tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87645637413597010272024-03-17T14:19:31.296-07:00phantsythatThen there's <a href="http://adventuresink.blogspot.com/"> Adventures, Ink </a>susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.comBlogger760125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-49868843215421717852024-03-16T22:14:00.015-07:002024-03-16T22:30:56.928-07:00The Return of Baby Days<p> </p><h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name">
Baby Days
</h3>
<div class="post-header">
<div class="post-header-line-1"></div>
</div>
<div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-6565002151604194579" itemprop="description articleBody">
<i>Baby Days was drawn over the course of three years during the 1990s.
By the time a dozen drawings were complete I started to write the story
that had been driving the process. Now 20 years later I still like what
it has to say and so, apparently, do a few friends. Since it's unlikely
to see publication in any format other than this one I hope you'll enjoy
it as it is. <br />
<br />
Thank you for coming by.<br />
Susan 2013 now again 2024</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_maLwxrrsgGq4DV3CX15nHtSluMISHHiHjyd4GZ59LxIcGjj_MUkmUXIDgWqz1ldcjktEUi3w4URJfliI_tqUnfoMUmn4HaqXbZW7gdN1_FWmahT-LmqYRtmJ9RaNsjy3M8yDiJztA0X_/s1600/bd1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_maLwxrrsgGq4DV3CX15nHtSluMISHHiHjyd4GZ59LxIcGjj_MUkmUXIDgWqz1ldcjktEUi3w4URJfliI_tqUnfoMUmn4HaqXbZW7gdN1_FWmahT-LmqYRtmJ9RaNsjy3M8yDiJztA0X_/s640/bd1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
We wonder how we came here</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
We wonder why we're born</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
In dreaming slept an answer</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
That woke one Summer morn</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVgdBOCBPb1_F-1bBrxmX91cl9EHETBn5t9yCPvB_G6yMcD2j48nK56G8RrpiL0NwN9b9t7ElkRfPRU9DYX32L1zO-_ID2dLeaIrDjL-8Bq5rBMImdDzPtG_Xn3AE9ZYZB-fRUdWFI8q6z/s1600/bd2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVgdBOCBPb1_F-1bBrxmX91cl9EHETBn5t9yCPvB_G6yMcD2j48nK56G8RrpiL0NwN9b9t7ElkRfPRU9DYX32L1zO-_ID2dLeaIrDjL-8Bq5rBMImdDzPtG_Xn3AE9ZYZB-fRUdWFI8q6z/s640/bd2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
A voice is softly calling</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Unheard by grownup ears</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkmL7w6R2p5FF197XcUSkLyGm1IugLE_6pDA095_uAzcMZZG5uXUQT3M0lxnNK98gBTTVo_pk0fhLG-5fYunwPYU4ZVFgVCqL4N1mzqrj9VnwmGk4qFZsRHA_MQhb8t-4uz9vnLSD0Eo5a/s1600/bd3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkmL7w6R2p5FF197XcUSkLyGm1IugLE_6pDA095_uAzcMZZG5uXUQT3M0lxnNK98gBTTVo_pk0fhLG-5fYunwPYU4ZVFgVCqL4N1mzqrj9VnwmGk4qFZsRHA_MQhb8t-4uz9vnLSD0Eo5a/s640/bd3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
It whispers love and kindness</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Yet never speaks of tears</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw4Esk7tfCy_7JIkyrITPSWMJnUFa_x4S67GSAw4oMmZcJz2A9S0PaDiuagAZ7Dj3YSu1XUqK5FzRnkJdarpBHqfIPHx9MbxRdx38tlJGREqUUCxG_C6-xIjjglxkmLRMnlokGbyEIePTM/s1600/bd4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw4Esk7tfCy_7JIkyrITPSWMJnUFa_x4S67GSAw4oMmZcJz2A9S0PaDiuagAZ7Dj3YSu1XUqK5FzRnkJdarpBHqfIPHx9MbxRdx38tlJGREqUUCxG_C6-xIjjglxkmLRMnlokGbyEIePTM/s640/bd4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
It calls us all together</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
And sings a haunting song</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlKdro1xEO495d9XkT-fE9zFUIZV1wkEpO6NUCZr_Cykvg4BNlvYsk4FHkYfA-dObz3PTE6MD2LzyDRHUSYkCWHGbmTbdkluFpYctwitXfRNXzuUaz4xOVhHbmH5xZ9XFxe_sxH67uz7Jh/s1600/bd5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlKdro1xEO495d9XkT-fE9zFUIZV1wkEpO6NUCZr_Cykvg4BNlvYsk4FHkYfA-dObz3PTE6MD2LzyDRHUSYkCWHGbmTbdkluFpYctwitXfRNXzuUaz4xOVhHbmH5xZ9XFxe_sxH67uz7Jh/s640/bd5.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
A journey must be taken</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
We haven't very long</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2a55tGSlFXW90COlk26EFa9MyepU4Nh6BMV8kPI9lLvZFAzraCplPptZBfm3dhRna54qQJ1joGD75CcULxbwOUocOy4jsW3s9z4F6dgm82bCNuUF0gTaPnHR9wJE-tILs4ybK4flBkPzl/s1600/bd6.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2a55tGSlFXW90COlk26EFa9MyepU4Nh6BMV8kPI9lLvZFAzraCplPptZBfm3dhRna54qQJ1joGD75CcULxbwOUocOy4jsW3s9z4F6dgm82bCNuUF0gTaPnHR9wJE-tILs4ybK4flBkPzl/s640/bd6.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The plans are made in secret</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
In babbling baby talk</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0GbDR1ZqsFqtXpmme75q8wUwCAyio1vl12FqPBDhCTCJzBHgAy4j5h2ccU_T7MfpMzjkkKQvy_HL6VRFzRzR3ttaawpclXBCP1WjgRHdCHuY0zoxouArFzTNzPwmxkAlWsDgUN8Kf_PZu/s1600/bd7.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0GbDR1ZqsFqtXpmme75q8wUwCAyio1vl12FqPBDhCTCJzBHgAy4j5h2ccU_T7MfpMzjkkKQvy_HL6VRFzRzR3ttaawpclXBCP1WjgRHdCHuY0zoxouArFzTNzPwmxkAlWsDgUN8Kf_PZu/s640/bd7.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The journey is a long one</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
It's much too far to walk </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzHfy0pjDV2e4VnHzdc5ms9BnnU_CWXe6pDOf_pu3PrCI-csKs3T5gNN4bNUX4teVz9J2katUeGxvWxm3GVL-6llIkRXCWZ3OIzoGh15yQRzq-IbmAa-cIZDWK4D0VHIhn0GNMiJeYZNb-/s1600/bd8.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzHfy0pjDV2e4VnHzdc5ms9BnnU_CWXe6pDOf_pu3PrCI-csKs3T5gNN4bNUX4teVz9J2katUeGxvWxm3GVL-6llIkRXCWZ3OIzoGh15yQRzq-IbmAa-cIZDWK4D0VHIhn0GNMiJeYZNb-/s640/bd8.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
We need some true companions</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
To help us in our flight</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJH6xLjscaPbG53ukS4__Jw68AMzXvhpzwyRl6TgqcAENR_o65WzgC4kgkfXTIUXC5QiAp2KsaPGWoRsJXNXUzNPHJfAFDPh6HUvc99_VsCzR9umF9yX9HrQKveyKdlqX3ii_5Ws-OmB0j/s1600/bd9.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJH6xLjscaPbG53ukS4__Jw68AMzXvhpzwyRl6TgqcAENR_o65WzgC4kgkfXTIUXC5QiAp2KsaPGWoRsJXNXUzNPHJfAFDPh6HUvc99_VsCzR9umF9yX9HrQKveyKdlqX3ii_5Ws-OmB0j/s640/bd9.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
We travel into darkness</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
That comes with every night</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPvQeUllnTrKVuC0jPhbLluOs8MPOZ3BYKgvGyW-7BKvXCa7K1HXziFtPYIS8I9sdW13SJYez2muZhww2k_gJBWwdzfZ8rITDJHs1KvdvRSz7U_Y9a3bWwnkEiTkLdyUvYscFlgote90ln/s1600/bd10.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
<img border="0" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPvQeUllnTrKVuC0jPhbLluOs8MPOZ3BYKgvGyW-7BKvXCa7K1HXziFtPYIS8I9sdW13SJYez2muZhww2k_gJBWwdzfZ8rITDJHs1KvdvRSz7U_Y9a3bWwnkEiTkLdyUvYscFlgote90ln/s640/bd10.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
We gather under starlit skies</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
(For children have no fear)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTKjV4ncYtHHA9K3jL4xGPotkWs4TT7t8WVwa4yqCONywaw44fKwNrp29Tu26modI-LCrp4MACQfZkhBYwpZCfyrZKAlguu1vtiU5NqQN017tPyr_Is2MB2yKL9TTVwrZIktwb8768HYxc/s1600/bd11.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTKjV4ncYtHHA9K3jL4xGPotkWs4TT7t8WVwa4yqCONywaw44fKwNrp29Tu26modI-LCrp4MACQfZkhBYwpZCfyrZKAlguu1vtiU5NqQN017tPyr_Is2MB2yKL9TTVwrZIktwb8768HYxc/s640/bd11.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The magic time has come at last</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
To speed away from here</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGpV31jm76FoVr77tduCKH7XT2gYdfRWgjk8J-MXPSNG_9I5uHdysTNnPlLUiJFh-Y6iq9FWhd0K9aTGhX59304F4TztoSX_SqwCcFfLSjvXnT0Jwy2z4chsWV1qIQDc8j9OZhyphenhyphen3fAfAfZ/s640/bd12.jpg" width="640" /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
We fly into the morning light</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
From every distant land</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUbhsvGlP9vooSMA0pyU7UNvpKY1Zm3rSXXfsZGWRY37BhyphenhyphenONkIvhDhidSGLs9NL7PvBFoKhWqaADVF9c8GdpKdMVlNrX-p9lH3hZLYvh85fgW_Vlqd_5qdCNWZYzwgVz_tmTnBY28kbKi/s1600/bd13.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUbhsvGlP9vooSMA0pyU7UNvpKY1Zm3rSXXfsZGWRY37BhyphenhyphenONkIvhDhidSGLs9NL7PvBFoKhWqaADVF9c8GdpKdMVlNrX-p9lH3hZLYvh85fgW_Vlqd_5qdCNWZYzwgVz_tmTnBY28kbKi/s640/bd13.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
To meet out there a mystery</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Perhaps to understand</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNyFB9WkNfId3VHj7MnPE4077XAEIpo3JVcN6bWlyTeouqXu5idW7EVEl_wYVhn-9alQnRmJjxKfrJI6R3HlhNPjSmbPyrhqq67vd1wiZLPAb4bIi5d_Rb5VwQTAqED503dJWccREyXVJ9/s1600/bd14.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNyFB9WkNfId3VHj7MnPE4077XAEIpo3JVcN6bWlyTeouqXu5idW7EVEl_wYVhn-9alQnRmJjxKfrJI6R3HlhNPjSmbPyrhqq67vd1wiZLPAb4bIi5d_Rb5VwQTAqED503dJWccREyXVJ9/s640/bd14.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Even dragons have their children</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Who also ought to learn</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCIwOnCtiiPzcUox-i8NkOEBxAKUX8YnptcPMxUEr7cLDmQdsp5iraGYs8RuDb4OAZd5T4HHlZTwt6H8W7GeVbcEV9ycKYv8rlTDDFGRaotJuSQOhX9ZjNxX5EO_6jjyHWH1HRnivQ2gRA/s1600/bd15.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCIwOnCtiiPzcUox-i8NkOEBxAKUX8YnptcPMxUEr7cLDmQdsp5iraGYs8RuDb4OAZd5T4HHlZTwt6H8W7GeVbcEV9ycKYv8rlTDDFGRaotJuSQOhX9ZjNxX5EO_6jjyHWH1HRnivQ2gRA/s640/bd15.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The world is made for singing</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
As through the stars we turn</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBVixqbSO8c_1GGEjcSruIEyJs0Q5s_qax0avVohTmY9HTjEzLbi1tdU0ly5T6hY9gEiy5Dklzt4-6GH-uyglmHBUhyiDno4K9zXX9oDcUber8Clrck25_P-W8zgBaSPhkSLosg4CNCEBP/s1600/bd16.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBVixqbSO8c_1GGEjcSruIEyJs0Q5s_qax0avVohTmY9HTjEzLbi1tdU0ly5T6hY9gEiy5Dklzt4-6GH-uyglmHBUhyiDno4K9zXX9oDcUber8Clrck25_P-W8zgBaSPhkSLosg4CNCEBP/s640/bd16.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
It's time to travel home now</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
As morning comes to earth </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjbhFV-M98dqkMRegqoOYFNBYZguVLyd_xOlebXaPdqYWMOTyvbihh5EXpCFKwJsk5zug0ukoyrdnZkAmpMbknU5D3XhVR99LMjR3XC2xSSEqqmQ2yzMfdC9snhp_ssa3ObaldAR-rsHWQ/s1600/bd17.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjbhFV-M98dqkMRegqoOYFNBYZguVLyd_xOlebXaPdqYWMOTyvbihh5EXpCFKwJsk5zug0ukoyrdnZkAmpMbknU5D3XhVR99LMjR3XC2xSSEqqmQ2yzMfdC9snhp_ssa3ObaldAR-rsHWQ/s640/bd17.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The light of love rekindles</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
With every baby's birth </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD5VK5iNC3-QqUGPXBrh6DokLD5oXSzh-yn3fMWQUbu7hHkTEZ5arhxdurw1z7B8HmHAel6tECnaLuK_yg3o5QQ1xJ1h6a_gZfO332-yKb61y8Drdd5vVd-Yj3r77caqvleTvY_vgr9naS/s1600/bd18.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD5VK5iNC3-QqUGPXBrh6DokLD5oXSzh-yn3fMWQUbu7hHkTEZ5arhxdurw1z7B8HmHAel6tECnaLuK_yg3o5QQ1xJ1h6a_gZfO332-yKb61y8Drdd5vVd-Yj3r77caqvleTvY_vgr9naS/s640/bd18.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Baby days, sweet baby days</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
We've all been there you know</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Hearts are filled with sweet delight</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
As children learn and grow</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
We hold them for a moment</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
As their childhood slips away</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
We only catch brief glimpses</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Of wondrous baby days.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
♡</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="clear: both;"></div>
</div>
<div class="post-footer">
<div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-1">
<span class="post-author vcard">
</span>
<span class="post-timestamp">
</span>
<span class="post-comment-link">
</span>
<span class="post-icons">
<span class="item-action">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/email-post.g?blogID=8764563741359701027&pageID=6565002151604194579" title="Email Page">
<img alt="" class="icon-action" height="13" src="https://resources.blogblog.com/img/icon18_email.gif" width="18" />
</a>
</span>
</span>
<div class="post-share-buttons goog-inline-block">
</div>
</div>
<div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-2">
<span class="post-labels">
</span>
</div>
<div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-3">
<span class="post-location">
</span>
</div>
</div>
<div class="comments" id="comments">
<a name="comments"></a>
<h4>9 comments:</h4>
<div class="comments-content">
<div id="comment-holder">
<div class="comment-thread toplevel-thread"><ol id="top-ra"><li class="comment" id="c2901907251317848754"><div class="avatar-image-container"><img alt="" src="https://www.blogger.com/img/blogger_logo_round_35.png" /></div><div class="comment-block"><div class="comment-header"><cite class="user"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/profile/05634791656471132347" rel="nofollow">marja-leena</a></cite><span class="icon user"></span><span class="datetime secondary-text"><a href="https://phantsythat.blogspot.com/p/blog-page.html" rel="nofollow">March 29, 2013 at 2:33 PM</a></span></div><p class="comment-content">Fabulous
work, Susan! I've really enjoyed the revisit, especially all together
on one page. Have you thought of printing it yourself, and putting it
together as a little gift book for a lucky child (grandchild, niece,
nephew or friend. Your work is so exquisite.</p><span class="comment-actions secondary-text"><a class="comment-reply" data-comment-id="2901907251317848754" target="_self">Reply</a></span></div><div class="comment-replies"><div class="comment-thread inline-thread" id="c2901907251317848754-rt"><span class="thread-toggle thread-expanded"><span class="thread-arrow"></span><span class="thread-count"><a target="_self">Replies</a></span></span><ol class="thread-chrome thread-expanded" id="c2901907251317848754-ra"><div><li class="comment" id="c5575757870039860427"><div class="avatar-image-container"><img alt="" src="https://www.blogger.com/img/blogger_logo_round_35.png" /></div><div class="comment-block"><div class="comment-header"><cite class="user"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033" rel="nofollow">susan</a></cite><span class="icon user blog-author"></span><span class="datetime secondary-text"><a href="https://phantsythat.blogspot.com/p/blog-page.html" rel="nofollow">March 30, 2013 at 12:38 PM</a></span></div><p class="comment-content">I'm
happy you enjoyed seeing it again in its new format, Marja-Leena. I
looked into having it printed once but decided that a nicely done book
