Dramatically eye-catching are the colors red and yellow when paired, so this photo I found on the sthr site today is my aesthetically pleasing pick of the day. I know I should be preparing mentally for winter, but I just needed one more sunny shot of color before it fades away until spring.
--Fortuitous Observer
Just in time for the holiday season, this picture put a smile on my face the size of the Mississippi River and has me in the Christmas spirit today. Bikes with lights! How fun is this? Aesthetically pleasing on an otherwise dull day.
Photo from uniquedaily.com
--Fortuitous Observer
A few weeks ago I posted some inaniloquent musings about things I miss (mostly from my childhood in the 80s), and my Generation X nostalgia crept in again this morning with flashbacks of everything "80s" like television shows, games, friends, playing outside, nukes, and of course our Atari system.
Growing up as an Xer during the Cold War was such an anxious time (at least for me) because the threat of nuclear annihilation lingered constantly in the back of the mind, like that musty smell in an attic that no amount of mothballs can shake (I honestly prefer the musty smell to the mothball smell). I remember riding my bike one evening and the sky looked strange, purple and dark grey, and I thought, "Oh, know, the bomb has been released and I'm going to die."
Doom and gloom were always present in me, so when Atari came along, and my parents decided to buy the system for us, it was something new and wildly exciting that took my mind off exploding into a million radiated bits.
My parents (like many parents at that time) were worried that we would no longer want to play outside and that we would become zombies, addicted to this new fangled machine with it's hideous graphics (I'll be honest, we didn't find those graphics hideous at the time because we had nothing to compare them to, except Pong, and hands down, Atari graphics were much better), replete with sound effects.
It turns out, our parents didn't need to worry about coercing us into video gaming rehab or force us to go outside and get some fresh air. We wanted to be outdoors. Sure, trying to figure out the new Raiders of the Lost Ark game or improve our Missile Command skills was fun stuff, but after a while, the outside world called our names, boredom with the Atari system would set in and we would be jonesing (now there is a lost but not forgotten 80s term for you) to get outside and pass the football around, or build a tree house, or dig in the dirt.
Being in the outdoors seemed less scary after playing indoors with the Atari, though I'm not sure why. The foreboding war still loomed in the background as before, but perhaps my desire to "live" or my bravery intensified after experiencing being shot at by space creatures, dodging barrels hurled at me by King Kong, or swinging over a pit in the jungle to escape deadly scorpions? Game Over.
--Fortuitous Observer
Today is a quiet mid-August Sunday morning, and of course Poseidon is still asleep, so I'm enjoying my solitude and catching up on Facebook, emails, and all things electronic. I noticed several brown leaves falling from one of the large oaks in our front yard. It has begun. Summer is subtly fading into autumn and I'm usually excited by this change, even though I a sun bunny. I will miss the coconut smell of sun screen and lotion, and the smell of chlorine from the neighborhood swim club and the bright sun that makes sure my body is well equipped with its much needed Vitamin D!
I won't miss the swim moms dropping their spawn off at the swim club, that is for sure. Poseidon and I have come close to death on more than one occasion this summer by the inability of these swim moms to drive like they've had a license for more than 20 minutes. Seriously, there should be a sign near the swim club entrance that reads, "Got a uterus? Don't Even Try to Parallel Park." The other evening, Poseidon and I were driving on our street, past the swim club, when a woman in an SUV decides it's safe to do a U-turn right in front of us! We had to slam on the breaks, and I honked the horn and I guess she was so embarrassed she took off like a bat out of hell down the street. We had managed to survive yet another moronic assault by the swim moms!
Anyway, back to the tranquil part of this morning. Though the falling leaves are a sign that summer will soon come to the end of its annual reign, I'm ok with it this year. It's been a summer filled with decision making and preparing our house to go on the market, having strangers parade through our home, critiquing it, scrutinizing it, etc. Leaving one job, beginning a new one. Having been married for a year now (1 year on August 28th) without incident, though had we not had someone come in and install the new toilet we tried to do ourselves, the word divorce may have gotten batted back and forth. So long summer of 2011. I'll miss you when mid-November is here, but you will be back again. You've never let me down, and unless the Aztec calendar is right and we are all going to crash and burn in 2012, I suppose, if I'm lucky enough, I'll see you again and again.
--Fortuitous Observer
Winter solstice, first day of winter, whatever you want to call it, I call it the demise of Jack Frost (sorry Jack), and I am happy that it has finally arrived, because it means days are slowly (and I mean snail-slug-tortoise slow) getting longer now, and nights growing shorter. Farewell grey skies (though I will admit, I love watching the snow fall like pretty little diamonds), cold mornings--and afternoons and nights. Au revoir frigid car seats, and feet that won't warm despite the 10 pair of socks enveloping my little piggies (there it is again, hyperbole, I've actually only worn 2 pairs of socks at one time).
