Bum who had been the runt of an unwanted litter out at Ledbetter’s farm. And since Pete had saved him from a watery death in the creek three years earlier the two of them had never drifted more than 50 yards apart.

Of all the townspeople who eyed Pete with a contempt born of more than simple distrust, old Barron Jones was the worst. Jones had a mean streak as big as Atlanta. He hated Pete – just because he was black, most people said. But if truth be told he hated him because Pete bore his affliction and position in life with a dignity Barron Jones could only dream of possessing. Deep down Jones felt an envy of this young black man that he could not – and would not – acknowledge. His own smallness sniffed around his edges like a wary dog smelling something rotten and it ate at Jones like a cancer. To compensate, he took every opportunity to belittle Pete in front of others and to threaten him on those occasions they found themselves without witness.

Pete bore it all with a resigned and stoic silence that only infuriated Jones the more until one Saturday afternoon in late summer when “the thing” finally happened.

What actually happened isn’t easily describable and so cannot be told in that concise tent-revival jargon of seeing the light, repenting, and being saved. Not even Jones would have put it in such a manner – if he had had the wherewithal to describe it at all. In fact, he never attempted a description of any fashion that one could put together into a cohesive tale. However, speculation and fabrication being a part of small town existence, a story of sorts did finally emerge.

A careful man when it came to his own well-being, Jones had outfitted his barn (which was actually more shed than barn) with a lock on the door that was keyed from both inside and out. Housed inside the barn-shed and safely locked away from the prying eyes of the law (and those who might inform the law) was a medium-sized whiskey still.

On this particular Saturday afternoon, feeling lazy and dry of mouth, Jones put key to lock after letting himself inside the shed, pocketed the key, and proceeded to do a “tasting.” This tasting, which took up much of the afternoon, and a lit cigarette was all it took. The barn-shed went up in flames and smoke rapidly filled the room. Jones got to his feet and fumbled with the key to the locked door all the while screaming and pounding the walls to be let out. His vision blurred with smoky tears, he dropped the key and dropped to his knees in a panicked effort to feel it out and retrieve it.

Perhaps being that close to the floor saved him. Perhaps he found the key and let himself out. The only thing Barron Jones ever said was that he knew he was a goner that afternoon and that somewhere close by he heard a dog bark. However it happened, the door of the barn suddenly flew open and Jones crawled out to safety.

Not even Jones could explain how that door got open that afternoon, but no one in Maysville ever heard him say another word against Pete for as long as he lived.

-o-

AngelMay

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I Used To Be Skinny

2010-07-29T09:00:00.000-07:00

Where I used to be skinny

I’ve now put on weight

And that’s only one of the things

That I hate.

I hate that my taste buds

Seem to have died

My hearing has gone

And my bottom’s grown wide

My body, once supple

Seems stiff and unsure

It seems to have lost

All its leggy allure

I hate that I’m wrinkled

With freckles galore

In fact there are freckles

I’ve not seen before

My hair has grown thin

And refuses to shine

And how can those awful grey eyebrows

Be mine?

I drool in my sleep

And I scratch when I itch

I can’t stand loud noises

God! What a bitch!

My eyes will not focus

My brain will not think

The whole thing’s depressing

Enough that I drink

I hobble around on bad knee

And trick toe

Cursing the need

To get up and to go

I’d rather sit quietly

On my behind

Munching on bon-bons

And sipping red wine

Well, at least I’m not old

like that neighbor next door

It’s just that - I guess -

I’m not young anymore.

. AngelMay.

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A Certain Kind of Symmetry and Other Wanderings

2010-07-27T07:50:00.000-07:00

It has occurred to me that there is a kind of symmetry to my life thus far. True, it's been interrupted many times and for various lengths of time. Yet it is still there, this imperfect symmetry.

I was born and grew up on a peninsula that pointed South and which was, itself, on yet another peninsula which also pointed South. Now I live about as far away from those initial peninsulas as I can get and still remain within the same country. Diagonally, from Southeast to Northwest, I have ended up (though the suggestion that this is somehow the "end" is rather depressing) on yet another peninsula. This peninsula points North and is, itself, located on yet another peninsula which also points North. How unusual is that? There is certainly a symmetry, of sorts, to be seen here.

Oddly, at times here when a corner is turned and certain scenery comes into view, I am reminded strongly of that other peninsula. I find that rather amazing, given the distance between the two.

The other evening I lay in bed with cool air pouring in through my windows and listened to the lighthouse fog-horn periodically whonking its warning to ships traversing the strait. And I was reminded of a time, when I was back there - diagonally across this country on that other peninsula - when I would lie in bed and hear that uniquely mournful wail of train whistles. I remember my uncle used to say that the sound of the train whistle took on a completely different timbre when autumn was in the air. I wonder if the fog-horn warning the ships will sound differently as this summer turns to autumn. I wonder if I will remember to notice.

I hope I can be forgiven for this little bit of personal mind-wandering. I'm sitting here at the moment looking at a soft layer of fog that is flopped impertinently across the bay, robbing me of my view, and trying not to think of the discomfort I'm experiencing from the first round of some minor surgery yesterday. So I'm thinking, instead, of everything and anything else. Like... whatever happened to really good books? You know, the kind that don't have the F-word in every paragraph. Not that I've never said the F-word, mind you. I can swear with the best of them when the occasion warrants. It just seems to be rather gratuitous these days more often than not - as though the author feels s/he must include it or be thought old-fashioned.

So I turned, last night, to Amazon - that marketplace of all marketplaces and the convenience of which I absolutely adore - to search for something to read. I finally found something and was reading it in less than a minute (bless the Kindle), but the search was marked by pitfalls and potholes in the form of "reviews." I'm not sure whose idea it was to allow just anyone to write a review, but I'm pretty sure there have been better ones. If you want to read a good book I would advise only glancing tentatively at the professional reviewer's blurb. Then go with your gut. Otherwise you will be wading, for hours, through the most inane - not to mention grammatically-challenged - chatter imaginable.

I picked something old-fashioned.

And now, I shall fluff up my pillows and settle in on my sleek, Scandinavian, anything-but-old-fashioned sofa, push my present discomfort aside, and lose myself in the troubles of some fictional someone else.

Ciao!

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Medusa Morning

2010-07-24T10:48:00.000-07:00

Magpie Tales: #24

Emerging, satisfied, from the warm, moist cocoon of her bed - and leaving him to watch her go, she peers into the mirror in the hall.

She: My God! Look at my hair! What a mess!

He: You look beautiful.

She (secretly smiling): When I look into my mirror I know you are lying.

He: I'm not lying. You are looking at yourself through the eyes of a beauty pageant judge. I'm looking at the real you.

She: Then the real me must be Medusa!

He: No doubt. You can certainly turn a man to stone.

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Itty-Bitty Town Police Report - 21 July 2010

2010-07-21T20:25:00.000-07:00

~ Having made a huge pile of his estranged wife's clothing and doused it with gasoline, a 29-year-old local man was arrested and charged with domestic violence shortly before 8:30 p.m. July 10. Officers said the missus, a 29-year-old local woman, claimed he'd kicked a dent in her vehicle as well. The man reportedly did not dispute anything.

( Well, there's a black cloud over that guy's head, isn't there? )

~ Apparently intending to beat up his ex's new boyfriend, a 27-year-old man from a nearby town was jailed for assault shortly after 9:30 p.m. July 2. Officers said the man approached his ex-girlfriend's parked car, slapped the 25-year-old new boyfriend as he was yanking him out of the passenger seat and then proceeded to get the worst of the ensuing fist-fight. Officers reported finding him "on the ground, crying and speaking in a high-pitched, excited voice" when they arrived.