would be too expensive. </p><span class="comment-actions secondary-text"></span></div><div class="comment-replies"></div><div class="comment-replybox-single" id="c5575757870039860427-ce"></div></li></div><div class="continue" id="c2901907251317848754-continue"><a class="comment-reply" data-comment-id="2901907251317848754" target="_self">Reply</a></div></ol></div></div><div class="comment-replybox-single" id="c2901907251317848754-ce"></div></li><li class="comment" id="c6489923184667258429"><div class="avatar-image-container"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuRc2PxDMZBxkkXLzIyeeXQKEvwCEX0ojuAISVrYXQcA7XWbSsjj25-_eXs5o_FfOZVuoVAkZriQMEKVCAIxb9JtPqQ0ilLR06S-6CX3UXgpJ7Iirmu3gGRg6sy_mmBw/s45-c/Sean.jpg" /></div><div class="comment-block"><div class="comment-header"><cite class="user"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/profile/08978285783271305489" rel="nofollow">Sean Jeating</a></cite><span class="icon user"></span><span class="datetime secondary-text"><a href="https://phantsythat.blogspot.com/p/blog-page.html" rel="nofollow">March 30, 2013 at 10:33 AM</a></span></div><p class="comment-content">A heartwarming piece of art. <br />Thank you for sharing it, Susan.</p><span class="comment-actions secondary-text"><a class="comment-reply" data-comment-id="6489923184667258429" target="_self">Reply</a></span></div><div class="comment-replies"><div class="comment-thread inline-thread" id="c6489923184667258429-rt"><span class="thread-toggle thread-expanded"><span class="thread-arrow"></span><span class="thread-count"><a target="_self">Replies</a></span></span><ol class="thread-chrome thread-expanded" id="c6489923184667258429-ra"><div><li class="comment" id="c377499674067656236"><div class="avatar-image-container"><img alt="" src="https://www.blogger.com/img/blogger_logo_round_35.png" /></div><div class="comment-block"><div class="comment-header"><cite class="user"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033" rel="nofollow">susan</a></cite><span class="icon user blog-author"></span><span class="datetime secondary-text"><a href="https://phantsythat.blogspot.com/p/blog-page.html" rel="nofollow">March 30, 2013 at 12:39 PM</a></span></div><p class="comment-content">I'm glad you liked it (again), Sean.<br />♡</p><span class="comment-actions secondary-text"></span></div><div class="comment-replies"></div><div class="comment-replybox-single" id="c377499674067656236-ce"></div></li><li class="comment" id="c5346677352992155891"><div class="avatar-image-container"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuRc2PxDMZBxkkXLzIyeeXQKEvwCEX0ojuAISVrYXQcA7XWbSsjj25-_eXs5o_FfOZVuoVAkZriQMEKVCAIxb9JtPqQ0ilLR06S-6CX3UXgpJ7Iirmu3gGRg6sy_mmBw/s45-c/Sean.jpg" /></div><div class="comment-block"><div class="comment-header"><cite class="user"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/profile/08978285783271305489" rel="nofollow">Sean Jeating</a></cite><span class="icon user"></span><span class="datetime secondary-text"><a href="https://phantsythat.blogspot.com/p/blog-page.html" rel="nofollow">May 6, 2013 at 2:52 PM</a></span></div><p class="comment-content">37 days later:<br />Coming back again and again, and each time I like it a bit more. Just lovely. </p><span class="comment-actions secondary-text"></span></div><div class="comment-replies"></div><div class="comment-replybox-single" id="c5346677352992155891-ce"></div></li></div><div class="continue" id="c6489923184667258429-continue"><a class="comment-reply" data-comment-id="6489923184667258429" target="_self">Reply</a></div></ol></div></div><div class="comment-replybox-single" id="c6489923184667258429-ce"></div></li><li class="comment" id="c4676779124802718708"><div class="avatar-image-container"><img alt="" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rC2EkOOmAX8/Sogyy_tIBxI/AAAAAAAADDU/Qbhz7YNa1_g/S45-s35/Self%2BPortrait%2BColor%2BBeard.JPG" /></div><div class="comment-block"><div class="comment-header"><cite class="user"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/profile/08628329561652344403" rel="nofollow">Steve Emery</a></cite><span class="icon user"></span><span class="datetime secondary-text"><a href="https://phantsythat.blogspot.com/p/blog-page.html" rel="nofollow">March 31, 2013 at 3:37 PM</a></span></div><p class="comment-content">Like last time, these stopped me in my tracks.<br /><br />Bathtub
- The spigots are a wonder (they made me lean in for a closer look with
a big grin on my face). And the light on the floor tiles reminds me
how much I love the rare showers and baths I take in daylight. I am so
glad this is in black and white so your usual magic with textures is the
main event. I'm reminded again of Vallotton's "La Paresse"
http://www.wikigallery.org/wiki/painting_387341/Felix-Edouard-Vallotton/La-Paresse<br /><br />"A
voice is softly calling / Unheard by grownup ears" - That is the
place I am trying to return to in the walled garden. Where my art is
trying to take me (unsuccessfully so far). I love this image - the
dolphins in the fountain, the gentle interaction around the pram.<br /><br />Sand castle - I can feel sand on baby skin.<br /><br />The
big cats at the zoo - I love looking for the atmospheric details, like
the grass in the cracks in the pavers. They slow time.<br /><br />The
library - the Buddha and Yin/Yang... And the way that baby face peers
out from the side of the big boldly patterned chair... brings back
memories of when a chair like that could be a whole world to crawl over.<br /><br />The
kitchen - I love the view of the table from the vantage of baby eyes
and the pattern on the dog! The ball that is a globe continues the
theme of the meeting of large and small - the world sized importance of
play.<br /><br />"The journey is a long one / It's much to far to walk" -
I'm reminded again of Vallotton, who also had prints with a sense of
lunging movement like your dog. And the sun in the door!!! Baby with
keys, baby climbing the grand stairs, the big clock... so much here
about all that lies ahead of these tiny people.<br /><br />The car!!! The
lean into the steering wheel! Navigator in the booster seat! The baby
shoes from the rear view mirror are insired. And no glimpse of the
mirror - no looking back!<br /><br />The gate is like a garden and a spider
web, and where the babies emerged... I love the postures of the babies
throughout these drawings; they show such a loving attention to the
balance and proportions of baby figures, and the placement of little
hands and feet. And in this drawing I love the dog's tail merging with
the frame.<br /><br />"We gather under starlit skies / (For children have no
fear)" - Yes, I think fear is learned or taught. And I didn't miss
the lovely echo of baby carrying bear, and bear carrying baby.<br /><br />The
merry-go-round - I love the way you open up shapes and perspectives to
make patterns follow your whim. You create your own sense of close
space - another way your images seem to slow time.<br /><br />And the rest
of the story and images... I stop breathing as the animals take flight,
the dragons emerge, and the images go cosmic. I love this entire
series, but the two with the dragon smiles might be my favorites. The
way you use the different sizes of scale patterns, the division of the
pages, the freedom of the figures, the patterns and silhouettes in the
sky all have an even more unbridled sense of frolic than the rest. I
think you managed to build the scale and wonder of this romp with each
drawing - not easy to do for so many images in a row!<br /><br />I marvel at the patience to ink the Milky Way, and I love the echo of dragon tail and dog tail.<br /><br />The blowing curtains catch the fleeting nature of the whole thing...<br /><br />Thank you for reposting these!<br /></p><span class="comment-actions secondary-text"><a class="comment-reply" data-comment-id="4676779124802718708" target="_self">Reply</a></span></div><div class="comment-replies"><div class="comment-thread inline-thread" id="c4676779124802718708-rt"><span class="thread-toggle thread-expanded"><span class="thread-arrow"></span><span class="thread-count"><a target="_self">Replies</a></span></span><ol class="thread-chrome thread-expanded" id="c4676779124802718708-ra"><div><li class="comment" id="c79646013520081344"><div class="avatar-image-container"><img alt="" src="https://www.blogger.com/img/blogger_logo_round_35.png" /></div><div class="comment-block"><div class="comment-header"><cite class="user"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033" rel="nofollow">susan</a></cite><span class="icon user blog-author"></span><span class="datetime secondary-text"><a href="https://phantsythat.blogspot.com/p/blog-page.html" rel="nofollow">April 1, 2013 at 10:26 AM</a></span></div><p class="comment-content"><br />Steve,
I can't tell you just how amazed and delighted I was made by reading
your generous compliments about Baby Days. When I drew these pictures
(size 3 Radidograph) I spent a lot of time in a very different space
from my usual artistic haunts and, like poets and musicians sometimes
say, I felt as though I was a conduit for something far bigger. Too much
time has passed to ask myself if I was competent enough to take on such
a project. At the time I'd never done pen and ink drawings previously
so had no clue (nor preconceived notions either) so your comparing my
work to Vallotton's is very kind. Also, it's too late for me to wonder
if the whole thing has any value to anyone other than myself. During the
more than 5 years Baby Days had it's own site fewer than 20 people left
comments, but all of them were very favorable and I'll always be
grateful for that. We live in harsh times spiritually, making it no
wonder to me that although many more may have read it, Baby Days was
just a little too sentimental for most tastes. It's more a story to
inspire contemplation of a period that moves far too swiftly when we're
parenting little ones in this modern age.<br />I'm very grateful to you
for taking the time to write such an appreciative account of how you've
responded to the individual pictures and the accompanying verse. No
review anywhere could make me more pleased.<br /></p><span class="comment-actions secondary-text"></span></div><div class="comment-replies"></div><div class="comment-replybox-single" id="c79646013520081344-ce"></div></li></div><div class="continue" id="c4676779124802718708-continue"><a class="comment-reply" data-comment-id="4676779124802718708" target="_self">Reply</a></div></ol></div></div><div class="comment-replybox-single" id="c4676779124802718708-ce"></div></li><li class="comment" id="c4092304725095150437"><div class="avatar-image-container"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghELIumQC8cVAJCkxzw9j3el0cBVvbAssaf7ERZZZBc8PTlnK32Hz140IfBHs-P69BSZP_wMAzisGyCpk7dCHXOy41qCanuUhbuj7-KKRQrJV7CZlkkdQVaDSYJWZ2bg/s45-c/DSC00910.JPG" /></div><div class="comment-block"><div class="comment-header"><cite class="user"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/profile/08452490194253665370" rel="nofollow">gfid</a></cite><span class="icon user"></span><span class="datetime secondary-text"><a href="https://phantsythat.blogspot.com/p/blog-page.html" rel="nofollow">April 1, 2013 at 12:11 AM</a></span></div><p class="comment-content">I
came by for a bedtime story.... What great timing!! I'm hearing the
text set to music....... Happy Easter..... Happy dreams. <br /></p><span class="comment-actions secondary-text"><a class="comment-reply" data-comment-id="4092304725095150437" target="_self">Reply</a></span></div><div class="comment-replies"><div class="comment-thread inline-thread" id="c4092304725095150437-rt"><span class="thread-toggle thread-expanded"><span class="thread-arrow"></span><span class="thread-count"><a target="_self">Replies</a></span></span><ol class="thread-chrome thread-expanded" id="c4092304725095150437-ra"><div><li class="comment" id="c693083333471569520"><div class="avatar-image-container"><img alt="" src="https://www.blogger.com/img/blogger_logo_round_35.png" /></div><div class="comment-block"><div class="comment-header"><cite class="user"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033" rel="nofollow">susan</a></cite><span class="icon user blog-author"></span><span class="datetime secondary-text"><a href="https://phantsythat.blogspot.com/p/blog-page.html" rel="nofollow">April 1, 2013 at 10:28 AM</a></span></div><p class="comment-content">Oh, that would be very nice. I'm glad you came back to see it all together.<br /><br />I hope you had a good holiday.<br />:-)</p><span class="comment-actions secondary-text"></span></div><div class="comment-replies"></div><div class="comment-replybox-single" id="c693083333471569520-ce"></div></li></div><div class="continue" id="c4092304725095150437-continue"><a class="comment-reply" data-comment-id="4092304725095150437" target="_self">Reply</a></div></ol></div></div><div class="comment-replybox-single" id="c4092304725095150437-ce"></div></li></ol><div class="comment-replybox-thread" id="top-ce"></div></div>
</div>
</div>
<p class="comment-footer">
</p><div class="comment-form">
<a name="comment-form"></a>
<p>
</p>
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/comment/frame/8764563741359701027?pa=6565002151604194579&hl=en&blogspotRpcToken=9627204" id="comment-editor-src"></a>
</div>
<p></p>
<div id="backlinks-container">
<div id="Blog1_backlinks-container">
</div>
</div>
</div><br />susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-21283982895436040122023-12-31T22:56:00.031-08:002023-12-31T23:03:27.227-08:00At the end of 2023 <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1_0GeaFoYQmMzg3eQQyHglt_Wsol5f1hRqMvuQe_TBBFyvisj8O3XAITJ5CFFdI_gh-ISa3TwCPbwkwsx3LVDwdaTrY5wny2A6P_jVMkRyJlaPQpL0T4XfQtVdx4JFXQwUU2xQms3NxwnfX6z6UDmwv1hlfDFC67hOlYjtAP0JguTT2IsQSMwyXPblXcL/s593/hound1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="577" data-original-width="593" height="389" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1_0GeaFoYQmMzg3eQQyHglt_Wsol5f1hRqMvuQe_TBBFyvisj8O3XAITJ5CFFdI_gh-ISa3TwCPbwkwsx3LVDwdaTrY5wny2A6P_jVMkRyJlaPQpL0T4XfQtVdx4JFXQwUU2xQms3NxwnfX6z6UDmwv1hlfDFC67hOlYjtAP0JguTT2IsQSMwyXPblXcL/w400-h389/hound1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> <p></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span></span>Best wishes to all for the coming new year<br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span></span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>What’s in store is anybody's guess<br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>We hope for the best<br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>And prepare for the unexpected…<br /><span> </span><br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>Breathe deep and remember:</p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span><span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span></span>In this moment there is nothing to fear.<br /></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span>💖<br /><br /></p>susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-28579439804283193962023-12-26T10:35:00.004-08:002023-12-26T10:35:45.932-08:00Christmas in Jerusalem 1921<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Y2DEMYOPQ_MnTtb6Jib2Raf8JF6gV1Opb8TGHfQofikMikFP_dszE3TnXBr0h1Mo1eDNFKCkYblNS5RYWaxVdYWUOB-B1AatOZAnB_dpqgfoQVPZu8qYtui8us3qvK_Y8ehLhjBaGDtbJOoSgKngGBpkvZP1lgw5zRqxSfsKfhZUBKEzSL4e-zIp5cBB/s529/Abrahamic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="529" data-original-width="450" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Y2DEMYOPQ_MnTtb6Jib2Raf8JF6gV1Opb8TGHfQofikMikFP_dszE3TnXBr0h1Mo1eDNFKCkYblNS5RYWaxVdYWUOB-B1AatOZAnB_dpqgfoQVPZu8qYtui8us3qvK_Y8ehLhjBaGDtbJOoSgKngGBpkvZP1lgw5zRqxSfsKfhZUBKEzSL4e-zIp5cBB/w544-h640/Abrahamic.jpg" width="544" /></a></div> <p></p><p>When three Abrahamic religions lived in peace.</p><p>Christmas was cancelled in Bethlehem in 2023. <br /></p><p> 💖</p><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p>susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-85249273457126158272023-12-22T09:01:00.000-08:002023-12-22T09:01:03.482-08:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNfspgqax9DSamWzVVBWIjCJutfVruKqjf7-yJ1gCr_jkHIkwLc7cIoSFwFC1ejTlOxv9zY1oimj3ZMQGv1xC6GPL-vZK0YJGiGXqoKN-Rz9-vVITIhOilNaQxNBrmacYjUYrRmxLvdznteD-MIIyadhc97GFQzQa5JLnoTwYLMfSTUKi5Ti0CvT151J2O/s875/santacrow003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="636" data-original-width="875" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNfspgqax9DSamWzVVBWIjCJutfVruKqjf7-yJ1gCr_jkHIkwLc7cIoSFwFC1ejTlOxv9zY1oimj3ZMQGv1xC6GPL-vZK0YJGiGXqoKN-Rz9-vVITIhOilNaQxNBrmacYjUYrRmxLvdznteD-MIIyadhc97GFQzQa5JLnoTwYLMfSTUKi5Ti0CvT151J2O/w640-h466/santacrow003.jpg" width="640" /></a></div> <p></p><p>Crow here. It's been nearly a year since the night I agreed to help the
old fellow from the north with some deliveries on Christmas Eve. Quite
frankly the dear gentleman was at his wits end, knowing as he did that
so many poor children needed gifts and food that night and much more
besides. He did what he could as he always does. My task was the much
less arduous one (or so I thought) of taking presents to the children of
the rich. As you well know there are far fewer of them, such a tiny
number of good rich children, in fact, that I was quite confident of
being home well before midnight.<br />
<br />
At twilight several of his more
experienced reindeer arrived pulling a spare Santa sled and off we
tootled into winter's darkening sky. Our first stop at a gated community
provided my first inkling that this job might not be quite the doddle
I'd imagined it would be. As I slipped down the chimney I'd been happy
to see the glint of festive lights in the the hall and the living room,
but when I stepped across the grate I discovered they weren't holiday
decorations at all but motion detectors. Suddenly sirens sounded, steel
barriers dropped down to cover the windows and three snarling dogs
rushed into the room where I'd just begun to open my sack. I barely made
it back up the chimney with my trousers intact.<br />
<br />
Having never
been one to renege on an obligation I set off with a will to the next
mansion on my list. The living room there was a grand space filled with
art and fine furniture but once again, just as I set foot on the floor,
before I could begin opening my bag, alarms sounded, a spotlight lit my
person and a nasty smelling fog filled the room with blue smoke.
