It took me a while to finally get the Spiderwort to show properly blue. This is the way I see them outside. They turn purple or violet when photographed and my job was to finally get the hue corrected. it wasn’t easy, but I did it. It sure took long enough!
Personally, I think he’s blue. His beak has always looked blue to me and this boy also has blue eyes, too. I know he’s a boy because the girls are all a pale taupe brown, so the boys have all the color!
Obviously, his beak has to match his eyes, right? And it would be a birdy embarrassment should his feathers fail to match the eyes and beak.
Bird colors are usually well-organized. Well, mostly, anyway.
Anyway, some people feel he is really a blackbird. Some think he is actually dark green. But in the sunshine, all my Brown-Headed Cowbirds have been strikingly blue.
I’m not sure there really is such a thing as a black anything. Even my black clothing, as it gets washed, it turns dark navy. I think all blackbirds are really a very dark shade of blue. Nothing but space is truly black because black is the absence of color. In our world, there is no such thing as an absence of color.
It’s definitely the season of the daylilies. They really are everywhere. I keep trying to find new ways to take pictures of daylilies that don’t look exactly like the last set of daylilies, but so far … well … they look like daylilies. In particular, the leggy tall ones we grow locally.
And so, it did not rain today. No thunder or lightning. Only a few passing clouds. Warm, but not humid. In fact, as close to a perfect summer’s day as one could ask for.
We had a lot of errands to run today — and more tomorrow. But wherever we drove, there were daylilies along the road, in gardens, in the woods. I’ve never seen the roads so green.
Weeds and vines have wrapped the fences by the road, overflowed their usual locations and seem to be trying to enclose the whole world.
And everywhere, you could see orange daylilies peeking out from between the greenery. Somehow, these originally imported flowers have become a symbol of summer in New England.
I was grateful for the long day because I knew I would be able to photograph the flowers when we came back from doctors, pharmacy, garage, and grocery. It was a long day and I still have had time to go through my email. I don’t think I’m going to get through it today at all. All this evening, I’ve been processing the pictures I took earlier.
By Friday, I’ll need a gurney to move me to the exhaustion ward.
Are you more a thinker or a doer?
Either I just do it and then have a lifetime to think about how I — if I’d thought about it more — could have done it better or preferably, not at all. As an alternative, I think about it, decide not to do it, then spend years wishing I had done it.
As a third choice, I think, rethink, change my mind, begin the process, stop — write something or take a few pictures — while completely forgetting what I was going to do. When finally I remember my original intention, it doesn’t seem all that important so I read a book.
Why is beauty associated with mortality?
Because dead people putrefy? Because rotting bodies aren’t as attractive as live ones? Even when that individual — when alive — wasn’t beautiful they look worse when dead.
As proof of this statement, I have yet to see a single advertisement for anything using rotting corpses. I mean — seriously — dead people don’t enjoy beer and don’t look good in snug jeans. I’m pretty sure if advertisers aren’t using corpses (who would probably not need to be paid, so it would definitely be to their advantage to work with the dead), it’s probably because corpses are not attractive.
But when I die, hey, if you think this is a good idea, by all means. I’m pretty sure I won’t care.
If everyone spoke their mind (told the literal truth), would this world be a better place?
No. It would be just like it is but worse. Life would be harder, colder, and even more full of blowhards who don’t bother to give a moment’s thought before running their mouths. It’s bad enough now. That would make it oh so much worse.
Your mouth is not supposed to be where random crap just falls out. We are supposed to think. That is why we have brains — which are supposed to be in charge of our mouths. Ponder that.
In the toilet, things just “fall out.” When they stink, you flush them away.
Sadly, once said, you have put it into the world and can never make it go away. There’s no flushing your words. They sear permanently on the minds of whoever is unlucky enough to hear them.
Your mouth isn’t supposed to be the verbal end of your anus. What comes out of it is supposed to have polish. Class. Wit. Elegance. Kindness. Compassion. Love. Maybe even brilliance. Toddlers say whatever flows into their unkempt young minds and that’s okay. They were born to learn and we teach them to not grow up and continue to act like toddlers.
I am sick to death of people who think they are “special” because they don’t know when to shut up.