I am a sun bunny. I love the sun, I love being outside in the sun, I love the humidity (yes, I really do), and I even love seeing my kooky little freckles, that make me, me, sneaking out (like the groundhog on Groundhound Day), hoping to soak up some sorely missed sunlight and all that lovely, lovely vitamin D.
So, thank you winter solstice for finally arriving, now you can go away. Though I know you will take your sweet time, I will dip into the assemblage of patience that I am somehow able to store up during this season every year and calmly wait for the return of our brightest star, my beloved sun.
P.S. Check out the song I added (the link below)...I heard this the other day and it is really growing on me. It's from Eux Autres' newest album. It makes me think of summer!
--Fortuitous Observer
Tomorrow I'm running a 5K, the 30th annual Run for the Roses. A portion of the proceeds go to Carolina Canines for Service, which is a good cause. I'm doing the run because I enjoy running now, and it feels good to set a short-term goal. As with my previous race, my goal is simply to finish, and not focus on my timing (although I know it has improved since my last run in June).
Why does anyone care? They probably don't but I'm taking the time to blog about it for three reasons:
1. I'm quite proud of myself for making another short-term goal and sticking to it. For me, that is an accomplishment of cyclopean measure.
2. My brother jumped on board the running train and is going to run with me, and I'm very proud of him.
3. The third and most important reason to blog about my event is that this could be my last blog entry for a while (here comes the drama queen from behind the curtain...enough already). The high tomorrow will barely be in the 40s. Now, I know this is above freezing and all, but it's cold. My legs could freeze (not literally, I'm talking figuratively now) up on me and I could trip and fall, and roll right into the ditch on Blount Street and no one will stop to pick me up. I could trip and crack my ankle, splintering it into a thousand pieces and roll into the ditch on Halifax street and no one will pick me up. What if I slip on an icy patch, land on my head, knock myself out and roll into a ditch behind Peace College and no one picks me up?
Hmmm, I don't think I'm worried so much about getting hurt, I think I have abandonment issues.
--Fortuitous Observer
I was hoping to enjoy a teeny bit of snow and bird watching early this morning, but it was too warm and snow rarely graces North Carolina with her presence, and the squirrels have stolen my bird feeder, again. Yes, the little bastards literally stole it. Chirp, chirp, chirp? Nope.
The "burglary" happened a couple of months ago and I've been too cheap to spend money on another bird feeder because this latest theft is the second in what appears to be a desire for absolute neighborhood domination. Poseidon found a feeder that is guaranteedto be "squirrel proof" but I'm skeptical. I'm skeptical because it has a price tag of almost $90, but mostly because the manufacturers of this guaranteed squirrel proof bird feeder haven't met the sly kleptomaniacal rodents with fluffy tails bunking in my backyard.
I have blogged about these bugger squirrels in the past. They don't give up, and I have to respect that, I truly do. It may take them weeks or months to filch the bird feeder, but they will. They will attack it, poke it, pull at it, and chew at it until it cracks open like a pinata full of sunflower goodies. I've personally witnessed them involved in acrobatic feats that would stun the most avid viewer of the Animal Planet channel, just to break open that feeder.
I miss watching the cardinals, the blue birds, the finches, and even the woodpecker who used to pop in for a snack. I miss them and their beauty and grace and the rave reviews they gave my seed in the "Uptown Birdy Times" but I'm not ready to spend $90 on another feeder (I also think I'm still too young to become a birdwatcher, but having lived in urburbia for many years, I forgot what they look like so they are a bit like a circus freak show to me...I can't help but watch). Anyway, until such time I decide to shell out the bucks, I will have to enjoy squirrel watching instead of birdwatching and allow the score to stand for now: squirrels - 2, birds - zip.
Damn, I wish it would snow...
--Fortuitous Observer
September 1, 2009. I have my windows open on this beautiful Carolina morning. I'm confused, however, because it should be humid and in the upper 80's at 10am. I'm a sun bunny, and I don't mind heat and yes, even a little humidity, but I have to admit I'm digging this morning, and so is that pesky little squirrel who keeps trying to get into my anti-squirrel bird feeder (of course I had to snap a pic).
I have to hand it to him, he is a trooper. He doesn't give up. I'm going to learn from him today. I had a not so great day yesterday. Being unemployed for 6 months can sometimes sneak up on me, even though I try to stay active and upbeat, the mean blues (or according to Holly Golightly, the mean reds) creep up on me unexpectedly from time to time. Having suffered from chronic depression most of my life, I am still sometimes overwhelmed when it hits. One would think by now I would be used to it, but no (though I am medicated!!!! Yeah for meds).
Anyway, getting back to the squirrel. He doesn't give up. He is out there everyday, rain or shine, trying to claw his way through the metal wiring on the bird feeder. He doesn't care that it was made specifically to keep rodents like him from stealing seed rightfully belonging to birds. He will not hear that. Nay, he will have those sunflowers!