Coughing and choking I scrambled back up that chimney too.<br />
<br />
As I'd
had no success at the gated community I decided instead that we'd try
for a country house on the list. Knowing nothing about private security
systems that employ infrared cameras that read thermal heat signatures,
nor about radar detectors - both of which can detect anything larger
than a mouse up to five miles away - the reindeer and I were surprised
when portals in the roof opened and out popped a brace of cannons.
Although we attempted to signal our good intentions by ringing sleigh
bells and singing carols, we were forced to turn away when the heavy
artillery opened fire.<br />
<br />
We made our sad way back to Santa's
workshop in dread of his disappointment. How surprised we were by his
merry laughter as he commended us for our attempts and said, 'Don't
worry boys, next year I'll let them fight it out with the Amazon
drones'.<br /> </p><p>Peace to All! <br /></p>susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-43789135879260593042023-03-29T16:04:00.005-07:002023-04-13T23:33:02.531-07:00Back to Nature<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsoKIA7UMr3c-oWj4ZeFD4vlBY15rtEG20yMtFlxvwUHNM1OfIVtXJSZDbKGWlG7nhP6OgKnRYdpKyX5BCp5lWezPbX7baDTiY2pY84OhnhgatEuwbBDAHJTlcm9z5Agw32HladZgiPHwNRLbvNB73sYqVBvi6XF46vJSKbJRRoT1FZPx4boyEeoC-rw/s1506/baby%20owl2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1506" data-original-width="1379" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsoKIA7UMr3c-oWj4ZeFD4vlBY15rtEG20yMtFlxvwUHNM1OfIVtXJSZDbKGWlG7nhP6OgKnRYdpKyX5BCp5lWezPbX7baDTiY2pY84OhnhgatEuwbBDAHJTlcm9z5Agw32HladZgiPHwNRLbvNB73sYqVBvi6XF46vJSKbJRRoT1FZPx4boyEeoC-rw/w586-h640/baby%20owl2.jpg" width="586" /></a></div> <p></p><p>An afternoon at the park found us looking at a baby owl just learning to fly.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8UKGycJMB-_qoSCzg47nwkL1mSLTo5y5fn_WBmZgg8Th_8Ppa1TGsk7gL-yNMbksatKPnX2VrCsuno01T2UW2iUGPONrHEEo6DVJ__duxsTQyvrJU9lZcThrEQRgSYx2q8e_dsq8uW_NP4daA9ugkfnV7bX6sBxVnnMqN1D8_rfZzsl4EcWV6syTKQg/s1300/baby%20owl%20.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="896" data-original-width="1300" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8UKGycJMB-_qoSCzg47nwkL1mSLTo5y5fn_WBmZgg8Th_8Ppa1TGsk7gL-yNMbksatKPnX2VrCsuno01T2UW2iUGPONrHEEo6DVJ__duxsTQyvrJU9lZcThrEQRgSYx2q8e_dsq8uW_NP4daA9ugkfnV7bX6sBxVnnMqN1D8_rfZzsl4EcWV6syTKQg/w640-h442/baby%20owl%20.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />He's big but still has baby fluff.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTCHR1obhnnAswjtFh4HKNpWIkMOhepPnIJOugI2Rh6vE0NvoWrdSXx3942Ul3qOyThHA8fqhK1wW6ILF6MnCKWrsCCXZo4BkoJxluPhxP11tUTnOyPB8GHfwuDDH8BMTwdIaSU4oVHzc-h6RpVtlRS_7d_dTfNcBe_on8I7ao9MwXSMBcufLGEZU7yw/s5152/park%20-%201%20(3).jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3864" data-original-width="5152" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTCHR1obhnnAswjtFh4HKNpWIkMOhepPnIJOugI2Rh6vE0NvoWrdSXx3942Ul3qOyThHA8fqhK1wW6ILF6MnCKWrsCCXZo4BkoJxluPhxP11tUTnOyPB8GHfwuDDH8BMTwdIaSU4oVHzc-h6RpVtlRS_7d_dTfNcBe_on8I7ao9MwXSMBcufLGEZU7yw/w640-h480/park%20-%201%20(3).jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Then there was the eagle who enjoys standing on the world's tallest totem pole..</p><p>Let's hope they meet as friends.. and so may all of us.<br /></p><p>Happy Springtime ☀️ ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ☀️</p><p><br /></p>susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-81696224163296267732022-12-22T12:18:00.000-08:002022-12-22T12:21:32.238-08:00Thripdipple - Anthony's story - 10 years later<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghoGmOyOG2EuK2_dDdviynRYrUldrZCdtJwU0Y6hVslPVXlr706J3t1vgLBn2UtnYjxIgST8xTSayB58pWOpoZIGZAVaFkg2W4VOq4eQA8xYLnJ99gfHlrdf-9wrJs26OqNtyiZfAimcejhsUcn_fnBY-Ss-B6ObeEgMCiZq3HeWE6XnpkjqiiKo1-UA/s905/0thrip001a.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="575" data-original-width="905" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghoGmOyOG2EuK2_dDdviynRYrUldrZCdtJwU0Y6hVslPVXlr706J3t1vgLBn2UtnYjxIgST8xTSayB58pWOpoZIGZAVaFkg2W4VOq4eQA8xYLnJ99gfHlrdf-9wrJs26OqNtyiZfAimcejhsUcn_fnBY-Ss-B6ObeEgMCiZq3HeWE6XnpkjqiiKo1-UA/s600/0thrip001a.jpg" width="600" /></a></div><p>
<span style="font-size: small;">Once, a while ago, so long ago that my Grampa recalls it vaguely, everything was pretty much the same as it is now. Except for a few things.
Some of these things that were different were the turtles. They weren't so different. They still had noses and ate bugs and moved slowly just like now. The only difference really was that they didn't have shells. So they looked something like this, I guess. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">And this turtle here, his name is Anthony. He's the turtle this story is about. All the other turtles have stories about themselves, of course, but it would take me five years to tell you even half of them, and thirteen years more to tell you all the endings. Besides that, you should probably go to sleep soon. So I will tell you just about Anthony tonight. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Anthony lived with his brothers and sisters in a place called Turtletown, which is about 27 miles east of Schenectedy. But you won't find Turtletown on any map. Many maps don't even have Schenectedy on them.
Turtletown was a pleasant and beautiful place with many colorful flowers and cool clear ponds. Just as now the turtles passed their moments quite happily.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Mxd6LVIhAthoL-jioImLxxt0Q5kHG7JPza6CI2m-o7nsLdvMM_INNIlv7YEDJzeILMfNq0OwC0vSO2eugBoF2f7_2TEhQ0QxAap69LqutOXE_gteBQg4sSb1b1e8NNrSOSA4QGG-nOlb_V-1V5EYbPK-aj7GxPDXBlSWuSL0N4A7FMnmXxuiTTWH6Q/s859/0thrip002a.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="573" data-original-width="859" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Mxd6LVIhAthoL-jioImLxxt0Q5kHG7JPza6CI2m-o7nsLdvMM_INNIlv7YEDJzeILMfNq0OwC0vSO2eugBoF2f7_2TEhQ0QxAap69LqutOXE_gteBQg4sSb1b1e8NNrSOSA4QGG-nOlb_V-1V5EYbPK-aj7GxPDXBlSWuSL0N4A7FMnmXxuiTTWH6Q/s600/0thrip002a.jpg" width="600" /></a></div><p>
<span style="font-size: small;">Well, not all their moments. Sometimes a hungry fox or two would come by. And sometimes it would rain and become cold. Worst of all, sometimes a hungry fox or two would come by and it would rain and become cold, all at once!
But there seemed to be nothing that could change these things. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">And not being the type that dwells upon misfortune, Anthony, and all his brothers and sisters, lived in their happy moments - even though they had sore throats and so on sometimes.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyXJIMlgFo20jNf01ZwQD45KDAKGu0UcWPtIhrCkqAKPLzXyO0XuEBSwPc_Q-78LCJlcJ4df2QDBaR7mVYQ4gP_hxignOb5gSbl8iHdHhG6yQ_v7zbQm2VCRUaePLJP1ZUR7-GN9gMdRmRV9YE34NO1_EOtjVgPvIvbL2Uxu2c_RMome5dxTorC5pniw/s901/0thrip003a.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="569" data-original-width="901" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyXJIMlgFo20jNf01ZwQD45KDAKGu0UcWPtIhrCkqAKPLzXyO0XuEBSwPc_Q-78LCJlcJ4df2QDBaR7mVYQ4gP_hxignOb5gSbl8iHdHhG6yQ_v7zbQm2VCRUaePLJP1ZUR7-GN9gMdRmRV9YE34NO1_EOtjVgPvIvbL2Uxu2c_RMome5dxTorC5pniw/s600/0thrip003a.jpg" width="600" /></a></div><p>
<span style="font-size: small;">Well now, Anthony was out walking one day, searching up some munchies and humming, and what do you think? Well, it almost goes without saying that suddenly a long, pointed rocket swooped out of the sky and landed very near by. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Anthony's little red eyes blinked a few times. He was surprised and said, "Holy Smokes!" He forgot all about hunting for munchies, but did keep on humming. And he walked over to the rocket.
When he got there a big purple man with three eyes, three ears, three noses, three mouths, three arms, and three legs came out from the rocket. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">He bent down and picked Anthony up. Anthony said, "What's happenin', man?"
The purple man laughed heartily. He laughed so much that Anthony laughed too. When they stopped laughing, the purple man said, "Thripdipple!" They started to laugh again. Then Anthony's new friend took Anthony into the rocket.
</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI3-K8XbGpE8EPgOGpdav6TIfbbqCDCVy3llTt-ts-qCKrPkoNoKwfim7eMUuO0j9WDYACmNMla_S6v2mnZ9L1gEE-am-oPKooWxV3CKEEthVB-wy11Ow-PR3xYTX65YHmcdup5D4ACiOhV7C__DBuGnF9cnMM4bTsEu-3zlAw4DoU_E9pr3qdwidA7g/s903/0thrip004a.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="574" data-original-width="903" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI3-K8XbGpE8EPgOGpdav6TIfbbqCDCVy3llTt-ts-qCKrPkoNoKwfim7eMUuO0j9WDYACmNMla_S6v2mnZ9L1gEE-am-oPKooWxV3CKEEthVB-wy11Ow-PR3xYTX65YHmcdup5D4ACiOhV7C__DBuGnF9cnMM4bTsEu-3zlAw4DoU_E9pr3qdwidA7g/s600/0thrip004a.jpg" width="600" /></a></div><p>
<span style="font-size: small;">Anthony's friend went to a chair and sat down. He put Anthony on one of his shoulders. There were many buttons on the walls. Anthony's friend pushed a button. Then he said, "Thripdipple!" Then he pushed another button and said, "Thripdipple!" He pushed seventeen more buttons. Anthony helped his friend. They said "Thripdipple thripdipple thripdipple thripdipple thripdipple thripdipple thripdipple thripdipple thripdipple thripdipple thripdipple thripdipple thripdipple thripdipple thripdipple thripdipple thripdipple!" </span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Then the rocket shook and roared up through the cosmos.