( Sometimes it just doesn't pay to get up in the morning. )

~ A caller on a local road told the Sheriff's Office on June 25 that Jehovah's Witnesses had left literature at her door.

( I would love to have been a fly on the wall when that call came in. )

~ A passing motorist called the Sheriff's Office on June 26 to report a dead woman in a vehicle parked alongside a State road. A deputy arrived on scene and awakened the sleeping 39-year-old woman and determined she was fine.

~ A woman smelling of marijuana was contacted by a deputy in district court, June 30. The woman provided a deputy with a pipe that contained burnt residue that smelled of marijuana. The woman said she had a medical marijuana card, but did not have it with her. She said her doctor told her to keep the pipe on her person.

( Yeah. Uh huh. Riiiiiight. )

~ Deputies cited a local man for negligent driving on June 29 after the man collided with a tree in an attempt to evade a Sheriff's deputy.

( Well, now... see there? If they hadn't been after him, he never would have hit the tree! )

~ Stolen bamboo shoots from a local yard on July 15 led the homeowner to call the Sheriff's Office.

~ A used syringe was found June 10 during a local festival.

( Must've been some festival! )

~ A man playing a guitar in the middle of the road near a local beach on July 9 prompted a call to the Sheriff's office. Upon arriving at the scene, however, deputies were unable to locate the subject.

( He must have been playing "Travelin' Man" )

~ Deputies took a report of a shopping cart stolen from a local food bank on July 8.

~ Deputies responded to a dispute in a nearby town on July 5. Upon arrival, deputies discovered a male, at home alone, talking to himself.

( Believe me, you CAN'T make this stuff up! )

Things I Sometimes Think About – 3

2010-07-20T10:03:00.001-07:00

Turnabout is fair play.

So what’s with all these women who are drowning themselves in noxious fumes and then venturing forth into society silently assaulting the innocent and unsuspecting?

We were dining yesterday and immensely enjoying a salad that was richly adorned with gorgeous red tomatoes when, on the other side of a half-partition, a party of mostly young women were being seated.

Suddenly, my salad lost its taste. Or, that is, my ability to taste my salad was lost in the overpowering stench of the latest, and probably unjustifiably expensive, “fragrance” on the market. I attempted to cover my nose to avoid the gaggingly-offensive assault on my person, but it was too late. The molecules of stench were wafting in every direction from the young lovely who, I am sure, thought she smelled absolutely divine.

Whatever happened to the discreet dab of fragrance on the wrists, or the delicate touch at the throat and behind the ears that gave a woman that certain understated elegance and je ne sais quoi? At what point did women come to believe they must shower in the fragrance in order to be noticed? And do they never stop to think of the battles being fought in the air around them between their own fragrance and those, different fragrances, of their companions – not to mention the ambush of innocent bystanders in the vicinity? Wasn’t there a perfume at one time called “Ambush”? How apropos!

My personal fragrance is “Joy” which is quite expensive for a single ounce but it lasts for years, is worth the price, and comes in a lovely crystal bottle sans any spray mechanism whatsoever:

Even the professional perfumer’s description of this fragrance makes it alluring as they announce that it is “a classic, womanly, gorgeously balanced scent. It is the olfactory equivalent of a 1950s Dior dinner suit — flattering, adaptable, and luxurious down to its hand-basted seams.” Ooooooo! Yum!

So women everywhere! Stop it! Stop it at once! There is no need to knock the unsuspecting down left and right as you pass by. Refuse to purchase perfumes that come in spray bottles. Insist, instead, on quality fragrances and use them discretely. Have some mystery about you! Some elegance! Some class!

And just maybe you will end up with a nice guy who doesn’t spit.

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Things I Sometimes Think About – 2

2010-07-17T19:28:00.000-07:00

What’s with men and their spitting?

I mean, really! What is it about their salivary glands that require them to hawk up a big one and then spit it all over the sidewalk/road/grass?

And how come women don’t ever seem to suffer from this malady? Do we have under-developed salivary glands? Were none of us present the day hawking and spitting were being taught?

We were there for the scratching and belching part. I’m pretty sure of that. But somehow we must have had a shy instructor because we all manage to do the scratching discretely, depending on the location of the itch, of course. And the belching we often disguise as hiccoughs followed rapidly by an, “Excuse me!”

Men seem to think it’s a contest, especially the belching part. I think they secretly grade each other on the melodiousness and length of the belch. And we are not EVEN going to discuss flatulence because my eyes will roll over into the back of my head and might not roll back again.

And how come men find all these things so funny?

And while they are rolling on the floor with laughter why are we standing there trying to look serious – arms folded – and doing everything possible to keep from encouraging them by bursting into laughter ourselves?

I often think of things way more interesting (and intelligent) than this. But this is what I thought about today. Damned brain. There’s just no controlling it.

That’s my story….

Time... Relentless Time!

2010-07-12T13:56:00.000-07:00

A couple of posts ago I wrote the following:

I have a photograph of her, at age, looking at a photo of herself when she was young and beautiful. It hits my heart every time I see it. It is a reminder of what time does to us all and what it did to her, in particular. She was not happy during her last years and I, personally, suffered greatly for it. But I prefer to remember her when she was young and laughing.

I was speaking, of course, of my mother.

At first I could not find the photograph I mentioned and I had to go digging through boxes in the storage room. This morning I finally found it. I post it here with some trepidation - as though I am being disrespectful, somehow, of her privacy even though she passed away some 10+ years ago. And yet I feel a strong urge to do it because everyone should know when they see an old woman who is losing most of her hair, or an old man struggling to get in or out of a car - or struggling just to walk and getting into the way of those of us who are not yet quite so infirm - that it is only a matter of time before we will find ourselves exactly where they are.

It seems like a long time to us when we are young. But it is not long at all. As the years go by they go by faster and faster until one day we wake up, look into the mirror, and wonder where it all went. Time is relentless and does not stop for us no matter how rich or important we are. No matter how poor we are. It just continues to march forward just as it did for those old people you see today. Just as it did for my mother.

Here is the photo of my mother studying a photograph of herself when she was young and beautiful:

I'm not sure what she is holding. She may have been going through some old papers when she came upon the photograph. The way she is holding her left hand to her lips and chin - as though in complete concentration as she studies that young woman in the photo - is very telling...and moving, I think.

She was getting quite thin of hair and she worried about it constantly. She was bent, now, with osteoporosis and experienced a lot of pain. She did not delude herself that she was young anymore, but she still cared. Perhaps the photo of when she was young will explain why:

This is the photo she is so intently examining. Frankly, I doubt there was a movie star living at that time who was more beautiful.

I was so lucky to have my camera at the ready on that day, in that room, at that minute. So very lucky. It was one of those once-in-a-lifetime moments.

If I have learned nothing else in all my years of living I have learned that inside every old person is the same young person they used to be - at all the ages they used to be. The same yearnings. The same dreams -- unfulfilled, perhaps, but still there.

And we will all follow along behind them - because time doesn't stop for any of us.

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Things I Sometimes Think About – 1

2010-07-11T08:24:00.000-07:00

I love the play, “Inherit the Wind” by Jerome Lawrence and Robert Edwin Lee.