We went to a party (left early) where one (drunken) woman was blathering endlessly about how proud she was to have started smoking again now that she was done with chemo and cancer. She was proud of this. She has a daughter. What’s her message?
What happened to class? Grammar? Elegant phrasing? Facts before opinions? Where went wit and cleverness? Concepts based on research? Has intelligence gone completely out of style? If it has, we are doomed.
Can religious beliefs affect scientific thinking?
Amongst the stupid, yes. Brighter people don’t seem to have this problem.
An attitude of gratitude: If you’d like to, share some gratitude in a photo, written, or song.
The day is bright and sunny and for this small thing, praised be the rain gods for going somewhere else to do their thing.
And so on a particularly warm and bright June day, we took ourselves down to the Blackstone in Rhode Island.
Not knowing what we would find, this time we met two kayakers. Each had his and her own kayak, one blue and one red. There was a lot of discussion about whether to paddle up or downstream.
A general consensus existed that there wasn’t very far upstream one could paddle … that it was too rocky or possibly too narrow, but they decided to give it a try anyway. I don’t know how far they got, but it was a beautiful day, so why not?
This post began because my husband is not fascinated by dinosaurs. He seemed a bit baffled as to why I’d want to write a story about dinosaurs.
Note: Should a dinosaur wander through my back yard, be assured that I will be out there taking pictures until either the huge reptile ambles away or eats me, whichever comes first.
Unlike many things which have adult origins — technology, philosophy, history — all the “ologies” and “osophies” that attended my education and subsequent research — my passion for dinosaurs goes all the way back, back, back in time to when I was four or five years old and my Aunt Ethel took me to see “Fantasia,” the original, not the later remake.
Who remembers in “Fantasia” the history of the earth, starring the rise and fall of the dinosaurs? It is set to Igor Stravinsky’s brilliant “The Rites of Spring.” The music itself might be enough, but with the Disney artists on their best game, it was something else and embedded itself in my mind for a lifetime.
None of the movie’s graphics were generated by computers. All of them … each frame … was drawn by human artists. The music was played live by an orchestra full of real musicians. Contrary to popular opinion, special effects were not invented by Steven Spielberg.
I was just a little kid and it scared the bejeezus out of me. I had nightmares for years about dinosaurs hiding under the bed, in the hallway, in my closet. I couldn’t sleep without a nightlight because I was sure there was a dinosaur lurking, ready to grab me in giant jaws with teeth 9 feet long. I was a child of great imagination and excessive sensitivity.
As I got older, I began to read books and discovered lots of really cool stuff about dinosaurs, most important (to me) was that North America — what is now the middle of the United States had been giant reptile central, the heartland of the Brontosaurus, Velociraptor and other astonishing creatures. Wyoming was the hot point where Tyrannosaurus Rex ruled. Perhaps their legacy lives on in Washington D.C., but I digress.
When this was made, the whole asteroid thing was yet unknown, so the history of the earth is missing that piece of information, but I’m sure Disney’s artists would have happily included it had they known. Meanwhile, I’m totally whacked at the idea of the earth getting hit by an asteroid. I always have a good laugh when someone in some space lab mentions, casually, that there’s an asteroid headed our way, but not to worry, there’s no better than a 50-50 chance it will really hit us.
That we pathetic creatures, crawling around the surface of the earth, believe we are all-powerful and can control our destiny by technology is funny. Not only has this planet been hit by asteroids — not once but many times — but each time, the event precipitated the extinction of Earth’s dominant species. The dinosaurs lasted a lot longer than we have. Should one of those big hunks of space debris smack into us, I think it unlikely that all the computers, weaponry, technology or prayers we can muster will be of any use at all. Our collective ass will be grass without even the opportunity to text our best buddies about the impending big bang.
We will be gone, quite likely having had even less effect on our planet, in the final analysis, than did the dinosaurs.
Humankind has always suffered above all from the sin of pride. Hubris, as the Greeks called it. We think we are creatures of God and perhaps we are, but who said we are the only creatures of God or that He gave us a permanent free pass from extermination?
And this is what so fascinates me and probably always will. That these creatures, these huge, powerful creatures who ruled this planet for more years than we can comprehend were, in a single calamitous event, exterminated. Eliminated from the earth leaving just their bones by which to remember them. And we think we are so all-powerful. I bet they thought so, too.