And in no time at all it seemed (and in actuality was) the rocket became still. Anthony knew they had landed. His friend stood up. Anthony was still on his shoulder. They went to the door.
</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2dnOvJVv59t5__TvImIvL9VqzHU4RsUf4Sc75Ge8bDf6SOBDbBQOXSyxjzRD_4QRDbWUdvCK2918FT-oAPzr9bGTxKkquecCYoYGshV3XNQnNQES7LC5_XJWQPQTA09p5qTw_xuY0jpdIj6aAVLN4CVQpX2K2NPrjX3oEpPx5TC74-Xio_pwvfikhBQ/s902/0thrip005a.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="572" data-original-width="902" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2dnOvJVv59t5__TvImIvL9VqzHU4RsUf4Sc75Ge8bDf6SOBDbBQOXSyxjzRD_4QRDbWUdvCK2918FT-oAPzr9bGTxKkquecCYoYGshV3XNQnNQES7LC5_XJWQPQTA09p5qTw_xuY0jpdIj6aAVLN4CVQpX2K2NPrjX3oEpPx5TC74-Xio_pwvfikhBQ/s600/0thrip005a.jpg" width="600" /></a></div><p>
<span style="font-size: small;">What a sight! Anthony's friend put his hands out and said, Thripdipple!" Anthony began to hum. They walked to the corner. There were other men and women at the corner, and they were standing in a queue. Anthony guessed that it was a bus stop. And as sure as your Aunt Matilda wears tennis shoes in the bathtub, he was right. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"> Anthony and his friend got on a bus. His friend said 'Thripdipple!" to the bus driver and they both chuckled. Then Anthony stuck out his tongue and everyone on the bus laughed at that. Anthony and his friend went to a seat.
</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8sks31s9dCJnutkwe_8Lxw3JT8tpGQNyaeToIq2fl91anttgMjG6vxOgOeZ4Mk9s4THUWhmVBG3Lj5oXxbGJQ8N1kdha0krwC_Mib4kU9XBRG1yfEw4VHsPE7uiHSGiP5JGLcs1p6ziD3d6FMHkvFvb6eZHP-vnmeIWmJqSSgGk58Wiqon_BLM4E8mw/s909/0thrip006a.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="575" data-original-width="909" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8sks31s9dCJnutkwe_8Lxw3JT8tpGQNyaeToIq2fl91anttgMjG6vxOgOeZ4Mk9s4THUWhmVBG3Lj5oXxbGJQ8N1kdha0krwC_Mib4kU9XBRG1yfEw4VHsPE7uiHSGiP5JGLcs1p6ziD3d6FMHkvFvb6eZHP-vnmeIWmJqSSgGk58Wiqon_BLM4E8mw/s600/0thrip006a.jpg" width="600" /></a></div><p>
<span style="font-size: small;">Now they traveled on the bus for some time. Anthony stopped humming and listened to two women who were sitting in front of him. This is what they were saying: </span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">"Well, anyway, thripdipple, thripdipple thripdipples over thripdipple. They thripdippled last thripdipple." </span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"> "Oh, I didn't thripdipple that. I thripdippled thripdipple thripdipple, and she didn't thripdipple me." </span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">"Well, you thripdipple, thripdipple is so busy thripdippling thripdipple, she doesn't have a thripdipple to thripdipple." </span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">"Oh, how thripdippling!"</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVDugQ387MOUS2qzEXRwZKn98oUiwz2upgN91Tb9cEQAdfBNVheSe7O3cam7ZNm7I9LtS4LhCSrTBn13hQkU-_vsXpB54veYVaQYqCsobk9VJ1X-Ym3l-FbKnaApodkk8nsDQvUzR4JheqAXLzQn5yNQZ9drqT8G8Fk8pZGv8wIRyvij9NqO-00A8tUw/s906/0thrip007a.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="569" data-original-width="906" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVDugQ387MOUS2qzEXRwZKn98oUiwz2upgN91Tb9cEQAdfBNVheSe7O3cam7ZNm7I9LtS4LhCSrTBn13hQkU-_vsXpB54veYVaQYqCsobk9VJ1X-Ym3l-FbKnaApodkk8nsDQvUzR4JheqAXLzQn5yNQZ9drqT8G8Fk8pZGv8wIRyvij9NqO-00A8tUw/s600/0thrip007a.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Soon enough, however, Anthony's friend got up. The bus stopped and they got out. They were in front of a glorious house. They went to the door and Anthony's friend knocked. A voice from inside called, "Thripdipple!" Then Anthony's friend opened the door and they went in.
</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCsVn5U7U_dX3DeKYbEYN1aNKCPyYg1UL1WIier5Ndhc_m43HiTPyFpHIxVBWjAg8-_NrMj5CDl7_kJdzdHt2VXWs-4QOhgypFlmkfQivVdRk7dZKMDYlctXX6vNBqT9iegDA14gaYdiQ8Zy7uShngXT1lSZAGXxGeLiAdM1qHee0TXpghPTj30buYwg/s844/0thrip008a.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="570" data-original-width="844" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCsVn5U7U_dX3DeKYbEYN1aNKCPyYg1UL1WIier5Ndhc_m43HiTPyFpHIxVBWjAg8-_NrMj5CDl7_kJdzdHt2VXWs-4QOhgypFlmkfQivVdRk7dZKMDYlctXX6vNBqT9iegDA14gaYdiQ8Zy7uShngXT1lSZAGXxGeLiAdM1qHee0TXpghPTj30buYwg/s600/0thrip008a.jpg" width="600" /></a></div><p>
<span style="font-size: small;">Such a splendid room! A wise looking old man with three fluffy pink beards was sitting on a pillow in a corner. Anthony's friend bowed to the man and said, "Thripdippleness!"
Anthony said, "Hey, hey, hey!" They all laughed. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">"I am Thripdippleness', said the old man, 'and this place you have come to is called Thripdipple. It is a planet far in the skies in the cluster of stars named Alpha Schenectedy. We folk are called thripdipples, and we all speak the language called thripdipple. But I can also speak turtle." </span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">"When's lunch?" said Anthony. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"> "We thripdipples have a favorite thing we like to do", said Thripdippleness. "More than anything, we like to thripdipple. I can't explain to you what it means because only thripdipples can understand. Anyway, I decided today to thripdipple you turtle folk. Now listen to my story:</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"> "Many years ago when I was your age, thripdipples didn't have the kind of rockets we have now. We used to have round ones. And children, you know, like to have toys and smaller things to play with. So we thripdipples gave our children small, round rockets, like this one." Thripdippleness reached in one of his ears and pulled something out. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"> It was green, It was round on the top, and flat on the bottom. It had one window in the front and one window in the back. And two on one side and two on the other. How many is that? </span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">"But you see," said Thripdippleness, "after about five thousand billion years, the thripdipples decided to have long pointed rockets for a change. Then the children wanted small, long pointed rockets. So now we have a big pile of small round rockets that the thripdipple children don't play with anymore. So I would like to thripdipple you turtles with them." </span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">"Righteous! said Anthony.
Anthony's friend took Anthony in his hand. He gave him to Thripdippleness. The Thripdippleness put Anthony inside the small round rocket. "All dressed up and nowhere to go," said Anthony. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Well, the rest of the story is plain to see. Thripdippleness and Anthony's friend filled up 46 big bags with all the small round rockets the thripdipple children didn't play with any more. They put the bags in the long pointed rocket then Anthony and his friend went in. Anthony's friend sat in his chair. This time he only pushed one-half of one button. They both said, "Thrip!" Then the rocket shook and roared through the cosmos.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjKWtnThWw0qg4a1glByhn5TcOa_PFK9AJHxdi3bwRUgpO13hwyFLdJd4DWEidjPusjnDYXG--Fj6hL6dHIyZmS_HwC-r2ccfBhL10JrNJnpvABNE83Fvebq93U76e8pP6SUoCJXXanp0RmTaIgIY_Xib6_TDIKiGY5G8inWb7kO1BQayvBGNFOcAT_A/s905/0thrip009a.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="572" data-original-width="905" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjKWtnThWw0qg4a1glByhn5TcOa_PFK9AJHxdi3bwRUgpO13hwyFLdJd4DWEidjPusjnDYXG--Fj6hL6dHIyZmS_HwC-r2ccfBhL10JrNJnpvABNE83Fvebq93U76e8pP6SUoCJXXanp0RmTaIgIY_Xib6_TDIKiGY5G8inWb7kO1BQayvBGNFOcAT_A/s600/0thrip009a.jpg" width="600" /></a></div><p>
<span style="font-size: small;">When they arrived back in Turtletown, Anthony called all his brothers and sisters. Then Anthony's friend put each and every one inside a small round rocket.
And now, even if a hungry fox or two comes by, and even if it rains and becomes cold all at once, the turtle folk don't mind. They are safe and sound inside their thripdipples. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">the end </span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><i>written by my co-conspirator Numb - pictures by me</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Happy Christmas and a Better New Year to all </i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><i>ps: "In our civilization, and under our form of government, intelligence is so highly honored that it is rewarded by exemption from the cares of office."<br />~Ambrose Bierce<br /><br /></i></span></p>susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-71288062911492301762022-09-04T12:03:00.001-07:002022-09-04T12:03:32.227-07:00Heron in September<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVFYCZIZIigSEw9Y1nojKdPQsLIZkh0a_PvubO7g00XucbpTHHIcnrI376uzn4GiuemXD5waja2FOXPLbHGUP6tI-bHCKitKz57sVzGL_9wCmuiNbhudKUuL7ddnXjbp9VYoHTucMxph1Sv-Y8q0AwwbsQt74eSj4MgyWfJJZ0UJ7thG5KA9Ia_n8HiA/s2825/heron%20pond04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2212" data-original-width="2825" height="502" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVFYCZIZIigSEw9Y1nojKdPQsLIZkh0a_PvubO7g00XucbpTHHIcnrI376uzn4GiuemXD5waja2FOXPLbHGUP6tI-bHCKitKz57sVzGL_9wCmuiNbhudKUuL7ddnXjbp9VYoHTucMxph1Sv-Y8q0AwwbsQt74eSj4MgyWfJJZ0UJ7thG5KA9Ia_n8HiA/w640-h502/heron%20pond04.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Does this mean I'm now a nature photographer?<br /><p></p>susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-23128101557064151702019-02-09T13:31:00.000-08:002019-02-09T13:31:21.056-08:00letter to Tom, cc'd to old friends<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirVx4F3V4kES-Z71DNdaub99fXRcN7SwHsaQ3748kl0Y9IXkzQ_5ZYtXUxrOB8t5XtIeFgugQNiQBZmOoizzVjYVLWutnyd6Wn4PeSg6dN9oGDJftYy6-P85h_nVSvxU15cV49_eTK8n5Q/s1600/hesperus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="867" data-original-width="1280" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirVx4F3V4kES-Z71DNdaub99fXRcN7SwHsaQ3748kl0Y9IXkzQ_5ZYtXUxrOB8t5XtIeFgugQNiQBZmOoizzVjYVLWutnyd6Wn4PeSg6dN9oGDJftYy6-P85h_nVSvxU15cV49_eTK8n5Q/s640/hesperus.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Hi Tom,<br /><br />Thanks to your note yesterday I finally got around to solving the problem I'd run into in not being able to comment on your blog posts. Yes, I did notice you'd come back a few weeks ago but since I haven't been to blogger very often these days I just thought you'd changed your settings on your return. I'd tried several times to leave you a note and every time was blocked by not having an 'account'. Also, phantsythat was behaving oddly and I knew I hadn't made any changes. So I got in touch with the help desk forum where I eventually discovered an anti-tracking program (Ghostery) I'd loaded a few months ago had identified a number of blogs (including my own) as sites to be constrained. The solution was very simple in that all I had to do was to mark Gwynt (and phantsythat) as 'trusted' sites. I left a couple of comments on your more recent but older posts and I see one of the people from the forum had dropped by your place too to see if all was well (he's the one who deleted his comment). <br /><br />Anyhow, that's that. As for me (and Crow) it's true we kind of slipped away from blogging last March and who'd know better than you just how difficult it can be to pick up the traces again? Somehow I'd made a commitment to posting a new illustration of some kind to every piece I posted on the blog and I'd pretty much run out of steam. When I paint or attempt any artistic endeavor the results are invariably based on how much time I've taken. By that point I'd been taking less than the necessary time for a good while and I felt it showed. Added to that was feeling like if I had to write about something important to me I must try to do so in a way that wouldn't offend anyone else. Talk about a conundrum, eh? You can never make everybody happy and sometimes you can't make anybody happy and that's just the way things go. <br /><br />Lastly, and to not make this too long, although the circumstance described certainly too long enough, we packed up our Halifax, NS life and moved four thousand miles to Victoria, BC late last summer. If you're a Canadian who wants to live in a milder climate but not leave the country this is the place to be. Getting here and becoming established has taken much time and energy. <br /><br />So far I haven't even attempted to draw anything since last winter. That may change. What also may change is our possible return to phantsythat. After all, you were gone for two years and for us it's only been ten months. We'll see what happens next.<br /><br />Take care and keep well. <br />Love,<br />Susan and Crow<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZSF1f8tvjx5hQHZUwuoGRt8QcFYhL1yYXQgR3jBzmROM2Ji-Cw2pyxjZQ-7uE71-yy9O0gPouDT5P5zC1sZDjArD_BCtxsAmYtnpMft42I1v737zxYsKmnd0kGgCzzmdCzQX8v5wdOyeg/s1600/crowplus2001ai+copy1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="64" data-original-width="53" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZSF1f8tvjx5hQHZUwuoGRt8QcFYhL1yYXQgR3jBzmROM2Ji-Cw2pyxjZQ-7uE71-yy9O0gPouDT5P5zC1sZDjArD_BCtxsAmYtnpMft42I1v737zxYsKmnd0kGgCzzmdCzQX8v5wdOyeg/s1600/crowplus2001ai+copy1.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
💕<br />susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-41733332343903172152018-03-31T08:17:00.000-07:002018-03-31T08:17:02.163-07:00mirage or no from Crow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcvSDODFJ3zSR1TyfOoqQY-sGAvtZa0h9OCDh_5VyjUH3O6xeQcGsjBETQMWEqmRzpEEWvfMS3gAji9p3PXqWgfzAzd6re5-egHCE35tRgZ36jyOteJoZc2mJRFsIi-miQ2GIpkdSwTih8/s1600/crowsoddco.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1057" data-original-width="1600" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcvSDODFJ3zSR1TyfOoqQY-sGAvtZa0h9OCDh_5VyjUH3O6xeQcGsjBETQMWEqmRzpEEWvfMS3gAji9p3PXqWgfzAzd6re5-egHCE35tRgZ36jyOteJoZc2mJRFsIi-miQ2GIpkdSwTih8/s640/crowsoddco.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Dear Friends,<br /><br />You may be curious about where I've disappeared to these past long months. I hope you'll accept my apologies with the understanding my new found companions and I have been making great efforts on behalf of all the animals and good people in the world. What could that be, do you wonder? I will explain.<br /><br />During my late winter sojourn to ancient Aegypt I came upon a cartouche of profound antiquity which took me many long nights to decipher. It told of a path that leads to lands of unimaginable wonder where all can live in peace and harmony. I'm aware you may be skeptical that such a path exists but remember it wasn't that long ago most humans agreed the world was flat, that Earth was the center of the Universe, and man was the pinnacle of creation. We all know what became of those assumptions and who knows but there may be others that will be overturned as wisdom grows.<br /><br />As we search for signs of our route across this mighty desert I've taken this moment to send you fond greetings. There are trails to mystery and beauty in unexpected places, some of which you may have found yourselves. Always remember the journey itself is what brings meaning to the destination. In other words, enjoy yourselves and why not try something new (like a piece of fruitcake)?<br /><br />I will send further dispatches as space, time and shifting sands allow.<br /><br />Meanwhile, salutations to all,<br /><br />Crow<br /><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #e06666;"><br />♡</span></span>susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-83289047240713512852018-03-07T13:50:00.000-08:002018-03-07T13:54:31.219-08:00not fade away<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVrN-8BhG8fDN76DRfmizvsha1lnY9F71hB8EK94nKiq4kHS2-HfbG5uqSYUy8anw_e-piWXmOmO9xWBl7MTzqO-yvg0eTdDjE6Um0MnFIWoAGXEa5DCdJVxFOFE05UrUZo0J3Aj52XYpj/s1600/village002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="572" data-original-width="853" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVrN-8BhG8fDN76DRfmizvsha1lnY9F71hB8EK94nKiq4kHS2-HfbG5uqSYUy8anw_e-piWXmOmO9xWBl7MTzqO-yvg0eTdDjE6Um0MnFIWoAGXEa5DCdJVxFOFE05UrUZo0J3Aj52XYpj/s640/village002.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