I love the witty lines and the lines that punch home hard with truth and challenge. One of my very favorite exchanges, you may remember, goes something like this:

The William Jennings Bryan character, "Matthew Harrison Brady" (played by Fredric March), is on the witness stand and replies to a question put by the Clarence Darrow character, "Henry Drummond" (played by Spencer Tracy):

"I don't think about things that I don't think about!"

Henry Drummond responds:

"Well, do you ever think about the things you do think about?"

These are truly unforgettable lines and there is so much grist in that exchange that you could write pages about it. But you can relax. I won’t. Instead, I will report that I sometimes wonder how many people actually take the time to really think about anything. How often do we sit quietly – and I mean quietly (no radio, no TV, no music…just blissful silence) – and ponder our world? Ourselves? Cabbages, and kings?

I sometimes find myself thinking of the weirdest things. Not that they are weird in and of themselves, mind you, but just weird that I, out of the blue and out of context with anything going on around me at that moment, happened to think of them at all. But then, I’ve always been one to ask questions. To wonder. To challenge. So I’ve decided to do a “mind wandering” series of posts (that could show up at any time) entitled “Things I Sometimes Think About” because…..it’s interesting to me….could possibly be interesting to others….And…

Because I can.

Sepia Saturday: My Mother

2010-07-10T08:10:00.000-07:00

This was my mother (on the right in the photo).

I found this photo amongst a pile of old photos in a box down in the storage room and I've been editing all the scratches from it as time permits. You can see that I haven't quite finished the job, however.

I'm not sure who the woman on the left is. It could be my late Aunt Tera, or it could just be a friend of my mother's at the time.

I always thought my mother had Jane Wyman looks, even if not her disposition. "Myrt", as she was called by friends - "Mutt", by family - "Mama", by me when I was a little thing and then, later, just "Mother," - was a real fire-cracker with a hair-trigger temper, hard-working, talented, and generous to a fault.

Never affluent, my parents had to work hard for the money and my mother did many things that would, if I had to do them today, make me wince. She was very talented and creative. She once sewed for other women - an extremely stressful and thankless task. Another time she worked for a fruit canning company; hard work in the Florida heat.

She designed and created baby layettes and then went door-to-door downtown to the various department stores where management agreed to sell them on commission. They sold, too.

I remember a time when I was pretty small that she made corsages of violets. She would drive out on the rural roads and pick the violets. Then she would bring them home and bunch them and dip them in a preserving wax and pretty them up with bows. Then she would drive the long distance to a well-known ballroom dancing hall and there, on the street outside, would sell the tiny bouquets to the gentlemen for their ladies. (She did not know it then, but many years later she would be one of those ladies.)

She could make fabulous chicken and dumplings. But her cornbread was a disaster. Every year at Christmas she would make ambrosia fit for the gods.

She made almost everything I ever wore until I was old enough to want "store-bought" - silly me. She made Halloween costumes for myself and my cousin - costumes that competed against each other and took both first and second prizes that year.

I have a photograph of her, at age, looking at a photo of herself when she was young and beautiful. It hits my heart every time I see it. It is a reminder of what time does to us all and what it did to her, in particular. She was not happy during her last years and I, personally, suffered greatly for it. But I prefer to remember her when she was young and laughing.

I can remember her taking me along roller skating when she went with a girlfriend. She and her girlfriend would joke and laugh until tears rolled down their faces and she had to cross her legs to keep from .... er.... losing it.

Those were the good memories. And I have so many more...

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On Poets (With Additional Comment)

2010-07-08T16:50:00.000-07:00

I think I’ll never understand

Why poets po with words so grand

That no one else will ever know

Just what it was the poet poed.

What is this urge to render dark

Lines that might ignite a spark

If only poet would rephrase

Those purple flowery bouquets

And spare the reader of the stilt

That causes his desire to wilt

And never even want to know

Just what it was the poet poed?

AngelMay

Comment:

I'd like to add that GOOD Poetry is to be prized like a rare jewel. It moves the spirit. It soothes. It jolts. It socks you in the stomach. It rubs your tummy. It is, in fact, utterly amazing.

Happy Fourth of July!

2010-07-03T18:34:00.000-07:00

With a bang and a wave of the flag...

...we launch into the 4th of July

On the Menu:

Hot Dogs!

Potato Salad!

Coleslaw!

Baked Beans!

Apple Pie!

Watermelon! (Salted, of course!)

And for those brave souls who know good eatin' when they see it/taste it: Boiled Peanuts!

Now I ask you, is this an American Holiday... or what?

AngelSpouse and I will be enjoying this holiday (and celebrating our anniversary at the same time) by noshing on this yummy menu and then, later, sipping drinks on our deck and watching the fireworks which never fail to appear all around the bay. The reflections in the water are marvelous. Wish you could all join us!

Happy Fourth to you all! (Wherever you are!)

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Theme Thursday: Blue

2010-06-29T10:47:00.000-07:00

Color Me BLUE!

Here are a few of my favorite blue things:

This photo reminds me of the wonderful days I spent (some years back now) on the Caravelle beach in Guadeloupe (French West Indies). Ahhhhh blue water, tropical breezes.... Sigh.

From the Caribbean we come back to the States to Clearwater Beach, Florida - where I spent the majority of my youth. Constant worry now that this wonderful beach will be ruined by the recent oil spill. From the warm blue of water and skies in Florida we go to.....

...the icy blues of the Arctic. I took this photo in the summer of 2000. The arctic is absolutely amazing. If you ever have the chance, do go.

Here are some favorite blue flowers. I love these lush, unashamed exhibitionists! The sheer big boldness - What's not to love?

I love the rich blue of my birthstone - the Blue Sapphire....

...and I love the softer, gentler blue of AngelSpouse's birthstone, the Aquamarine.

Next, are a couple of "blues" that I really miss:

Since our move to the West Coast, I really miss this darling little bluebird. When I lived "back east" I was constantly entertained by their shenanigans in the birdbath near the library in our house.

And I can't forget THIS favorite "blue thing" - Hill Street Blues! Oh my! We used to look forward to this every week way back when it was still "the thing". Absolutely loved it!

And here is another beautiful blue thing: Her name is Riki and she belongs to my best friend. Well, I guess you could say my best friend belongs to her!

But my very favorite blue things of all are these jewels here:

This is my darling aqua-eyed girl: Sylvie.

Priceless!

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Itty-Bitty Town Police Report

2010-06-24T14:29:00.000-07:00

It's time again for the Itty Bitty Town Police Report!

* A resident along the local hiking trail reported a subject on the trail yelling and screaming, June 17. Deputies were unable to locate the subject.

* Chainsaw noise was reported in the area of a local campground on June 16. Deputies located an intoxicated ex-logger and advised him of the complaint. The logger agreed not to make any more noise.

(Wow! That was easy. I want to be a deputy!)

* A resident in a nearby town called to report two bears in his front yard, June 13.

(Dang! I never see two bears in my front yard!)

* Deputies responded to a report of trespassing on private tidelands and theft of shellfish, on June 13.

* A dog and his owner were reported to have been contaminated June 7. The dog and animal owner were "deconned." The dog was taken to the shelter for safekeeping while the owner was shipped out for an evaluation.

(Uh huh...)

* Deputies took a report June 11, of a civil situation regarding tax returns being deposited into the wrong bank account.

(How come nobody ever deposits a tax return into MY bank account?)

* A man sleeping along the road caused deputies to stop for a welfare check on June 2. Deputies gave the man a courtesy ride to the next county.

