There's a worldwide rice shortage, a result of half-a-decade of drought. With global warming here, I figure I might as well record the change of seasons while there still is a change in seasons.
Upstate New York: a photo-study of a
backyard in a commuter suburb.
My friend, one of my bestest friends actually, almost always have some news to share with me. Sometimes exciting, sometimes simply surprising, sometimes disturbing, sometimes depressing, but always so intimate; in that a select few, myself fortunately included, are made privy too.
Today she sends me an email. She's become an avid cyclist, with a scheduled bike tour to boot. She hasn't gotten around to naming the thing yet, but I'm pretty sure I can convince her to go with "Big Bright Blue" (not to mention "Bicycle").
She was rescued by some people. She was found on the road, had probably been hit by a car. Brought to the vet's office and received much-needed care she began to recover. But upon the day of her release, the vet noticed something odd: she didn't take flight. He surmised that the accident caused her to be blind and thus unable to hunt for herself in the wild. Reluctant to euthanize her, he's training her to be hand-fed and hopes that a bird sanctuary or private owners will take her in and care for her.
A friend, captivated by these two beauties, captured them in digital film. The turtles grew up in a pet store; used to being around humans, they didn't mind a petting scratch on their heads or under their chins. Don't be fooled though, they're massive in size and weight.
I missed my train home yesterday, just as rush hour began to wane. Stupid me, I stood behind a pillar and missed the alert displaying the departure track. But at least good music abound. This band I think was named Jet and Ret or Jed and Rhet...not quite sure. But they sported really long, gravity-defying hair and even better music.
Once I was passing through the celestial and chandeliered halls of 42nd Street/Grand Central Station while the NY Transit was holding auditions for the subway's slew of singers and performers; and I was amazed at the queue: a punk-rock teen Japanese band, a string quartet, and a patient guy with a harmonica.
Kudos NY Transit on the auditory quality control. I was displeased at missing my train, but was duly pacified and lulled by the band.
Even with abnormally high temperatures this winter, most flowers still have the good sense to stay underground and wait for true spring. But this sign of intrinsic, natural intelligence deprives one of the scent and scene of a garden in colorful bloom. Missing the sight, I started creating a garden indoors, where the temperature is temperate all year round and rain pours consistently out of a watering can.
*The digital portraits of the African violets are currently MIA, I can't seem to capture them in decent enough light.
This black cat has frequented our house since my family moved here two years ago. The first year she came with a small kitten, a daughter who in the next year visited with her own litter of three.
This past summer, I remember seeing her for the first time in a long while. She looked emaciated and tired; thinning areas on her back showed white against the black of her fur. I worried she had fought a fight, with either feline or canine, she could not win.
Fortunately my parents, for an unknown reason, always have in stock cans of tuna. Tuna, I believe, replenishes a cat's nine lives. The potent elixir did her much good, and soon she began to put on weight and gradually her ebony coat grew back.
A keen huntress, I had seen her crouch in wait and spring in surprise attack at the backyard squirrels and birds. She's managed to survive as a stray in a forest of houses, cars, and pavement. I hope I did enough to assure she lives out her remaining lives.
A good number of my friends disliked this year's Rockefeller Christmas tree, but I for one liked the blue.
About a month ago, can't quite remember when, on a grey afternoon just after work, I went to the Museum of American Illustration on East 63rd Street. It was a wonderful experience: artful and playful...lively renditions of the world of childhood.
This past October, we attended a friend's wedding in Lynchburgh, Virginia. Actually, the ceremony was held in one Rustburgh, Virginia. Never been that far South, this Northerner looked forward to the culture clash. Either I stayed in too much, or most of the people I talked with at the wedding were Yankees to be begin with. So fortunately, and uninterestingly, there wasn't much to note concerning human interactions. The Blue Ridge Mountains more than made up for it though.
Yes, before you is an Empire Red Kitchen Aid Artisan mixer from Williams-Sonoma.
The owner smiles a secret and thoughtful grin then exclaims: "The only thing I have to say is that I can't wait to use it! The only limiting factors are time and flour!"