It's been a while since I've <a href="http://phantsythat.blogspot.ca/2015/11/stations-along-way.html">written</a> about the train journeys I enjoyed when I lived in England in the mid-1960s. In those days the railway was still the most convenient and relaxing way of traveling around the countryside and one of my primary reasons for doing so at the time was that I had become interested in<a href="http://britisharchaeology.ashmus.ox.ac.uk/brass-rubbings/brass-rubb-intro.html"> brass rubbing </a>- similar to coin rubbing but on a larger scale. Commemorative plaques installed on stone floors of churches between the 1300s and the 1700s, the brasses are elegant and detailed portrayals of people in the medieval period - important people, that is. By the the time I got interested in making some reproductions of my own many of the churches that housed the monuments had stopped allowing people to make the rubbings at all because brass, being a fairly soft metal, is easily damaged or simply worn away. <br />
<br />
So while many churches in the south of England had banned the practice ministers outside large urban areas were frequently more amenable. Since it wasn't a good idea to simply walk in carrying the rolls of paper, wax and weights (to hold the paper down) I wrote letters to request permission and to determine an acceptable date. Once that was done I'd plan my trip. <br />
<br />
Probably the most interesting of my expeditions was the day I arrived at a tiny village that was home to a very old Gothic church. A young minister met me at the entrance and showed me into the nave where shafts of light from the arched windows created patterns of light and shade. The brass I'd come to reproduce, a knight in full armour with a greyhound at his feet, was to the left of the altar. After dusting the piece carefully I positioned the paper and set to work transferring the image under the fascinated gaze of the minister. A little later while he related the history of the church he paused for a moment and asked if I'd like to see something special. Naturally, I said yes. He asked me to help him move a couple of wooden pews to one side and then he rolled back a carpet. There I gazed upon one of the most beautiful and intricate of the monumental brass memorials ever made.<br />
<br />
Not this, but something like:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinkKuPyHckNM9scvr5VWA1NSOxt_vaeztV_zz7Vcnz4mw4r9rtKIL7JkKz8WfVze3L0W_L4-gvHlLwEoeHGrh6A8bcVMvTGzFHcLP1lSqbDfUgDTLX-XD0aDwI1Hrkekh_wVnIXfqbKpsL/s1600/de+scornay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="934" data-original-width="1524" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinkKuPyHckNM9scvr5VWA1NSOxt_vaeztV_zz7Vcnz4mw4r9rtKIL7JkKz8WfVze3L0W_L4-gvHlLwEoeHGrh6A8bcVMvTGzFHcLP1lSqbDfUgDTLX-XD0aDwI1Hrkekh_wVnIXfqbKpsL/s400/de+scornay.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
and no, I didn't even ask of I could make a rubbing. Seeing it was enough and having seen it was a very special moment for me. I think many people have accepted a very unfair description of the medieval period by calling it the Dark Ages. There was much in that time that was worthwhile - such artistry as the old churches attest both in their building and decoration required time and peace of mind in their creation.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>“I don't suppose there has been a moment in the world's history where more people felt themselves to be artists, or when less art was produced."</i><br />
<i>~ Auberon Waugh</i><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />♡</span></span>susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-45250661853444857342018-02-09T18:33:00.000-08:002018-02-09T18:33:47.306-08:00new picture old poem<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcpAAjJBgp0EwYGEbRPViOI0yURiHjnuckJ3GWm8q2QsqPA6q_wz1v0MzSsVneMIMXntmx_nhWR6_Mq556bcycYAfi_HqYNSJnJKk9YKNVvKLySmYO1BIRiUs2EG2YrucWJjShWwtbVUn9/s1600/surfershr014a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1162" data-original-width="1600" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcpAAjJBgp0EwYGEbRPViOI0yURiHjnuckJ3GWm8q2QsqPA6q_wz1v0MzSsVneMIMXntmx_nhWR6_Mq556bcycYAfi_HqYNSJnJKk9YKNVvKLySmYO1BIRiUs2EG2YrucWJjShWwtbVUn9/s640/surfershr014a.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Sea Fever<br /><br />I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,<br />And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,<br />And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,<br />And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking,<br /><br />I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide<br />Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; <br />And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,<br />And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.<br /><br />I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,<br />To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;<br />And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,<br />And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.<br /><br />~ John Masefield</span><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />♡</span></span>susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-50037373717177282092018-01-30T14:13:00.001-08:002018-01-30T14:37:23.582-08:00history and mystery<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh17Zi_-4xEn8d-r-oPO1VOHZtsceQiofyfEndHONqP4zGvhRtCqlG50W-3hxQYFVn_tNXUOQR3SbPlTnldxKeI5t2tQ8_ZssUkic8b6RUWG_HU453QXKvCBOo5XiiJoKTtiSKGTxkLs9Il/s1600/photo-chicago-columbian-exhibition-worlds-fair-first-ferris-wheel-gondola-details-1893.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="1125" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh17Zi_-4xEn8d-r-oPO1VOHZtsceQiofyfEndHONqP4zGvhRtCqlG50W-3hxQYFVn_tNXUOQR3SbPlTnldxKeI5t2tQ8_ZssUkic8b6RUWG_HU453QXKvCBOo5XiiJoKTtiSKGTxkLs9Il/s640/photo-chicago-columbian-exhibition-worlds-fair-first-ferris-wheel-gondola-details-1893.jpg" width="624" /></a></div>
<br />
One thing the internet is very good for is the fact you can look things up. There's no waiting, no trekking to the library and no wondering where you packed away your most recent compendium of the encyclopedia. In recent years having the ability to make random investigations has proved to be very beneficial when it comes to enhancing my enjoyment of novels. In fact sometimes I'll put a particular book aside while I follow electronic trails through the ether. While these rambles won't lead to a degree, never mind augment my future earning potential, the things I learn enlarge my understanding of many subjects I'd otherwise miss entirely.<br />
<br />
For instance, although <i>The Fifth Heart</i> by Dan Simmons provided more than enough entertainment by seamlessly combining melodrama and metaphysical speculation with a brilliantly detailed portrait of Gilded Age America, it also made me curious about an event that occurred in Chicago at the end of the 19th century - the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/World's_Columbian_Exposition">Columbian Exposition World's Fair of 1893</a>. This exhibition, also known as the White City, was built in honour of the 400th anniversary of Christopher Columbus's discovery of America and was itself a major character in the latter part of the book. Other than having vague knowledge of the event I was unfamiliar with its extent and its importance. When I looked it up I was quite amazed by the pictures of the extravaganza that can be found on the web of a marvel that came and went six months after it opened to the public. <br />
<br />
Pictured above is a close-up view of George Washington Ferris's wheel of steel, 250 feet in diameter. It carried 36 cars, each about the size of a Pullman train car, equipped with a lunch counter and with an overall capacity of 2,160. It propelled riders 300 feet in the sky over Jackson Park - a bit higher than the crown of the Statue of Liberty. <br />
<br />
Considering the fact that most cities in those days were dark and dingy places the White City was a marvel to all the millions who visited the Fair that summer. The wikipedia link will tell you far more than I can - and besides, research is fun.<br />
<br />
But I began this by mentioning <i>The Fifth Heart</i>, didn't I? Dan Simmons has written several very good historical novels * and this one begins in Paris early in 1893 when Henry James, the distinguished American author, is about to kill himself by plunging into the Seine, overcome by crippling depression. Just before stepping off le pont Neuf, he notices a man with an aquiline profile standing nearby; he quickly ascertains that the man is actually Sherlock Holmes, believed to have perished with Professor Moriarty at the Reichenbach Falls two years earlier. James is shocked to learn that Holmes was himself on the verge of taking his own life - because the detective has discovered that he’s merely a “literary construct.” His evidence? The same inconsistencies in the original Conan Doyle stories that have entertained readers for a century. <br />
<br />
Much against his will but unable to thwart Holmes's assumption they are now partners, James joins Holmes on a mission in America, where the Baker Street sleuth hopes to prove that historian Henry Adams’s emotionally fragile wife, Clover, was not a suicide but a murder victim in 1885 - and to thwart an international conspiracy involving an attempt to assassinate President Grover Cleveland at the opening of Chicago’s Columbian Exhibition.<br />
<br />
For both Holmes and his unlikely partner, the path to personal redemption leads through these two very different mysteries. <br />
<br />
♡<br />
<br />
note: At one point in the book James and Mark Twain discuss whether they’re characters in a novel and, if so, who might be the author. Twain says to James: “It’s almost certainly some lesser mind, lesser talent, than you, than me, even lesser than Arthur Conan Doyle, which is saying a lot. And it might be written thirty years hence, or fifty, or a hundred.” It was a wonderfully self-deprecating statement by Simmons.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">* This one is good but even better is Drood and, according to a good
friend, is The Terror. Since the latter is about the fate of the crews
of two wooden sailing ships attempting to navigate the NW Passage in
winter I shall wait for better weather before reading.</span>susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-1748068841320159992018-01-23T13:29:00.000-08:002018-01-23T18:42:20.489-08:00limberlost<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuqE39A-kA9-knugyoqf7yiTOxcNgnrE-Faqqm7BFd8k_CvG8uRYNQ827bqovs6ywOVYgA80E3CcuB1o0b2tPkuRRMw8vCYSKaAfRqiaACslQN5A1EOhyphenhyphenNMBM1Xa8B4Bap7cTloJPV9J6k/s1600/32.141_transp1093.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="1268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuqE39A-kA9-knugyoqf7yiTOxcNgnrE-Faqqm7BFd8k_CvG8uRYNQ827bqovs6ywOVYgA80E3CcuB1o0b2tPkuRRMw8vCYSKaAfRqiaACslQN5A1EOhyphenhyphenNMBM1Xa8B4Bap7cTloJPV9J6k/s640/32.141_transp1093.jpg" width="528" /></a></div>
<br />
A year or so ago on a grey winter's day (not unlike this one) something reminded me of a book my mother had told me she'd loved as a girl. Considering the fact that if my mother were still with us she'd be one hundred and two, you can surmise the book alluded to is an old one. I remembered its title but no more so my search wasn't an especially hopeful one. It turned out I couldn't have been more wrong - even more than a hundred years since it was first published 'Girl of the Limberlost' is still a favourite among many people. What I found that day, though, was that there are two Limberlost books, the first one called 'Freckles', both written by the self-trained naturalist, photographer and writer, <a href="http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/stratton/gene/gene.html">Gene Stratton Porter</a>. <br />
<br />
Once there was an Eden in the Midwest of the United States, Indiana to be exact, called the Limberlost Swamp. Yes, it was a wetlands region with streams that flowed into the Wabash River that originally covered 13,000 acres of land. After being drained 1888-1910 by a steam-powered dredge, the area was cultivated as farmland for 80 years. In 1991 local citizen Ken Brunswick established "Limberlost Swamp Remembered," a group organized to restore some of the wetlands, because of their importance as habitat. The work has included removing or blocking drainage tiles, allowing water back on the land, and planting native species of trees, bushes and flowers. But 428 acres is nothing like 13,000 acres. Since photographs of the Limberlost as it is now can't portray the beauty of its primeval past, I chose a painting by William T. Richards (of the Hudson River School) to indicate the mystical quality of the region as it was in the late 1800s. The author's greatest goal in these and her other books was to persuade the public to care about nature.<br />
<br />
'Freckles', a sentimental tale set in the early 20th century, offers contrasting characters, from vicious brutes to folks almost too-good-to-be-true. Decent people recognize the innate goodness and ingenuous soul of this love-starved youth. The Boss considers him a son; the kindly Duncans offer maternal love and warm respect; the Bird Woman appreciates his knowledge of Limberlost animals for her wildlife photographs. And then there is the Angel, a 16-year-old Irish-American girl of stunning beauty, quick wit, gritty determination and the ability to charm all she meets. Freckles frankly idolizes this princess-goddess, who delights in his private creation of a room in the forest 'Cathedral' and encourages him to develop his voice. But he is painfully aware that he is beneath her in every way (low birth, maimed body). He has no right to hope - he may only worship from afar..<br />
<br />
You can think of 'Girl of the Limberlost' as an American Cinderella story, but with no glass slipper and plenty of moths. Gene Stratton Porter was at the peak of her skills when she wrote the novel, which starts off as a young girl's struggle against her mother's virulent hatred - and soon evolves into an enchanting little romance. Elnora Comstock has barely signed up for college when she discovers that she can't afford it - tuition and textbooks cost too much, and her shabby clothes are mocked by her classmates. Even worse, her half-crazy, malicious mother refuses to cough up any money. But she soon finds that she can pay another way - a strange lady called the Bird Woman is willing to pay money for moths, butterflies, caterpillars and chrysalids, which Elnora can easily find in a vast dangerous swamp called the Limberlost. And her friends Margaret and Wesley are happy to help her in any way they can - clothes, a violin - until the day when Mrs. Comstock comes to a shocking realization about her daughter.<br />
<br />
Gene Stratton Porter's stories are full of hope, promise and goodness. Of course there are the usual bad elements as well that create enough angst to give dimension to her stories. I think her books reinforce that part of us which makes us better beings. They may well not be for you, but if dismal winter (this is Halifax where winters can be dark, wet, and very cold) has a grip on your mood, do yourself a favour and read one of her books and be transported into a different world, one where goals were clearer.<br />
<br />
“We are only the trustees for those who come after us.”