(Ha! Take him to the next county! That's the ticket!)

* A chicken would not leave a property on a local road on June 2. The caller was advised to call Animal Rescue or relocate the chicken.

* A local man called the Sheriff's Office on May 28 to inform deputies that he was not going to pay a medical bill because he did not agree with the charges.

(Hey! I might try that next time, myself!)

* A man stabbed a basketball that children were playing with along a local street, May 29.

(Um....OK... You can draw your own conclusions on this one.)

* A professional panhandler was reported in the town on May 31. When contacted by deputies, the man explained that he was only obtaining enough money for one meal a day and he was not a professional. The man also said he was upset because the people in this town used to give him more handouts.

* The Sheriff's office assisted the U.S. Coast Guard with locating a possible missing helicopter, June 5. The helicopter was located.

(Aw, come ON! How do you lose a HELICOPTER, for pete's sake?)

And that's this week's Police Report.
Believe me....You CANNOT make this stuff up.....

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Theme Thursday - Triangle

2010-06-24T00:52:00.000-07:00

This will never work!

Impossible, can’t you see?

Love her—OR—Love me.

Remembering Little Shirley

2010-06-21T11:26:00.000-07:00

Well, Willow has gone and done it now. She has put up a post about her Shirley Temple doll and that prompted me to go digging in my stash of old photographs until I found this one (above) of myself at 5.

I think my mother must have liked Shirley Temple (left) - otherwise, how do you explain this? Believe me, there is not now - and never has been - a hair on my head that curled naturally. But I must get in a small brag for my mother. She made all my clothes and was very, very talented.

Thanks to Willow for the memory "poke".

Dang, I was cute! (Even if I do say so myself.)

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Mumbletypeg: A Magpie Tale

2010-06-17T20:33:00.000-07:00

Sadie walked down the town’s dusty main street wiping sweat from her forehead. It was hot. Hotter than the hinges of hell, Johnny Jacobs used to say before he got religion and didn’t swear anymore. Not even her light cotton sundress hanging loosely on her spare frame gave relief from the heat.

She passed the old clapboard church; now more gray than white. The organ was wailing away and the high-pitched off-key singing signaled that Mrs. Whittaker was at her post practicing for her usual Sunday assault on the good people of Morgansville just as she had done every Sunday for the past 40 years.

Two little girls were swinging on a tire swing in old Mr. Phillips yard next door. Sadie guessed maybe they were his granddaughters. They were both beyond dirty in their coveralls and bare feet. Sadie smiled at them.

She continued walking toward the old general store and wondering why on earth she had come back here even though she knew. Her hand, deep within her pocket, held the reason. She fingered the smooth-worn wooden handle as she walked, careful to keep the blade inside it.

What would Raymond say when she took it from her pocket and handed it to him? She remembered how she had coveted the thing because it had belonged to Raymond. And she remembered how she got it.

She had been watching the action one afternoon when Raymond and Johnny Jacobs and two or three other town boys were behind the feed store playing mumbletypeg and betting on the outcome – a serious sin in Morgansville. Raymond had proceeded to bankrupt each one in turn and had just wiped Johnny out of his entire fortune of three dollars and thirty-two cents when Preacher turned the corner and saw them.

Boys scattered in every direction imaginable. Johnny disappeared inside the feed store where his daddy worked and Raymond, without so much as a howdy-do, walked over to Sadie, put his arm around her waist, handed her the knife and told her to keep it for him as he ferried her – and himself – confidently away from the scene and out of Preacher's reach.

Sadie was smitten.

Then life happened. And now she was back, the knife in her hand and her hand deep in her pocket, walking determinedly toward the general store that had become Raymond’s after his aunt Nilla died.

She stopped at the screen door. My god. The place hadn’t changed a bit. She put her hand to her forehead and peered in. A couple of flies buzzed on the inside of the screen and made their escape as she opened the door and stepped in. A ceiling fan whirred and clicked overhead as though making a fuss would convince of its value in alleviating the heat.

“May I help you?” A woman of about thirty had come from the back room to assist her customer.

“I – I used to live here. I was a friend of Raymond’s.” Sadie clutched the knife nervously. “Does he still own the store? I mean…Is he here?”

The woman quietly returned to the back room for a moment and Sadie could hear her speaking to someone. “A friend of yours,” Sadie heard her say.

The woman emerged again, gently pushing a wheelchair in which sat Raymond; Sadie’s wonderful Raymond who could run faster than anyone in the county and who could melt your heart with his smile.

Only this Raymond didn’t smile. He just stared at nothing. Nothing at all.

Sadie was frozen in place. She wanted to run, but could not. She wanted to stay but should not. Would not. Oh, why had she come? Life happens! You can’t go home again. Ever.

She knelt in front of the wheelchair and took Raymond’s hand. “Ray? It’s Sadie.” She looked him in the eyes. He looked past her to somewhere only he knew. She opened his hand and laid the knife on his palm and then closed his fingers around it.

“I brought you something. Remember this?” She looked from the motionless Raymond to the woman who only shook her head.

Sadie stood and then walked to the door. She turned one last time and for just one split second she was sure she had seen Ray look back at her. She would believe he looked at her. She would believe he smiled.

-0-

(This is my first humble offering for the Magpie Tales. Go see others. You'll be glad you did.)

In Camera

2010-06-17T06:59:00.001-07:00

Bunny-Napped!

Benny the Bunny has been in camera (in more ways than one) for the past week. Benny was bunny-napped here in Itty Bitty Town approximately a week ago. This unspeakable event made the front page of the Itty Bitty Town Newspaper where they spoke on and on about it.

It seems that Benny left a note upon his "leaving" that said he would be gone for a few days. He even signed the note himself! (Itty Bitty Town is not without its talent, I can tell you!)

This week, Benny made the front page once again - along with his photo - under the headline "Bunny Returns!" The bunny-napper had, apparently, groomed him to a fare-thee-well and, perhaps reluctantly, finally returned him to his hutch where he has since been receiving extra treats in addition to the day-old veggies he regularly receives from a nearby local market.

Meanwhile, for other news, we turn now to the:

* Five frames of Beehives - holding an estimated 10,000 honeybees were reported stolen from a local residence on the evening of June 11th. Officers said the owner, a 76-year-old man, said they were worth about $150. There were no suspects.

* A 2007 Lexus driven by a 59-year-old Phoenix woman collided with a 2005 Nissan pickup driven by a 30-year-old Westport, WA man. Officers say the Lexus was backing up and rammed the Nissan when it was still in its parking spot. The woman was cited for "unsafe backing" and released.

(Yeah! Unsafe backing! That's it!)

* Harrassment charges were brought against a 51-year-old local man. Angry at being discharged from the hospital against his will, the man reportedly phoned police and said he was at the nearby grocery store and intended to heave a brick through the store window. They arrived moments later to find him with brick in hand, window intact. He was arrested without incident and jailed.

(Sounds like the poor guy should have been taken back to the hospital)

* The local School of Massage reportedly incurred about $100 in damages sometime in the early morning hours of June 8, said police. The owner told them a bag of peat moss had been torn open and dragged across the parking lot and a box of strawberries had been strewn about as well. There were no suspects.

(Well, this town is known to have a few bandits running around loose. Could have been one of those if you are asking me.....)

That's my story....

Home!

2010-06-15T18:02:00.001-07:00

At last.
Just home.
Safe.
Tired.
Happy to be here.

AngelMay

Getting Closer!

2010-06-13T14:27:00.000-07:00

Getting closer and closer to home.