Remember Laverne and Shirely? When Shirely would be feeling down, or not wanting to go along with one of Laverne's schemes, Laverne would sing the song "High Hopes" to her, you know the one about the little ant thinking he can move a rubber tree plant? The squirrel reminded me of that, so that will be the song stuck in my head ALL DAY LONG. I found this version on youtube today, so everybody sing!!
--Fortuitous Observer
I broke out in hives this morning. It happens from time to time, though the hives have been making more frequent appearances lately because whether or not I want to admit it, I am stressed about being unemployed.
Usually the hives appear on my forearm, or down the side of my neck. They hang around for a day or two, then skip away quietly. This morning was different, however. They appeared on my stomach. I would be irritated about them except this time they reminded me of a childhood experience that I thought would be great to share. Let's face it, sometimes fodder for my blog hits me out of nowhere.
When I was around 6 years old, we were visiting some of my parents' friends for the evening. Their kids were older than I was, in their teens, but they played with me. They were rather cool. They lived on a farm. It was a small farm, with a couple of cows, a horse (maybe two), lots of dogs, some chickens, and maybe a goat (or that could have been my little brother, it's kind of fuzzy now). I remember we were catching fireflies (a.k.a. lightning bugs), starting at early dusk. We we were putting the fireflies we caught into a jar with a lid, but air holes were punched in the lid so as not to kill them (though I don't understand that logic because the older kids were taking the bugs and smashing them on their shirts so their shirts would glow, killing the bugs anyway).
I was so excited. Mainly because these older cool kids were playing with me instead of ignoring me. I ran around like a little pixie, running and jumping and laughing and catching the fireflies. I saw a HUGE firefly, the largest one I'd ever seen. His light was the twice the size as the others. I had to have him damn it! I chased him, and just as he flew over the fence toward the horse, I jumped, grabbed hold of the fence and reached...wait...I've just grabbed hold of an electric fence!
My entire body was shaking and jerking, and my teeth were rattling like a bag of marbles! I couldn't move. I couldn't let go. I was captured like a fly in a web (only this web was belting out some powerful jolts). I remember the bigger kids trying to pry my hands off of the fence, and it wasn't easy. After a few seconds though, they had finally freed me.
They carried me into the house where the adults were and I was shaking and my speech was a bit slow and stuttering. I had welts all over my stomach and arms an legs that looked like I'd swallowed a bunch of rats and the rats were trying to scratch their way out from the inside. May hair was standing up straight (yes, that really does happen) and I felt like I'd just come back from the dead.
I don't remember much after that. My parents and their friends had brought some cool clothes in to put on my head (oh, yeah, I had a headache too), and they were cooing over me and so sorry about what had happened. I remember thinking that I was like a superhero now or something. I'd survived being shocked and I could probably shoot gamma rays from my eyes, hitting my sister and brother and melting them into oblivion if I wanted.
Turns out I didn't acquire super powers, just some minor scratches and welts that healed within a few days and my hair didn't stick up the next morning. I can tell you that I did not even consider catching fireflies after that, and when I see those greenish-yellow lights in my backyard now, I shudder. I myself was a "firefly" that long ago night so I have walked in their shoes (or flown in their wings...) and that's as close as I ever need to get to them again.
--Fortuitous Observer
Several weeks ago, on my daily run around the lake near my home, I was chased by a goose. I didn't fault the goose because the goose's babies, or goslings to be correct, had just hatched, and I'm sure they were concerned that I was up to no good, and that I would do something sinister, like eat their babies, kidnap them and put them up for sale in the underground goose market, or kick punt them into the lake. I love animals, but they didn't know that.
Now that the goslings are a bit older and stronger, you would think the geese would leave me alone. I run around that lake almost every day, and if I haven't touched the babies by now, I'm not going to. That isn't good enough for these geese. I'm still a potential rapscallion, out to do harm. Today, while doing my usual 2 mile run, I spotted a goose in the running path ahead of me. He seemed to be hanging out, minding his business, and as I got closer, I slowed my speed a bit, just in case the goose wanted to cross in front of me. He didn't. He wanted to eat me! OK, maybe not exactly devour me, but he squawked and ran toward me, beak wide open! I didn't think geese attacked unless provoked, or if they are protecting their babes. Maybe I scared him. I also thought geese were vegetarians and that I would not be a likely meal. Not the case (I looked it up when I got back home: http://www.poultrypages.com/goose-facts.html)! They like a little meat in their diet.
I talked to the goose, assuring him I was not going to hurt him, his mate or his children. Even though I'm unemployed, I can still pay for food, explaining that I was not out foraging for dinner and uninterested in goose liver pate at the moment.
He seemed to accept this and backed off to let me pass. Whew. I ran what was left of my 2 mile trail, headed back home, made sure I had no fowl in my fridge, and spent the rest of the afternoon contemplating a stiff drink rather than job searching.
--Fortuitous Observer
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