<br />
- William Morris<br />
<br />
'The Well at World's End' is next on my list.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: magenta;">♡</span></span>susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-25741925012757236702018-01-15T13:12:00.001-08:002018-01-15T13:12:58.705-08:00some are left unfinished<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEdKPBe7iP-tDLId17LJK8jpzi6rb8qkBjzYZu1ZZdxKD0GgPMXfrViR900ySZftma8tkiGnDlBypJeiGCjUfPQvoSDkUjhi61hUlwwcTv9WDsqYxL01LQKcGOwEeZI3I-qd53VOzUZJuN/s1600/pirate002c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="927" data-original-width="689" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEdKPBe7iP-tDLId17LJK8jpzi6rb8qkBjzYZu1ZZdxKD0GgPMXfrViR900ySZftma8tkiGnDlBypJeiGCjUfPQvoSDkUjhi61hUlwwcTv9WDsqYxL01LQKcGOwEeZI3I-qd53VOzUZJuN/s640/pirate002c.jpg" width="474" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It's kind of funny to consider the fact that our species, Homo Sapiens Sapiens, is roughly three hundred thousand years old, and possibly even older if recent discoveries are true. Yet for all but the last three centuries of that span, predicting the future was fairly easy: other than natural disasters, everyday life in fifty years time would resemble everyday life fifty years ago. For 99% of human existence, the future was static (or so we're told). Then something happened, and the future began to change, increasingly rapidly, until we get to the present day when things are moving so fast that it's barely possible to anticipate trends from month to month.<br />
<br />
Of course it's easy to romanticize the past - largely because many of us are able to remember our own. Life was perfect when I was a child even though I know I recall it imperfectly and the same goes for those more recent past decades. When I was young I romanticized the future. Now it frightens me - not so much for the fact that there's only just so much time allowed to me personally, but because our race in recent history has caused and continues to cause such damage to our biosphere. The planet will continue, no doubt of that, but so much of what makes our lives beautiful is at risk.<br />
<br />
I like to imagine a more equitable future for us and all the other species with whom we share the world. Yet I dare not envision some particular utopia - a word that translates from the Greek as 'no place' - but simply to hope for a larger world less driven by greed. I know things were different once and perhaps they can be again.<br />
<br />
<i>The fact that there is a highway to Hell and only a stairway to Heaven says a lot about the anticipated traffic numbers.<br />
~ Anon</i><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<span style="color: red;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: red;">♡</span></span></span>susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-16687954931949859722018-01-08T12:44:00.002-08:002018-01-08T13:08:23.992-08:00great minds Don't think alike<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGymfuop8ZvV-d_S16BpRyixCnnR8dWRcDz855rg5Hdax-BdVOlOx9difqXy-CRw6KCmF5JDZ8yO-u3LRxSn7bRNgje9f98N0ilqoloThC6YGt_64SYzFubKkfQfLGgRG378_61nrG_oXH/s1600/fleurs001a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="492" data-original-width="795" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGymfuop8ZvV-d_S16BpRyixCnnR8dWRcDz855rg5Hdax-BdVOlOx9difqXy-CRw6KCmF5JDZ8yO-u3LRxSn7bRNgje9f98N0ilqoloThC6YGt_64SYzFubKkfQfLGgRG378_61nrG_oXH/s640/fleurs001a.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Whereas I don't participate in any social media circles (other than this one) what I do love about the internet is all the information to be found. The news is generally depressing but I do my share of 'witnessing' since I believe it's the responsible thing to do - with the caveat that it's necessary to exercise some judgement and discernment. In other words, I read but don't believe everything that passes by my sight.<br />
<br />
Then there are all the other odds and ends - the latest news about discoveries, scientific, archeological, historical and too, some hopeful and some intriguing. I will read anything that catches my attention. <br />
<br />
Many of the blogs I enjoyed during their heyday are gone now and while I regret having lost access to the ones that were deleted I'm happy some are still here to be read. One such was called 'The Big Study', a blog that proved to be a treasury of carefully collected anomalies and ideas hosted from 2009 to 2015 by 'The Professor'. If there was ever any solid information about his personal history I missed the post but it appears he is/was a teacher of physics. The following is an introductory one posted in August of 2009.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://thebiggeststudy.blogspot.ca/">The Professor</a>:<br />
<br />
<i>The old people have always known that there was more to reality than the stone which hits you in the face. There was the Self. There was the Soul of the friend, the lover, the child, the Other. There was GOD. There were the Spirits, the nature beings, even the things that "go bump in the night".<br /><br />The foundation of this blog is that they were usually smarter than we are. They were generally right. All these were real. All these ARE real. We are letting them slip from our consciousness, and we are losing touch with half the world. You will not want to read this blog if you cannot stretch your universe to include the possibility that such things can be true. The Soul who writes here believes in Soul, believes in a Great Maker, believes in a many colored array of wonders, both material and spiritual. This soul believes that there are (often) factual events within which this "lost" part of our reality strongly shows itself.<br /><br />There are "encounters", there are "anomalies", there are inspirations and guidances. They are all there, but rarely to the mind closed to them. The mind of a scientist can be a very productive thing. It usually knows a lot. It can analyze certain things amazingly--I once did a little of that myself. But the mind of a scientist (if that's all it is) has come to live in a very small world. It is a paradox. The culture's (alleged) truth-seekers are occupying boxes so small that the big study of what is has ended up outside their walls. And they ARE walls. They are walls that so forbid the exploration of "dangerous" areas (even of conversation let alone active seeking) that most of these powerful IQs are ashamed to speak of them.<br /><br />This writer is an old retired member of that mistaken and wandering tribe. It's too late to care what the dogmatic tribal elders think. It's time to call out for the things that are, but which they say cannot be. And just breathe the free air. What will these topics be? GOD, Spirit, Free Will, Afterlife, of course. Angels, devils, spirits too. Nature entities, what the old folks called "the good people" and "the middle angels"--well lets at least see. Encounters with the strange, the weird, the "impossible". Lets forget the sayers of "can't", relax, and let be.<br /><br />Posted by The Professor at 11:04 AM No comments:<br />Labels: Spirituality; Anomalies; GOD</i><br />
<br />
Here is <a href="http://thebiggeststudy.blogspot.ca/search?q=catherine+crowe">another favorite </a>of his posted topics.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">♡</span><br />
<br />
The picture at the top is from this past weekend. Yes, it's been very cold and while the ground is still free from snow (likely not for long) everything is hard and colorless. Meanwhile, I continue to read.. and consider the possibilities.susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-67215684961748214182018-01-01T11:12:00.000-08:002018-01-01T11:13:14.060-08:00back away from the future<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFSquhET43PEtIyJmXRSRyTTQEog2jaYdrE7HlWlVDIsAs3Sj0J46hZY1SZpIR3GcOg9QejifY57RbqSaP1r1NvNblahonG76SsM1pm_trDIVr6JQaj3bviI4AqyMFz_XlLbzpblZEs4Wz/s1600/CalvinResolutions.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="500" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFSquhET43PEtIyJmXRSRyTTQEog2jaYdrE7HlWlVDIsAs3Sj0J46hZY1SZpIR3GcOg9QejifY57RbqSaP1r1NvNblahonG76SsM1pm_trDIVr6JQaj3bviI4AqyMFz_XlLbzpblZEs4Wz/s400/CalvinResolutions.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I suppose yesterday, or should I say, last year, was more the time for looking back than today. But this afternoon when all is quiet here and it's still far too cold to go out for a walk I found myself thinking about decades ago when the world was a different place. <br />
<br />
What came to be known as the New Age movement was still in its early days and generally unknown outside the occult and metaphysical religious communities in the 1970s and ʾ80s. It looked forward to a 'New Age' of love and light and offered a foretaste of the coming era through personal transformation and healing, a religious perspective that is based on the acquisition of mystical knowledge. Many people, particularly young people, gathered together to live in urban and country communes where they made an effort to practice more Earth friendly lifestyles than the ones offered by the larger society. Some worked better than others, true, but the longing for a return to the 'Garden' was real enough even though the trappings were easy for the fashionable to latch on to - which they did and 'New Age' became a pastime for bored suburbanites. <br />
<br />
While there are any number of web sites and periodicals that still advance the goals one very important aspect, its saving grace really, seems to have fallen by the wayside. Transcendence: the sense that entering into relationship with the spiritual realm is about stepping into a wider world, waking up to the things that really matter - walking through the walls and into the Fire. <br />
<br />
Now it's all about soothing your nerves, boosting your health, managing your career and your love life, making your life bland and safe and predictable. Take up meditation, so you can lower your blood pressure and smooth out your wrinkles. Practice t'ai chi or hot yoga - it's so very relaxing, and it makes your bowels regular! Go listen to a trance channeler to get advice on your relationships. Here are some tasty vegetarian recipes you can share with all your friends... <br />
<br />
Back in the 70s it wasn't like that. There was plenty of nonsense and plenty of deception and a ton of babble, but in there with all of that you found a lot of people who wanted to tear open the sky and step into the luminous Beyond. People meditated and did rituals and practiced martial arts and did all sorts of other things to become something more than they were. <br />
<br />
That's still a worthy goal -<br />
even for someone like me whose resolutions generally add up to a list of things<br />
I'll never accomplish. Where's that mandolin I never learned to play?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnCJutkR7LiNkc5iscbGr5DAEm4JggMbfyfZ7evh4o0xtJb4ZcTEbLkzyvYxZAg76g23au0xgYqOcMkGqOKBHMfSYn0pVSgRb2DI5TdQwMuCIOJZ565QdlAFXAfEhFLvFQfruxAk-CdbXo/s1600/Perseverance.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="187" data-original-width="600" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnCJutkR7LiNkc5iscbGr5DAEm4JggMbfyfZ7evh4o0xtJb4ZcTEbLkzyvYxZAg76g23au0xgYqOcMkGqOKBHMfSYn0pVSgRb2DI5TdQwMuCIOJZ565QdlAFXAfEhFLvFQfruxAk-CdbXo/s640/Perseverance.gif" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Happy New Year.<br /><span style="color: magenta;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;">♡</span></span> </span>susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-4473589895246065022017-12-24T07:36:00.002-08:002017-12-24T07:36:58.171-08:00Yes, Virginia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq47PQBuf84bZ8pUPfgE4NGjtW5k6_EcnKNowPU656VIC5dX8US3odPQmNU4okxnQyJuXurvtclfs845RpwJE9oIycDD0Pjanesv99ILVkyTl91dh8Yol97Wjvc8FAMrBFdIqg17mqRz2l/s1600/winterwalk005a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1013" data-original-width="747" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq47PQBuf84bZ8pUPfgE4NGjtW5k6_EcnKNowPU656VIC5dX8US3odPQmNU4okxnQyJuXurvtclfs845RpwJE9oIycDD0Pjanesv99ILVkyTl91dh8Yol97Wjvc8FAMrBFdIqg17mqRz2l/s640/winterwalk005a.jpg" width="470" /></a></div>
<br />
In 1879, eight-year-old Virginia O’Hanlon wrote a letter to the editor of New York’s Sun, and the quick response was printed as an unsigned editorial*. <br /><br />Dear Editor:<br /><br /> I am 8 years old.<br /> Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.<br /> Papa says, ‘If you see it in THE SUN it’s so.’<br /> Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?<br /><br />Virginia O’Hanlon<br />115 W. 95th St. NY<br /><br /> “Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible to their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.<br /><br /> Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus? It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.<br /><br /> Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.<br /><br /> You may tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.<br /><br /> No Santa Claus! Thank God he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.”<br /><br /> Merry Christmas, and may this new year bring you joy, laughter, and prosperity.<br />
<br />
*The work of veteran newsman Francis Pharcellus Church.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">♡ </span>susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-66452255932741507042017-12-03T12:36:00.002-08:002017-12-03T12:39:48.361-08:00Crow and the Druids *<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF9xbLUkRfK7P5wbXP9LV48CmZW7cIK80Nhr35LkfJTkEWkgTCxhd4FWirEgpVdtfPdPTX4FBlqjCygdZkiwV8R0y9ZZQZc3ilwSRue1upLljrUcAafz2Md4aqkxrfLHgFGtLKobdtY089/s1600/crowdruid002a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="609" data-original-width="785" height="496" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF9xbLUkRfK7P5wbXP9LV48CmZW7cIK80Nhr35LkfJTkEWkgTCxhd4FWirEgpVdtfPdPTX4FBlqjCygdZkiwV8R0y9ZZQZc3ilwSRue1upLljrUcAafz2Md4aqkxrfLHgFGtLKobdtY089/s640/crowdruid002a.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Late autumn being a changeable season here Crow and I spent a recent afternoon reviewing his archives while a drenching rain
spattered the tall arched windows that overlook his terrace. Just as I
was about to pour the tea he thrust an old picture between me and the
Royal Albert saying, 'Aha! I've been meaning to show you a picture of
Gaith, my old Druid friend, and here is one of both of us scratched upon
this piece of bark. Amazing how well this stuff keeps, isn't it?'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">I've long stopped being surprised at the immensity of Crow's historical social circle, but he'd never mentioned <a href="http://books.google.ca/books?id=2gFNAAAAMAAJ&redir_esc=y">Druids</a> before. I made myself comfortable in my favorite of his wing back chairs, took a sip of Oolong and sat back to listen:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>'It
probably won't surprise you to hear that even in the dim, dark past
there were crazy, power hungry male persons who made a general nuisance
of themselves by making up excuses to kill their neighbors and take
their land. The first thing they always did was to demand that the young
men in their kingdoms supply themselves with pointed sticks or
whatever, swords being both rare and expensive, and join in the battles.