This morning, as soon as we began our drive I spied this little fellow:

Seems like he's more legs than anything else. He reminds me of the Tin Man in Wizard of Oz.

We had a really pleasant early drive on smooth, straight roads in a valley between mountains. Just the way I like it. Along the way I snapped pictures of snow-capped mountains in the distance...

...and what I call "peek-a-boo" mountains peeping over the tops of the lower, green hills:

And almost the whole morning we drove along the Clark Fork river:

This was reassuring to me because it meant we were DOWN. On the ground. At water level.

And we were not going to fall off a thousand foot drop.

We saw some interesting exposed rock:

And then.... we stopped at a rest area and saw this little guy:

Not certain what he is. I'm thinking maybe a ground squirrel, but we couldn't get near enough to them. They had rather short tails and legs. And when they decided to run - they were FAST!

I guess no AngelMay post would be complete without at least one critter sighting.

Another nice picture of that reassuring river...

....before we saw signs announcing "Chain-up Area" and I knew we were in trouble. Trucks "chain up" before a long steep climb...

Then we saw this:

...and the next thing I knew we were careening DOWN the other side of the hard climb with me in the passenger seat leaning left - as though that would somehow keep the RV from sliding to the right and off the highway into the tree-speared abyss below.

We lived through two of these downhill please-check-your-brakes and runaway-truck-exit nightmares before finally reaching Coeur D'Alene.

We are now parked. And if not for the Siren Song of home.... I might never un-park again. :)

At least we are back in the Pacific Time Zone. Hooray!

White-knuckled,

AngelMay

PS - No wifi in tomorrow's RV park so this is sign-off until we reach home.

The Push West Continues

2010-06-12T15:00:00.000-07:00

We began our drive this morning with me trying to take a photo of some kind of African-looking deer-like creature we believe was imported into the US (for reasons I would probably rather not know about). It's a beautiful little thing.

If I held even the most minute belief in astrology I would believe my stars and planets were just out of alignment. In an effort to capture these little creatures, I took photo after photo of blurry grass, blurry fence posts, blurry sky, blurry rocks, and blurry trees.

I finally got a long shot of a group of them grazing. I have cropped this photo in hopes that it will, at least, be somewhat viewable:

I think, however, that I didn't really get close enough for anyone to tell exactly what they are.

I must confess here and now that I was wrong about the red-winged blackbird. Even though they no longer lined our way along the roadside, I have still seen a few even at this elevation and they remain my favorite bird here in the west.

Billings, Montana is not very pretty. Sorry, Billings lovers. I have to call 'em as I see 'em. Billings (and surrounds) seems to be mostly oil refineries and railroad yards.

However, Sheridan, Wyoming (which we passed through yesterday) was a gorgeous-looking place... all tucked neatly into a little river valley between beautiful hills.

One thing I've noticed on my travels is this:

Throughout the USA, farms always seem the same. There are acres and acres of fertile fields surrounding a little clump of trees, in the midst of which you will find a neat, white farm house. Montana, it seems, is no exception.

Seems like it would be great living on a farm. Working on one, of course, is another story altogether.

Today, we saw Montana between Hardin and Butte. And (almost) everywhere you look - it's beautiful:

I wonder what it's like living amidst all this beauty...

It must be fantastic until the snow comes...

But even in the midst of all this beauty, we should not forget .... this is still the USA and....

...where you find people, you will find a McDonald's.

You could also find:

Strip mining?

It's odd, but even though I suspect the light tan areas on this mountain are being strip-mined, I still find this photo strangely beautiful.

Later on, we start UP.

And UP

And UP.... until....

And then, after a hair-raising (for me) drive down - and down - and down, we finally see Butte:

It looks really nice from here. Up close, not so much.

And that's the way it is.... June 12th...Two Thousand Ten.

AngelMay

Westward Ho!

2010-06-11T17:40:00.001-07:00

First thing this morning we stopped at a small gas station where there was absolutely no evidence whatsoever of life - except for the gas pumps themselves which woke up upon receiving a credit card. We pumped gas and cleaned bug-butter from the windshield without hearing a single human sound (other than our own).

Only birds were out and about, singing and chirping. I could handle this. It's so peaceful!

There was also one of those lit-up signs at the gas station that announce the current temperature -- in this case, 63 degrees! I felt like doing a happy dance. All that heat and humidity now seems to be behind us. Yes!

Then, we continued our trek West.

West of Wall, South Dakota you get into more mountainous terrain and begin climbing in elevation:

I think cows make lovely models, don't you? They are so placid and nice. They also look very striking against the vivid green of the grass.

In the western, more mountainous part of the state, you begin to notice more evidence of human habitation - which increases as you continue along. We speculated that it was probably due to the availability of water.

At the higher elevations, we also begin to see red rocks in the mountains:

However, my little red-wing blackbird friends were no longer my constant roadside companions once we went to elevation in the mountains. I missed them.

But we did encounter one very strange and noisy little bird just outside the Black Hills/Mt. Rushmore information center:

She did not run (or fly) as I approached, but she did make a huge racket. At first we thought she might be begging for food. But as I approached a little closer (not as close as the photo, of course, which was on zoom) she began to flutter her wings and spread her tail:

At this point I was not convinced that she wasn't a begging baby. But then, I stepped yet another step closer and she put on quite a show for me:

She moved out onto the sidewalk and pretended to be wounded. She flapped her wings oddly as though one was broken and she laid nearly on the concrete. At this point, I decided she was a mom with babies somewhere nearby and I backed away and apologized and told her she was a beautiful lady.

I'm still not sure what kind of bird she was. There were other birds there like her and we saw none of them fly. They just walked in little quick spurts - like some kind of water bird.

Also just outside the door of the Information Center were lilac bushes and Oh My! They nearly knocked you out with their heavenly scent:

Before crossing into Wyoming, I managed to find one very old-fashioned water tower:

It appears the local teenagers, having nothing better to do, gave this one a coat of graffiti.

We did, indeed, know the heat was behind us when we stopped for lunch in Wyoming and had to don jackets. Mountains are like that. Yep. They are.

All day we drove under angry-looking skies:

Even though it never actually rained, at one point there was mist which managed to goof up the focus on my camera and ruin the ONE good shot I had at Devil's Tower waaaaaay waaaaay off many miles in the distance:

Dang it! But not to worry, we are already talking about returning to Western South Dakota, Wyoming, and Montana for a real sight-seeing trip (maybe next summer). Anyone want to make it a caravan? ;o)

Driving on through the Northeast corner of Wyoming, we discovered that the folks in Wyoming have their fingers in the black gooey stuff:

A lot of fingers in the black, gooey stuff, apparently. We saw many oil wells pumping away as we passed.

Still and all... Wyoming has some gorgeous countryside:

Even those angry clouds couldn't take away from the beauty of it:

We did manage to find a little humor however, in an old Water Tower that doesn't seem to "tower" at all:

It's just there on the hill, kind of resting on its ... er... laurels. ;o)
Perhaps it was already high enough to generate the pressure needed for the folks living below.

We also noticed these "pimple"-like mounds that dotted the high plains of Wyoming:

These strange mounds just rise up without explanation from the rather flat ground surrounding them. There were many of them at one point. They appear almost artificial and out of place in their surroundings. I'm still wondering what caused them.

I wanted to note, before we leave South Dakota and Wyoming, that the overwhelming majority of the dwellings we saw were manufactured. We speculated that it was probably much more cost-effective to have them made elsewhere and then brought in to these rather remote communities than to have them built on site.

And then, before we knew it:

We found ourselves in Montana, driving through the Crow Indian Reservation.

Beautiful, beautiful land.

That's my story....

AngelMay

South Dakota!

2010-06-10T15:27:00.000-07:00

Ok, maybe I'm prejudiced. After all, I *am* an American. But in this case I don't think so. And the reason I don't think so is that I have never before been to South Dakota in my entire life. But I have to tell you that that is my loss because this state is one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen.

From the Missouri River to the west, it is, I believe, one of the last great hunks of this earth that have not been spoiled by man. Yes, there are little communities dotted on it here and there, but mostly it is an absolutely unspoiled perfection of grassy green rolling hills. Miles upon hundreds of miles of gorgeous rolling hills.

I guess there are some people who would find this boring. But not I. I even tried working a Sudoku as we drove along but I was so afraid that I would miss whatever was over the next hill that I simply had to put the puzzle away and just stare in awe at this magical land.

Usually, what was over the hill was more hills.

But oh what hills.

I couldn't get enough. I absolutely loved the huge open spaces. I loved the peace of it. I loved the stark and simple beauty of it.

The tall grasses gleamed silver as they rippled like waves in the wind.

I even captured a couple of water towers.

This one above just seemed to fit so well with the clean beauty of the countryside surrounding it. And this one below is bluer than the last blue one I found.

It was standing there, all alone, on a little green hill. How perfect is that?

Perhaps this gorgeous land is not always so green. Maybe it turns brown in some seasons. Maybe it is six feet under snow in the winter. I don't know. But today - TODAY - it was some of the most spectacular scenery I've ever seen - and I've seen a lot of spectacular scenery. I've seen everything from Switzerland to Tasmania to Britain, Norway, and the Arctic. And a bunch more in between. Each is beautiful. And Today - South Dakota would not have to take a back seat to any of them. It was just breathtakingly gorgeous.

And one of the most fun parts of driving along and enjoying the scenery was watching these little guys:

These gorgeous red-winged blackbirds were perched on fence posts from one end of South Dakota to the other - flying back and forth for food and then landing on the posts once more. Sometimes flying across the highway in front of us - causing me to catch my breath for them but they always (somehow) managed to avoid disaster.

Of course there was no way I could capture them, so I have taken this photo from the internet. I do believe this little black bird has become my very favorite.

If you have not seen South Dakota, please do - while it is still unspoiled.

That's my story...

AngelMay

Theme Thursday: Candy

2010-06-10T00:10:00.000-07:00

Listen up, fellow travelers, and choose your candy well.
Do not take chocolate bars poolside when the thermometer is pressing 90.
Don't munch on caramels when the nearest toothbrush is 10 miles away.
And whatever you do, don't travel in an RV with a jar full of M&Ms!

These wounded little morsels bear witness to the sad state of repair of many of our interstate highways. They were brought along for the ride in the event that someone got a case of the munchies and couldn't wait for the next McDonald's. (Just kidding about the McDonald's.)

After several days driving, bumping and thumping along America's Finest, the munchies attacked and the jar was retrieved from the refrigerator.

OY VEY! Whatsamatta here?

Road Kill.
Heh.

AngelMay

When There Is Nothing To See

2010-06-07T15:16:00.000-07:00

When there is nothing to see, there is often still something to see. If you get my drift.

Driving along Missouri highways, and pretty much bored with passing trees and billboards, suddenly I spied a boldly blue water tower in the distance. I don't think I've ever seen a water tower quite this blue before.

Mostly, they are rather washed-out, whitish-blue such as this one:

Then, all of a sudden.... Hold the Phone! What the heck? Did somebody have a sale on orange paint or something?

Not to be outdone, yet another town went all the way and bought out the whole paint store:

Then we came upon this one:

They seem to be proud to be American here. Or something. Little bit odd shape for a water tower, but nothing compared to others we've seen. After snapping these photos today, I started thinking of all the interesting water towers we've seen elsewhere. Like the "golf ball" tower in Huntsville, Alabama:

Looks like it could use a new paint job.

Here's a unique tower in Metropolis, Illinois:

Well, what did you expect? Batman?

Prompted by these rather unique towers, I began to search the internet and found all manner of water towers in all imaginable shapes and sizes. From peaches, watermelons, and pineapples... to bottles of ketchup and whiskey, teacups and saucers, and even ears of corn.

America. What a great place.

That's my story....

AngelMay

Time Out For Sepia Saturday

2010-06-05T12:56:00.000-07:00

I noticed it was Sepia Saturday - a fine invention of Alan's. Most of my old photographs are stowed in a box somewhere. But I thought this one would be appropriate since it is a photo of my-own-young-self oh so long ago. And it's one you have already seen, I think, and are familiar with.

Growing pains don't stop just because you are grown. I am learning things every day and some of those things are painful. Like knowing that I can never live in the South again - no matter how Southern I am. It's simply too hot. I'm currently in Kentucky - and it's nearly 90 degrees and I feel as though I am going to die. The little a/c in the RV is pumping its little heart out - trying its best - but I'm still burning up. My face feels like it will explode.

I checked the temperature today in my little town in the PNW and discovered that it is 54 degrees. Yes! I love it! Can't wait to get back in it!

But enough about the weather. ;o)

My growing pains lately have been sharp. Like seeing my beautiful Gulf of Mexico and knowing what globby filth is floating in it and making its way toward the beautiful white-sand beaches.

Like walking along in a north Florida RV park where we were spending a couple of days and smelling the nearly over-powering, heady fragrance of night-blooming jasmine. I never saw the flowers - never knew in which direction they might lie. But oh my! The aroma was heavenly - just as when I was a young girl and was lucky to have some growing just outside my bedroom window.

Like learning that my best friend in high school has had a stroke and a heart attack. She survived. That's the good news part. And learning that another high school friend had passed away.

Like seeing my cousin laid up in bed with an out-of-commission foot due to surgery -- and knowing the distance between us now that I live so far away ... and wondering if this is the last time I will see her... :(

There are smaller things, too. Things that don't matter so much. Like enjoying the food from the restaurants I wrote about in my last post and knowing that I won't be able to enjoy them again for a very long time. If ever. But, as I said, these are small things - there are wonderful foods to enjoy when I get home, too. They are just different, that's all. Still, I'm glad I had the chance to eat at these restaurants once again - even if it might be for the last time.

Growing Pains is a good name for my blog because I really do believe we are always growing. If we stop, we die.

Today was a trek from Alabama to Kentucky. I wanted to entitle this post "Move Along. Nothing to See Here" - because it would be (almost) the truth. I have learned, however, that the National American Quilt Museum is located here. I wish we had the time to go and visit it but, unfortunately, tomorrow we head north again - toward (I hope) ever cooler temperatures.

Keep growing, everyone.

AngelMay

Food Foray!

2010-06-04T11:46:00.000-07:00

On the way to our old hometown (where I had made a list of all the places I wanted to eat since we just can't get that kind of food on the West Coast) we encountered this most appropriate and predictive guy seeing as how we were planning on pigging out with determination and clear consciences:

Rolling along, enjoying the scenery of mimosa trees, pines, and kudzu (thanks, Japan!), we were entertained by various road-side signs and monuments:

Gosh, Toto.... I think we're in .....

Yep. This must be Alabama!