Some young men who weren't pleased with this mad idea ran away to the
forest.<br /><br />'The forests of Europe and old England were very large
indeed. Still, it wasn't easy to get by on your own and certainly there
were no modern conveniences like waterproof shoes and tents - never mind
nicely packaged emergency food supplies. <br /><br />'On this particular
fine morning, Gaith and I had been strolling along a path overhung by
the branches of sacred oak trees when we came upon a weary looking but
handsome youth sitting by a brook. After mutual greetings we sat and
shared some food and listened to his reasons for preferring a life of
peace. Rather than going to war he had run away to a place where he
hoped to enjoy life and creation, learn its wonders and strive for
answers to the big questions. My friend Gaith, being a Druid, one of
those rumored to have strange powers, invited him to join his band as a
junior member. <br /><br />'Whether they were called Yogis, Magi, Lamas, Monks or <a href="http://thebiggeststudy.blogspot.ca/search?q=druid">Druids</a>,
all of them strove to learn. They developed techniques and
applications; they dreamed dreams and studied nature intensively. As it
took a very long time to become a Master Druid, perhaps twenty years or
more, they arranged their membership into sections (like colleges) that
depended upon knowledge and individual attainments. They also developed a
brilliant plan designed to lessen the violence of the crazy men. What
was it? First, you have to understand they already had much to offer by
their abilities with Astrology and calendars; they knew much about
plants and the healing arts. They also knew how to manipulate materials
and some, like my friend Gaith, were experts in speaking the Language of
the Birds. That's how we first became friends (he told some excellent
people jokes). What the Druids offered freely to the crazy men who ruled
at that time were the members of their lowest college, the Bards.<br /><br />'Our
new young friend who was called Oisin would be trained as one of them, a
singer of history. From what I heard later he did well and even stopped
a war or two by singing Sagas of previous encounters between the
combatants. Of course, the other king also had a Bard and the two likely
collaborated to mold a peace. This was the foundation of Diplomacy vs
mindless War.'</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Rocking back on his perch, Crow
snagged a piece of fruitcake, arched his brow and remarked, 'Aren't you
glad to know there are still <a href="http://www.aoda.org/">Druids</a> in the world today?'</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Yes, yes I am, but we could always use <a href="http://www.ecosophia.net/">a few more</a>. The rain having stopped by then, we went for a walk by the sea.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">***</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">* Despite the fact this was originally posted several years ago it seemed worthy of another look. Besides, on a recent rainy afternoon Crow remembered the words of another of his old friends:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>St. Thomas Aquinas raised the question of why there are so many diverse forms of life on Earth, and answered by saying, "It is because of the desire of goodness to share itself and so the Divine wished to reflect and share Himself in a created world. Because of the inadequacy of any one species to fulfil this role, the whole of creation participates in and represents the richness and splendour and majesty of God more than any single creature."<br /><br />The response of some human beings to this has been to go to war against this diversity. Making war on creation you become the enemy of the Creator. There will never be peace between humans until you have peace with the Earth and the wider Earth community.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">♡</span>susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-6762515527457345812017-11-29T17:53:00.000-08:002017-11-30T07:34:04.023-08:00negatively positive<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGDlTxZeG8YkrG6PxOFc-bbih8Q9D5muJC15vgREHxLXTInM_qfLuH2y0yS1lqvSF_v_cfoP_OAd27rhsWIofx3EDGVQ8nxPFz4APFdKydtx3dxbMkmP4cZdC5ojhRaYv18EOOwxnfhNpg/s1600/leaves003a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="713" data-original-width="897" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGDlTxZeG8YkrG6PxOFc-bbih8Q9D5muJC15vgREHxLXTInM_qfLuH2y0yS1lqvSF_v_cfoP_OAd27rhsWIofx3EDGVQ8nxPFz4APFdKydtx3dxbMkmP4cZdC5ojhRaYv18EOOwxnfhNpg/s400/leaves003a.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
This is a pretty odd picture for me to have painted - no people, no animals, no creatures at all for that matter, and neither is there a landscape or a comfortably furnished space. It came about because I felt like painting something just to watch the colours develop in negative space. I didn't stop to save the in-between bits but the idea is to lay down some background colours then draw some shapes on top. Then paint around them using slightly deeper shades of the background hues. Then you draw more shapes under the first lot and continue doing so until you get bored. It took me four layers to get bored. I think next time I'll go back to drawing (and painting) more story-like pictures - like this one:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1IwxKt4HhVZ1tCLJUSULNd6grRsKAnBu_Z3EMR7qaAdox5IuhKItAVWyt5a1UzmZ9RaICQ-vTGUntz4s5VJaaZcdxp2Isef99dr_CpSCNbdJr70CxXFUqCqNqzA66DhNtQMSeKuZElzFA/s1600/consult003a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1068" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1IwxKt4HhVZ1tCLJUSULNd6grRsKAnBu_Z3EMR7qaAdox5IuhKItAVWyt5a1UzmZ9RaICQ-vTGUntz4s5VJaaZcdxp2Isef99dr_CpSCNbdJr70CxXFUqCqNqzA66DhNtQMSeKuZElzFA/s640/consult003a.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">♡</span>susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-81086118421528408962017-11-29T17:52:00.001-08:002017-11-29T18:00:17.871-08:00no woman no cryYou might enjoy watching the most bizarre musical performance I've seen recently. The song, released in 1974 by Bob Marley and the Wailers, addresses a poor woman growing up in the Jamaican slums, promising that things will be “alright” and asking her not to cry. <br />
<br />
This version is Bahraini<span style="font-size: large;"> - </span>not Saudi - nevertheless it's a country whose policies regarding women is very similar to other Gulf monarchies, ie, women there can vote and run for public office but very few have been allowed to exercise those rights.<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/rFZjBZ0XLAk" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
What a world, eh? You have to laugh.<br />
<br />
Then there's this one:<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/aZMbTFNp4wI" width="560"></iframe><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">♡</span>susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-9579471074105756342017-11-06T12:28:00.000-08:002017-11-06T12:28:16.298-08:00every picture tells a story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO7RQSD7eOF7Ez7kVij4eC7Lz2WAVaf6xYBptna8SijqnlBUwlBzuQiy9zwBaQWyf3A_wFgOFd116fRQfor8yyKgIusIiLRhST4SFBGdnyfJLF-2Cx550fOeHHzXsD3aDliBL_8UhBCbIE/s1600/hideandseek001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="570" data-original-width="649" height="351" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO7RQSD7eOF7Ez7kVij4eC7Lz2WAVaf6xYBptna8SijqnlBUwlBzuQiy9zwBaQWyf3A_wFgOFd116fRQfor8yyKgIusIiLRhST4SFBGdnyfJLF-2Cx550fOeHHzXsD3aDliBL_8UhBCbIE/s400/hideandseek001.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
pic 1<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNUUCZvg32LlhxyVQ_XuX5MaNsbbVw0q3u5tjWkdWwtdIIal7l6BXPvHv5UAZVS-t_Vo9BagT2sLe8mHm4TAWcNLzjyV59lHufNx_yXoZLxcqhoN_vMLyPlpGdmvMgEMs1Zdja6zV6TZyS/s1600/hideandseek003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="638" data-original-width="894" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNUUCZvg32LlhxyVQ_XuX5MaNsbbVw0q3u5tjWkdWwtdIIal7l6BXPvHv5UAZVS-t_Vo9BagT2sLe8mHm4TAWcNLzjyV59lHufNx_yXoZLxcqhoN_vMLyPlpGdmvMgEMs1Zdja6zV6TZyS/s400/hideandseek003.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
pic 2<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ-EkWdCoZdodVXUOU-2dM-ee7NArx-49-bV0eSrM7T92ZCzpjWXLsTp12f0trWQt-COEcGSeTDoE3boErQTXrDe5UGFEyXNGo8giGlXRTQLHjjr9P69IHBkFrrrhW8YBssFITA1ZSIAX2/s1600/hideandseek004a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="648" data-original-width="930" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ-EkWdCoZdodVXUOU-2dM-ee7NArx-49-bV0eSrM7T92ZCzpjWXLsTp12f0trWQt-COEcGSeTDoE3boErQTXrDe5UGFEyXNGo8giGlXRTQLHjjr9P69IHBkFrrrhW8YBssFITA1ZSIAX2/s400/hideandseek004a.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
pic 3<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLylDqAKFlFTnoWEZVBekjtQzVxHNr4KsCQ1oid4A38KAHz1jEg3_s4_iTibPZIg81JFGDyOZhJDodd5GdA7aV8gHJSorRzubr0DN8gsbpTu0NnsMa9JYBMtBraN1rgNK3p1FuFhHByUWf/s1600/hideandseek005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="568" data-original-width="811" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLylDqAKFlFTnoWEZVBekjtQzVxHNr4KsCQ1oid4A38KAHz1jEg3_s4_iTibPZIg81JFGDyOZhJDodd5GdA7aV8gHJSorRzubr0DN8gsbpTu0NnsMa9JYBMtBraN1rgNK3p1FuFhHByUWf/s400/hideandseek005.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
pic 4<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnyuIrcnZFqo_VPLuOBe96Fmbyq9K3xOUngsWPQQEeobrpVYqwkHexr7rCt-nLvWLg66E5UCVZbEI-a1_rKid2I7_lQNUburSzAxWF7gPmGRyRlVH7i-RTORmo8DAPHdfqRvsQNtRza7uv/s1600/hideandseek006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="574" data-original-width="811" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnyuIrcnZFqo_VPLuOBe96Fmbyq9K3xOUngsWPQQEeobrpVYqwkHexr7rCt-nLvWLg66E5UCVZbEI-a1_rKid2I7_lQNUburSzAxWF7gPmGRyRlVH7i-RTORmo8DAPHdfqRvsQNtRza7uv/s400/hideandseek006.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
pic 5<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5sJZnTB8nCgdcB8h0fjBQK0dtJsh56befqQJWHEpwiGaRNr8qWq95wYb6pjcV-i_DyWd8aNecHBvC0noCcngW8lTpWCnurseeVecNPlNQceXJpjBMDshM6Qf3bMYjiRqjy7__CS-xykYK/s1600/hideandseek007a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="569" data-original-width="809" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5sJZnTB8nCgdcB8h0fjBQK0dtJsh56befqQJWHEpwiGaRNr8qWq95wYb6pjcV-i_DyWd8aNecHBvC0noCcngW8lTpWCnurseeVecNPlNQceXJpjBMDshM6Qf3bMYjiRqjy7__CS-xykYK/s400/hideandseek007a.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
pic 6<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDVdCwLNERekQiyqHTkncyvQJ7pxoIzi_DP5Fv_fbSW0d-U3imb49TgMcxUodBTRbNeUvx6TG4znYkfVQWUKTfNxf7a0KeoMrKgJTJ0qaqefgTJebmHK-nYK9_ujuhgc3LQkpawk9QJHpX/s1600/hideandseek008b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="569" data-original-width="807" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDVdCwLNERekQiyqHTkncyvQJ7pxoIzi_DP5Fv_fbSW0d-U3imb49TgMcxUodBTRbNeUvx6TG4znYkfVQWUKTfNxf7a0KeoMrKgJTJ0qaqefgTJebmHK-nYK9_ujuhgc3LQkpawk9QJHpX/s400/hideandseek008b.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
pic 7<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0fbOH3eqEq-qjp1dFfLdLz2XPYrjznZ5OydsGQSv5Xgg1f_hsOsCXIbMhA0LywVruIGRkZ5gmHRKuWtQoO7gd26SDJ0qmvD2K-UNw6VgBpSpMcm1qFVVJVx6OwRcmqlsbe4yMg_t1Z7t3/s1600/hideandseek009b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="569" data-original-width="806" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0fbOH3eqEq-qjp1dFfLdLz2XPYrjznZ5OydsGQSv5Xgg1f_hsOsCXIbMhA0LywVruIGRkZ5gmHRKuWtQoO7gd26SDJ0qmvD2K-UNw6VgBpSpMcm1qFVVJVx6OwRcmqlsbe4yMg_t1Z7t3/s400/hideandseek009b.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
pic 8<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirUYFinBYWllwx4e4LeMTzf2s0FR8AerLOlYSsAS971ihqs8_PCqG3E1GgUJaTcA_AvaP3I1FrMb8JfD8ZxtKiLfnUQT1OMByA5Z0hSaPxbIcXftkh7R4iu5Y5Vt-5jQf2kwVWjMdIfYhs/s1600/hideandseek010a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="570" data-original-width="807" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirUYFinBYWllwx4e4LeMTzf2s0FR8AerLOlYSsAS971ihqs8_PCqG3E1GgUJaTcA_AvaP3I1FrMb8JfD8ZxtKiLfnUQT1OMByA5Z0hSaPxbIcXftkh7R4iu5Y5Vt-5jQf2kwVWjMdIfYhs/s400/hideandseek010a.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
pic 9<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijA_srjysq8RQZlMNVTzSZm0QdY4TuMZKt5ZB3GvT9UtvM3Bk-VjmOdY7OwXvGSuMl6Bp7cCUru1ijxqTlPjxirdQfyemxSmOg8Y6-6eBPhlvZHqbLNiNJ3Jx6LWGa8vgfaqPQ0IPDF8Q8/s1600/hidenseek011a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="590" data-original-width="776" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijA_srjysq8RQZlMNVTzSZm0QdY4TuMZKt5ZB3GvT9UtvM3Bk-VjmOdY7OwXvGSuMl6Bp7cCUru1ijxqTlPjxirdQfyemxSmOg8Y6-6eBPhlvZHqbLNiNJ3Jx6LWGa8vgfaqPQ0IPDF8Q8/s640/hidenseek011a.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
pic 10<br />
<br />
The first three were drawn on a sketch pad.<br />
Transferred to watercolour paper by number four.<br />
Then ink.<br />
Then base colour shading.<br />
Adding colour washes. <br />
What's outside the window?<br />
Good enough.<br />
Time to start another.<br />
<br />
Even simple things aren't always easy, are they?<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">♡ </span><br />
<br />susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-50335577518106119062017-10-28T18:47:00.000-07:002017-10-28T18:47:55.387-07:00life is short, fashion is eternal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd5xPQ4gPn1XE9mz1iYtyhvinpNoo7PmZSSXDMCPPvbvBqVkEMwmhuF691Se9it4D2vp8VO5UG1PfZODHWM9TJ-_OZVQX_lyPQWslrQUIhs7EzTNJrRY1uKl87AokCXpj3DWD-RLl-xHtf/s1600/herstories.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1147" data-original-width="1600" height="457" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd5xPQ4gPn1XE9mz1iYtyhvinpNoo7PmZSSXDMCPPvbvBqVkEMwmhuF691Se9it4D2vp8VO5UG1PfZODHWM9TJ-_OZVQX_lyPQWslrQUIhs7EzTNJrRY1uKl87AokCXpj3DWD-RLl-xHtf/s640/herstories.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
When Hallowe'en comes around and we have time to think of such things most people agree that the belief in ghosts stems from the ancient concept that there is a person inside the person, some type of animating spirit. In other words we think of ghosts as being people without bodies. Now if this is the case it's not much of a jump to reverse the logic and say that people are just ghosts who do have physical bodies. Of course this leads us to imagine all sorts of fascinating possibilities about the essential nature of life, the universe, and everything. But that's a discussion best left for another time. What I'd like to do this time is to share the Victorian tale of Mrs. Butler.<br />
<br />
<br />
It seems that in 1891 a certain Mrs. Butler, who lived in Ireland with her husband, dreamed of finding herself in a very beautiful house, furnished with all imaginable comforts. The dream made a deep impression on her mind, and the following night she again dreamed of the same house and of going over it. And so for many nights in succession, until in the family circle she and her house of dreams became the subject of gentle raillery. In 1892 the Butlers decided to leave Ireland and take up their residence in England. They went to London and procured from various agencies lists of country houses. Having heard of a house in Hampshire, they went out to see it. At the gate-keeper’s lodge Mrs. Butler exclaimed, “This is the gate-house of my dream!” And when they reached the house she affirmed the house to be that of her dreams. The woman in charge proceeded to show the premises, and Mrs. Butler said she recognized all the details, except a certain door, which it turned out had been added to the place within six months. The estate being for sale at a very low price, the Butlers decided to buy it.<br /><br />When it was bought and paid for, the price had been so extraordinarily small, that they could not help a misgiving that there must be something wrong with the place. So they went to the agent of the people who had sold it and said, ‘Well, now the purchase is made and the deeds are signed, will you mind telling us why the price asked was so small?’ The agent had started violently when they came in, but recovered himself. Then he said to Mrs. Butler, ‘Yes, it is quite true the matter is quite settled, so there can be no harm in telling now. The fact is that the house has had a great reputation for being haunted; but you, madam, need be under no apprehensions, for you are yourself the ghost!’ On the nights when Mrs. Butler had dreamt she was at her house, she - her ‘astral body’ - had been seen there.<br />
<br />****<br /><br />The pictures I've posted this time are two of a group of similar ones I painted in the mid-80s that were given as presents.. <br /><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjErAQAe3N82Y5Ng6oxn-8zJUL9CKgUlvtljE6RY3hIOCWDMNWP76EXXx-PfYroQ50tThzb2bRwosE-Ykll3DlrzwbegGYK0Uvpq517_VCJpOo0ed1MpJ-AMUVvcDe19uLhcdE9oN87Oz8m/s1600/makeup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="376" data-original-width="275" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjErAQAe3N82Y5Ng6oxn-8zJUL9CKgUlvtljE6RY3hIOCWDMNWP76EXXx-PfYroQ50tThzb2bRwosE-Ykll3DlrzwbegGYK0Uvpq517_VCJpOo0ed1MpJ-AMUVvcDe19uLhcdE9oN87Oz8m/s400/makeup.jpg" width="292" /></a></div>