Oh well.... We're coming for the food and to see former co-workers. Then we're leaving before the bugs and heat and humidity (not to mention the politics) have a chance to kill us. And it appears that we are almost there:

Oh my! Mouth starting to water already. Food is so good they named a road after the restaurant!

Well, ok. That's a slight exaggeration. But only slight.
We're here!

We're inside!

Where are the hushpuppies?

Here they are!

Here's a closer look, cuz I just know you all would love to have some!

Where did they go?

You know where they went, don'tcha?

Wait a minute.....
Wait a minute.....

Lunch has arrived!

You will notice that the hushpuppies have been replenished. This is SO yummy! Here, have a bite!

You will also notice that the catfish have been properly coated with cornmeal prior to frying - as they should be - and not in ... GASP... fried chicken batter (as we experienced in one Florida town).... Shudder!

The ubiquitous check:

Amazing. My meal is the first on the check. $9.95 and all the hushpuppies you could eat. Hard not to contrast this with dinner checks on the West Coast where they charge (mightily) for every little thing. Of course, this kind of food is simply not available there - to my knowledge and, at least not in my little town - at any price. So I enjoyed it while I could. It was fantastic!

Then, back in the RV to head into town.
We pass the buildings of my former employer:

And finally arrive:

Settled into our RV "spot", we rented a car and drove around a little bit - noticing that, like some impertinent upstart, the town had grown all over the place during our absence. The nerve of the place.

During our drive, we stopped at the second place that was on my list of gastronomical delights - only to find that -- OMG, THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING! - it was Gone! Really gone. Not just moved. But GONE.

This was a complete disaster. The place in question was called "The Donut Hole" and it made the best donuts on the face of the earth. Nay! In the entire universe! And now it was gone. Just gone. I was crushed. We returned to the RV and I fell on my pillow in a fit of pique and sadness.

The next day we drove out to visit my former coworkers and my former boss. He was still there - and lots (but not all) of my former coworkers were still there, as well. This was loads of fun seeing them again. And I got so excited at the whole prospect that I forgot to take my camera - silly girl.

Then, off to the next restaurant of choice:

Here, we met up with some of AngelSpouse's former co-workers. While they reminisced, I munched happily on Wiener schnitzel.

Later, that evening, yet another restaurant was on the favorites list and just had to be visited:

Now THIS is a Japanese restaurant! The food is fantastic! And what fun when we walked in the door and the woman who owns and runs the restaurant lit up like the 4th of July when she saw and immediately recognized us. I got a big hug, too.

AngelSpouse ordered the Udon which is so delicious you can't believe it. Made with an extremely tasty fish sauce and with spinach and both green and regular onions floating on top.... oh my gosh! YUM! (I reached across and grabbed some for myself. You can do that when you are on good terms with your dining partner. Heh.)

I ordered a combo dinner of Yakitori and Gyoza. The gyoza came out, as expected, fried crispy on the outside and wonderfully porky-gooey-great on the inside. The yakitori was, as always, excellent!

We were stuffed. But not defeated. Next stop was back to the Ol' Heidelberg for dessert. This stop was necessary because our favorite wonderful waitress was not on duty when we had been there for lunch. We walked in and she was little bit busy. She was behind the counter. I cleared my throat. Ahem! Ahem! She turned! More hugs and kisses later we were being treated to coffee and key lime pie - which she refused to let us pay for. "It's on me!" says she. How could we argue?

What a great day.

Then, today, we met some of my former co-workers for lunch at the Olive Garden (their restaurant choice). Much talk of old times and what's been happening....

Totally rewarding.

Tomorrow?
On the road again and heading for home.

That's my story....

AngelMay

AMBUSH!

2010-06-01T14:12:00.000-07:00

Well, there we were, driving north on Florida's I-75.... tooling along at 55 mph and being passed consistently by people in a much bigger hurry. That's ok with us because an RV is a big, rocking thing that doesn't give one a warm fuzzy at higher speeds. Even a rather small RV like ours. We had thought it was big until we parked at the RV parks along our way, got out and walked around, looked back at the RV and noticed how very small it appeared next to some of the absolute MONSTER RVs that were also parked there. Still...as the saying goes... Arrive Alive! Drive 55!

All of a sudden, ahead of us as far as we could see, were the flashing red and blues of the Florida Highway Patrol. At least 8 patrol cars had appeared out of nowhere - at the same time - and had pulled speeders over left and right as far as we could see up the hill.

What a sight! What an Ambush!
I wish I had had the presence of mind to take a photo - but I was in total awe at the scene. I've never seen anything like it.

Bet those speeders wished they had been driving 55.

We smiled as we passed them. ;o)

AngelMay

My Trip To Bountiful

2010-05-28T16:17:00.000-07:00

From Texas through Louisiana (the state with the worst roads in the entire country) and Mississippi (where it was hotter than the hinges of hell and where I had much business to attend to - and that's why you haven't heard anything from me in days and days and days) and then on through the little dangly bottom part of Alabama to reach, at last, my Bountiful:

This is truly my Trip to Bountiful. I return to old stomping grounds. To the scene of many old times - both good and bad. But mostly just heart-tuggers now as I look around me and remember.

It began, of course, with first glimpses of scrubby pines

and Spanish moss:

And a sign on the side of a building that reminded me of the Oh-So-Many times my mother dragged me, kicking and screaming, fishing with her when I was too little to be left on my own.

My mother loved to fish. And I hated every stinky, slimy, wiggly, ooey, gooey, wet, dirty minute of it. My mother would wear an old beat-up hat and shirt and pants and worn-out shoes and away we would go. Sometimes the car would get stuck between the paved road and the fishing camp and she would cut branches from trees to stick under the tires in an effort to get going again. These are fond memories - because they are memories. If I had to do it again, I would not be telling the tale so happily. I hate fishing to this day.

One of the great, traditional Florida meals is fried Mullet with hushpuppies, baked beans and grits. YUM! Makes me hungry just thinking about it.

Check out the prices on this sign for smoked mullet we passed on our way heading south through a little town I've been through so many times in my life. With TWO sides? For $7.00 max? I can only shake my head. Some things are still as good as I remember.

Destination reached, at last:

Palm-lined, sun-drenched streets. Bright blue skies with puffy white clouds. Gorgeous Oleanders in evidence everywhere:

The bay, with the beach beyond - to be visited later:

But first, the heartstrings tug to find places not seen in so many years that I wondered if they would still be there. Like the once-home of my modeling mentor and teacher when I was a young girl and under contract to the agency she helped to found:

I knew approximately where this house was located. I held my breath as I traveled down the main road - reading carefully every street sign as we passed. At last there it was! The name I remembered from so long ago. We turned down the street and I knew it the moment I saw it. I remember it as a pink house. It's very strange that, today, the house looks quite modest. But back then it was a fabulous house. Big and lovely on the inside with a large stone planter filled with tropical plants separating the entry from the living area. I often think of the woman I so admired who lived there. The woman who saw my photograph and demanded to know where she could find me for the agency. Strange paths we all travel. Unique and wonderful memories we all have. These are some of mine.

Continuing my time-travels, we next drove past one of the old buildings that used to be a department store on the ground level. I snapped this photo as we waited at the red light:

Above the department store, there were offices of doctors and lawyers and other types of businesses. This brought to mind the story my mother told of taking me to a doctor in this building to have my tonsils removed. According to my mother, once the doctor had removed the tonsils, he refused to let her take me with her until she went away and returned with the money to pay the bill in full. So this became the building in which I was held hostage for ransom.