<br />
back in the days when the saying went: Grrls just wanna have fun. :)<br />
<br />
Speaking of which: <br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Cv6tuzHUuuk" width="560"></iframe> <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">♡ </span><br />
<br />susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-84524994955281201522017-10-10T13:28:00.000-07:002017-10-10T13:28:43.812-07:00at home with Crow<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5HQH7ZmYkVw9CZCgugF9HwtzWKrmWiAqb-8Ay7yKmrueCIqeNhyphenhypheno41ERNNbbgdKwXwYFE8Mbhjc2B4AVQ4PIDmYqTuVTr2ewOv09Aia2A_B3iVIchmstYISMXGJiBlfRoqg-xB_HW8HaE/s1600/crowhall005b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="634" data-original-width="864" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5HQH7ZmYkVw9CZCgugF9HwtzWKrmWiAqb-8Ay7yKmrueCIqeNhyphenhypheno41ERNNbbgdKwXwYFE8Mbhjc2B4AVQ4PIDmYqTuVTr2ewOv09Aia2A_B3iVIchmstYISMXGJiBlfRoqg-xB_HW8HaE/s640/crowhall005b.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
When I brought Crow and his friend their afternoon tea I heard them
discussing one of those irritations of modern life that drive me crazy
too. Why is it that grocery stores announce with pride they have no
plastic carry bags to hand out to customers but just about everything
they sell is encased in layers of the stuff? Cosmetics, personal care
items, toys, eggs, chocolates, produce, cookies, snack foods, tools and
appliances are just a few items that create packaging discards we all
deal with. A single purchase can mean bringing home more packaging than
product.<br />
<br />
Since 1960, the use and disposal of single-use plastic
packaging has grown from 120,000 tons to over 12,720,000 tons per year
today. It used to be the idea that packaging protected a product from
damage but nowadays it's just another marketing tool to get us to buy
things. Apparently the manufacturers think items packed in hard shelled,
difficult (and possibly dangerous) to open plastic packages appear to
be more attractive. Whatever happened to cellophane and cardboard? What
makes plastic packaging worse is that it raises the cost of every item
covered in the stuff by about 10% and then we have to find some way to
recycle the stuff.<br />
<br />
No wonder Crow prefers the comforts of the 19th century.<br />
<br />
♡<br />
<br />
<i>“If all mankind were to disappear, the world would regenerate back
to the rich state of equilibrium that existed ten thousand years ago. If
insects were to vanish, the environment would collapse into chaos”</i><br />
– E.O. Wilson<br />
<br />susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-52103533189112455562017-09-26T13:21:00.002-07:002017-09-26T13:21:38.494-07:00our place in space<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4o8PfU6SHi5icszo0za3da_T-2TUwJPEpRQPyVXyry81WF5_aCOMGUMc7EuIsHu8Xp1YnrE5s663S2TT0cOQktlU6eqi8gHNbF_Lc_-xUnHlOZRtAD7ifobhKUIwnDfwY1vJ0LsrFLkhA/s1600/makingfriends002a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="601" data-original-width="871" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4o8PfU6SHi5icszo0za3da_T-2TUwJPEpRQPyVXyry81WF5_aCOMGUMc7EuIsHu8Xp1YnrE5s663S2TT0cOQktlU6eqi8gHNbF_Lc_-xUnHlOZRtAD7ifobhKUIwnDfwY1vJ0LsrFLkhA/s640/makingfriends002a.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
I'm pretty sure I've mentioned before that reading science fiction books has long been one of my pleasures. What I've never done, though, is to understand the alien planets described, the creatures who inhabit them, or the means for our getting to them as anything other than fantasy. It seems to me that to a great extent, planetary sci-fi represented the hope of extending the era of exploration and colonization to new planets after ours had already been explored, mapped and claimed. For a while we imagined the tantalizing possibility of moving to Mars where there were canals to navigate among strange crystalline forests; then there was Venus where cloud covered skies sheltered tropical forests and who knew what beasts. When the scientists developed better telescopes we realized things were very different from what we'd dreamed. That's when faster than light travel and warp speed was fabricated. We just needed to find compatible planets in other solar systems..<br /><br />Still, science fiction doesn’t lose its value as a work of the imagination, after all, just because the future it imagined was never an option in the first place, and the worlds it envisioned never existed. Few people argue that The Wizard of Oz or The Lord of the Rings ought to be pulped just because Oz and Middle-earth don’t happen to be real locations. The same rule applies just as well to science fiction, once we get out from under the notion that these brilliant works of imaginative fiction are somehow supposed to pretend to be sober predictions of the future. <br /><br />As a species, we haven’t come to grips with the most fundamental aspect of our existence. This planet doesn’t belong to us; we belong to it. The idea that we, who go nowhere even on this abundant earth without our stuff, can afford to relocate to a lifeless sphere where it costs us countless millions just to drop ship a Roomba, is unhinged. There isn’t time (or pockets) deep enough for that project. I suppose it’s another apocalypse fantasy designed to avoid cleaning up our mess.<br /><br />I was feeling quite depressed about our prospects as a species and casting about the sky in hopes of finding a stray giant asteroid, when I happened instead upon a film about John D. Liu, an environmentalist and filmmaker, who documents large-scale ecosystem restoration projects in China, Africa, South America and the Middle East, highlighting the enormous benefits to people and planet of undertaking these efforts globally. Some of the successful projects I've seen were far larger than I could have guessed - including an enormous area in China that is quite breathtaking. Here's one of the documentaries you might enjoy next time you have a half hour or so. If only such projects were more widespread our world could be a so much better place for us and all the beings we share it with.<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/6iJKiFSQLn4" width="560"></iframe><br /><br />The stars are very far away. Perhaps beings on other planets might spend some of their ample free time reading stories written during their own species’ brief period of industrial exuberance, when they dreamed of traveling to the other worlds of their own solar system or beyond. Hopefully, and if we are very lucky, the same recreation will be available to our descendants as well. <br /><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />♡</span></span>susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8764563741359701027.post-17160104765491456562017-08-31T19:35:00.001-07:002017-09-01T12:09:50.801-07:00a decade of phantsies<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name">
<i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">As of sometime in the next few days it will be ten years since we began blogging here. Many things have changed, including the fact that a number of friends who had blogs of their own then no longer do. Some things haven't changed as much as we'd prefer as shown in this post by Crow in August of 2009 called 'big plans, no clue'.</span></span></i></h3>
<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name">
<i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></i><br />
</h3>
<div class="post-header">
</div>
<div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-3066800559839528516" itemprop="description articleBody">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3i-ehk6DJmtvZd7c6_XcOIqFGjHQ0iYz0AuRexCqabddYquKY_jKKNIaeuebTwtb5Q1NWTsnfeRi-mdLHWnSMck_1UFSVq_M1EO-pkcr-rrknV-48avrBkpuOBoWM4NGAmSohCEMrOwXx/s1600-h/crowportrait"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370435963389421634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3i-ehk6DJmtvZd7c6_XcOIqFGjHQ0iYz0AuRexCqabddYquKY_jKKNIaeuebTwtb5Q1NWTsnfeRi-mdLHWnSMck_1UFSVq_M1EO-pkcr-rrknV-48avrBkpuOBoWM4NGAmSohCEMrOwXx/s200/crowportrait" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 176px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 116px;" /></a><br />
<br />
Crow here. susan used to tell people she didn't like wearing glasses so had the windshield of her car ground to her current prescription. A few of them believed it too. It's funny what you can get folks to take seriously, isn't it? Imagine convincing a good part of the population that Medicare for everybody is a bad idea but it's a really good idea to have their tax money go directly to the richest 1% of the citizenry.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDjwmThNmv4kFHXhJkwLBcOf50FPmrEglEPVfatiROYtRPk_ftNKXdbk9etAGgjl1AvUNQd5t4C1MUi_d0eH07JYIVdOJfhUXmSzSPwggfvjkc4ss6PSHVBxkcpfciLD9M6h4W1auC269t/s1600-h/Space_lens.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370435678616238706" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDjwmThNmv4kFHXhJkwLBcOf50FPmrEglEPVfatiROYtRPk_ftNKXdbk9etAGgjl1AvUNQd5t4C1MUi_d0eH07JYIVdOJfhUXmSzSPwggfvjkc4ss6PSHVBxkcpfciLD9M6h4W1auC269t/s1600/Space_lens.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br />
<br />
The picture above is an artist's rendering of one of the big geo-engineering ideas for cooling off our overheated planet. Just imagine what could happen if the big optometrist grinding that thing got the specs wrong and corrected for far sighted rather than near. Ooops. You think we've got global warming now?<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX4J5kZRfFbGXYRUJ8pN9vj5Z_hKqfCGVQsOJ7vk5l_eBkzpvnnqiOb_gXmpHxmbFdc38d0W-Vxd5RGM95yuUDAF6GhdlTgm7GH5U_fb3SFQZrMJg89QZ45IEXVldEZGVb4CrHKEEkQS7u/s1600-h/Cloud+ship.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370435327613814258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX4J5kZRfFbGXYRUJ8pN9vj5Z_hKqfCGVQsOJ7vk5l_eBkzpvnnqiOb_gXmpHxmbFdc38d0W-Vxd5RGM95yuUDAF6GhdlTgm7GH5U_fb3SFQZrMJg89QZ45IEXVldEZGVb4CrHKEEkQS7u/s640/Cloud+ship.jpg" style="display: block; height: 250px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
Then there's this one - ships spraying sea water to create clouds that shield much of the Earth from sunlight and so would lower global temperatures. How about the fact Bill Gates has patented the idea to halt hurricanes by decreasing the surface temperature of the ocean? Does that make you a bit nervous? The patent calls for a large fleet of specially equipped ships which would mix warm water from the ocean surface with colder water down below which could then reduce the heat-driven condensation hurricanes feed upon. The scheme is reminiscent of something Mr. Burns might have concocted in 'The Simpsons' - if he hadn't already blown his master plan on blocking out the sun.<br />
<br />
I don't know. It just seems to me people have to change their way of thinking but I've been around long enough to not be entirely hopeful for the intelligence of your species at large. Global warming has so many separate causes and accelerating factors that it's already beyond political control. Every piece of metal sticking out of the ground is a heat coil. The crisis needs an unconscious shift at the same level as the primordial production of oxygen by bacteria at the dawn of life. Long ago a sudden fluctuation triggered a burst of molecular intelligence and a world that began under a canopy of volcanic ash exhaled into a blue sky.<br />
<br />
Lizards crawled. Crows flew. Eventually, people dreamed and maybe it's enough to dream of a better world. The Golden Rule has always been a good place to start. Now it's time for me to climb on my perch and put my head where it belongs - under my right wing. Good night and sweet dreams.</div>
<div class="post-footer">
<span style="font-size: large;">♡</span><br />
<div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-3">
<span class="post-location"> </span> </div>
</div>
<div class="post-footer">
***<br />
<br />
<div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-3">
<span class="post-location"> </span> </div>
</div>
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="comments"></a> Here are a few of our favourite comments left that day:<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #ffd966;">Seraphine:</span><br />
<br />
i think the idea of putting a giant glass lens between us and the sun is stupid. for one thing, if you think sun spots are bad now, wait until something gets on the giant lens. a piece of dust, a fingerprint, a smudge of grease- it could cause entire nations to go crazy. would there be a lens cloth big enough to clean it?<br />
and two, why take the risk that, with the proper lens correction, the sun could be able to see us clearly? there are some things about human-kind that the sun is better off not knowing.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #ffd966;">Lindsay:</span><br />
<br />
I note to date there are no geo engineering projects of any scale ever tried and I doubt if their effect could ever be measured or known, particularly in relation to the complexity of climate systems – which is still not thoroughly understood. But recent studies over here indicate the possibility of an abundant renewable energy supply just below our feet, in the form of hot rocks. <br />
<br />
You’re familiar, of course, with molten rock breaking through the earth’s crust to spew lava into the atmosphere but in such a state it is far too hot and difficult to harness as a viable energy source. However just below the earth’s surface in Australia lays an abundance of hot granite rocks with enough heat to drive steam turbines and generate electricity.<br />
<br />
How does the idea work? <br />
<br />
Water is injected into a borehole and circulated through a "heat exchanger" to hot cracked rocks several kilometers below the surface. The water is heated through contact with the rocks and is then returned to the surface through another borehole where it is used to generate electricity. The water is then re-injected into the first borehole to be reheated and used again. The heat used in this hot rock energy process is eventually replaced by the Earth; it can be classified as renewable energy. It could, potentially provide all of our energy needs in perpetuity. <br />
<br />
<span style="color: #ffd966;">Spartacus:</span><br />
<br />
Crow.. I love that you're seeking new and inventive ways to save the Earth's environment from impending doom. But I have one question for you regarding Bill Gates's patent: Can it core an apple? <br />
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #f1c232;">Randal Graves:</span><br />
<br />
Since the dawn of time man has yearned to destroy the sun and get patents on everything helpful. This is why I'm glad a British dude invented HTML and not an American. We'd be paying coke money to surf for porn.<br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #ffd966;">*Spadoman:</span><br />
<br />
I've hovered around this post for a few days before commenting. Sort of hoping it would change so i wouldn't have to deal with my shame from my own wastefulness. Frankly, I'm embarrassed to respond to you Crow, I know I am part of the problem.<br />
<br />
Sure, I've done some changes. We recycle and compost and try to buy everything we buy NOT wrapped in some sort of plastic, but I fail miserably at the "so much more I can do", we can do, to help slow down and end the global problems we, as dumb humans, are putting the physical earth through right now.<br />
<br />
Wholesale changes must be made by all people all over the world to end the cycle, but it may already be too late. Maybe this generation or even the next won't live to see the Sacred Earth Mother die, but as we keep up our wasteful killing ways, it is inevitable that she will die. There are some dead spots already, like cancerous sores, on Mother Earth. We move on, and do what we did to make the sore, somewhere else.<br />
<br />
I am ashamed of myself. Believe me Crow, I think of this every time I turn on a water faucet in my home. Yet I am not yet willing to get rid of the faucet and running water.<br />
Thanks for reminding me that I am wasteful and motivate me to change even more.<br />
<br />
Peace above all.<br />
<br />
<i>*<a href="http://spadoman-roundcircle.blogspot.ca/2014/03/joe-spado-memorial-information-save.html">Joe Spadoman</a> died in December of 2013 and his wife not long after. Their memorial service was held one beautiful day in June on the shore of Lake Superior attended by their many friends. He was an amazing and very generous man who worked hard to make the world a better place. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Peace be upon him and us all. </i><br />
<br />
(^^)<br />
<br />
<br />susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16747450215034568033noreply@blogger.com18