After passing this building we passed the old courthouse where my grandfather once worked. Then we came to the street on which I grew up. The house I grew up in is very modest and I was pretty glum at seeing what had been done to it over the years. Let's just say it has not been improved. But down and across the street is the house where I played with neighbor kids. And in front of the house was a huge tree we called "Rocky Top":

As you can probably guess, we called it that because we would fearlessly climb to the top and make it swing back and forth as hard as we could. It's a wonder we weren't all killed. But it was a great childhood. We were free back then to run and explore - very much like the children in one of my favorite books: "To Kill A Mockingbird" (and from which book I take my name "AngelMay").

Next, we continued to travel south to the next town where I wanted to see the street on which my great aunt had lived when I was just a little thing. I walked to her house every afternoon when elementary school ended for the day and stayed with her until my mother could come to fetch me when her workday was finished. Alas, my aunt's house is no longer there. But what does remain - and will probably remain long after we are all dead and gone - is the street itself which is made of bricks:

Notice that the curb is made of granite. These are the same bricks, the same granite curb, that have formed this particular street for probably close to 100 years. To my knowledge there has never been a pothole in any of these brick streets and they are not much more worn today than when they were new. Makes me wonder why all streets are not made of brick.

Turning north once again, I had another house on my mind. This one belonged to my art teacher. From her I learned dress design and portrait painting at a very prestigious art center at that time. We drove down streets I thought I recognized, only hoping that something would trigger my memory. And then I saw the street name and I knew immediately I had found it.

And there it was:

Still as wonderful as a young girl of poor means had thought it was. I wonder about this woman too. Is she still living? Where would she be? How would she be? I will never know. But just as I hope for my modeling mentor, I hope that her life was a good one. I will never forget either of them. They both saw something in me of value. Something special. They will never know how I admired them in return.

And then we hit the beach:

Be still my foolish young heart! What wonderful memories here! But first, lunch at the famous restaurant I haven't frequented for years and years. The Beachcomber:

Yum. Can't really show you the wonderful fresh Grouper we had for lunch because we snarfed it all down like we would never eat anything like it again. And, possibly, we will not. That's rather sad, I think. I miss the wonderful Florida seafood.

And then, sated, out to the beach:

If you are wondering how I got this shot, I had rolled my pants legs up and was happily wading up and down in my beautiful, fantastic Gulf of Mexico - camera around my neck like a real tourist. I'd bet real money not a person around had a clue that I was born and grew up there.

Now you have to admit: THIS is a BEACH!
The very thought that it could be contaminated and ruined with gummy black oil is just a heart-breaker. And the wildlife! What of them? I cannot bear to think of it.

I'm so very glad I got the chance to see it again now - while it is still as gorgeous as I remember. Just so very glad.

Oh yes! I forgot to mention that, before I ventured out into the sun, I got myself a hat:

I liked it so much I went back the next day and bought myself a pink one just like it. Every woman deserves a new hat once in a while. Or two.

And this is the story of my Trip to Bountiful...

AngelMay

In A Pig's Eye! We're Hosed!

2010-05-19T16:40:00.001-07:00

Somehow, we managed to get jet-lag. A really bad case of jet-lag even though we have not been flying. Because Arizona does not do daylight savings time, we were thrown very rapidly from Pacific Time to Mountain Time to Central Time. Pow pow pow! Just like that. Amazing what losing two hours will do to you. But, other than being complete zombies for a couple of days, we are having a good time.

Saw Mexican mountains looking across the Rio Grande into Mexico. Very pretty.

Saw farms in West Texas being worked:

Saw wide-open spaces and rolling hills in West Texas. Very nice:

And there we were, driving along enjoying the scenery when - suddenly - SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT! We thought we had run into one of those famous Southern gully-washers that come down like gangbusters but quit as quickly as they start. But no! We had, apparently, run into a swarm of bees. You won't believe the mess it made on the windshield. Well...maybe you would. But I refused to take a photo of it out of respect for the dead.

After cleaning the windshield, we saw beautiful wildflowers along the highways and beneath this marvelous oak:

At one stop for the evening, we looked over at another RV that had just pulled in. The door opened and a long ramp was put into place from the door to the ground. Then, out stepped Lucy the Pig for her evening constitutional:

Lucy was quite a hoot. We enjoyed watching her grub around the park and into an adjacent field. She seemed quite at home with it all.

Later we saw a road-runner but he ran so fast I didn't get a chance to take his picture. Goofy bird!

Later, a close encounter with some other animals. This time two beautiful horses that come a runnin' when my good friend whistles for them. We were staying at her home for a day or two along the way and she demonstrated her whistling technique for summoning these two:

Pretty things - and too smart to turn down the carrots they knew were waiting for them.

In my friend's front yard I found this:

It's a blooming prickly pear cactus. Isn't it gorgeous?

No photos for the final story on this day. Best to just tell about it - photos would be a bit much.

As we were leaving our park, we decided to dump the black water tank and clear it out and re-charge it (with a couple of gallons of water) for the trip ahead. In our RV the way you do this is to drain the tank via the usual big sewer hose used by all RVs and then run a garden hose in through the shower window and over to the toilet where you turn it on and run clean water into the tank.

Well, this was all going swimmingly until I decided it was enough water and turned the nozzle off. At least I thought I was turning it off. I turned and turned and it did not turn off. So I turned it in the opposite direction. And turned and turned and - OMG! STOP! TURN THE WATER OFF! HELP! STOP!

The outer part of the nozzle had flown off the thing and down into the black water tank - and now there was no way to turn the water off which was still spewing crazily from the hose.

We finally got the water turned off. Now we need a new nozzle.

I wonder how many RVers are driving around with a hose nozzle in their black water tanks.
Maybe I don't really want to know.

That's my story....

AngelMay

Southwestern Trekking

2010-05-14T15:39:00.000-07:00

On leaving Flagstaff for Tucson, we encountered the above scenic vista along the way. I was mightily impressed at the sheer expanse of land in this country that is unused by humans. There were literally miles upon miles of square miles with absolutely no sign of human life, though I'm sure it is teeming with other forms of life. There is an inexplicable beauty to something so untouched by humans.

A little farther down the road we encountered this gentleman:

He appears as though responding to the command: "This is a stick-up!"

Some human habitation is present here:

...but there is so little water in evidence one wonders how they manage.

Here is an example of the beauty we encountered along our way:

What gorgeous blooms! The colors are in-your-face unashamed of their boldness. I love them!

And who would think that a pile of rocks could be so pretty?

Apparently, they mean so much to the state of Arizona that there is a law against defacing them in any way. Can't blame them for that. Quite lovely, really.

Las Cruces, New Mexico as we approached:

I found the scene to be totally awesome.

I must relate one horrifying incident that occurred today. At one point we had spied a grocery store from the Interstate and exited to do some shopping. As I got out of the RV I was attempting to pocket my cell phone when I dropped it onto the asphalt of the parking lot - breaking it apart into several pieces.

At first I just stared at it with my mouth open in disbelief. After all, this is my lifeline to the world! I picked up the pieces as if they were parts of a loved child and gently tried putting them back together again. Lo! The battery slid back into its place. Then the back cover snapped into place over it. Next the front clam-shell flap snapped back into place as well - after a try or two. Finally, I held my breath and turned it on. Voila! I felt it vibrate into life and the audible swish of the AT&T logo was heard. I gave it a try - and all my numbers were still there waiting for me.

I exhaled.

That's my story....

AngelMay