MICA

Some of you know Mica from when she was an itzy bitty puppy. She'll be turning five soon, and though she's not cute and cuddly like she was back then, she grew into a nice looking dog. We don't know what breeds she harbors in her genes, but one thing is certain, she is 100% dog. Not as cuddly as Zoey and Smitty, but every bit as capable of stealing your heart away.

A GUST OF WIND

Big winds. Big branches. Kind of scary, actually, as I'd been sitting close by seconds before the branch came crashing down in a violent wind gust. It's going to be this way, I'm afraid, until the wind and storms take the tree bit by bit, or we hire a tree company to take the ailing (probably dead) tree down all at once. But obviously, something has to be done, as this is scary as well as dangerous.

SHADOW ON TEXAS FLAGSTONE

No special story behind this one. Me taking a picture of my shadow, is all. This is apparently what I do when I've run out of subject matter. I must get into the habit of taking my camera with me when I go places. I've snapped pictures of every flower and living thing around the house. And now this.

Peas and Pods

A recent trip to our plot at the Sunshine Gardens was a big surprise! We found hundreds of blossoms on our peas; white, pink, blue. So beautiful. This can only mean we'll be finding lots of pods in the next weeks. Soon we will be eating bowlfuls of peas, adding them to stews, and sprinkling them on our salads, putting the rest up for later, when they are no longer in season.

SEYMOUR THE CAT

Meet Seymour, my cat with odd colored eyes, a blue one and a green one. This picture doesn't really bring out that particular trait, but for those of you who have read the first three chapters of my book, this is the spitting image of what I see when I envision Merlin.

He adopted us about seven years ago, left his old owner to move in with us. I personally think he liked our pet food better than he liked hers, but one never really knows what goes on in a cat's head. He's been a good companion, always showing up for his meals, never missing an opportunity for a good petting. When it gets cold he likes to hang out in my car, which is where he was lounging at the time this picture was taken.

BIRTHDAY FLOWERS

Birthday flowers come and go, unless one takes a picture and captures the image forever.

I didn't get many flowers this year, but Carlos' receptionist, who also is a good friend, stopped by just to give me this lovely arrangement.

PAPAYA GROVE

I took a sickly oak tree down earlier this year, then filled the hole with dirt from our compost pile.

Soon after, the rains came. In record amounts. It seemed they would never stop, though eventually they did.

I noticed that a bunch of papaya trees, small, tender, and fragile, had come up where my sickly oak had been.


Space was a problem, so I selected the strongest and sacrificed the rest. They grew all summer, spreading out their lovely branches, which are really nothing but giant leaves.

I admired them from a distance, thinking how lovely to have a papaya grove in the middle of Austin. It wasn't until I inspected the trees close up that I realized the little things nestled in the crook of every branch were nothing less than baby papayas. Back then, they were no bigger than walmuts. This is what they look like today.

If the weather holds, if we don't get a freeze in the next few months, it's possible we may have some tree-ripened fruit on our plates.
That will be a first!

EARLY MORNING STROLL

Luckily this picture of mama possum and her clinging brood was not taken at my house, though I'm sure it could've been. I hear their eerie calls while it is still dark outside. I know they are out there, somewhere. By the time daylight makes its appearance, they have burrowed into hiding.
It is unusual to see such a large family out in broad daylight. One wonders where mama is taking all her little ones on such a fine day.

Sunshine Plot

Wow, I managed to download this all by myself! Though it may seem a small feat to those who are more computer oriented, it is a milestone for me. From this day forth, there is no telling the colorful images you will be enjoying on this formerly bland blog site.

This is a picture of our plot at the Sunshine gardens, taken a few weeks ago. Today, everything is twice as big, and we are hoping our veggies will be ready for a Thanksgiving harvest.

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS

This is one of the first pictures I took with our digital camera. It's an artichoke flower. In my estimation, it is the most beautiful bloom in the vegetable kingdom.
Our garden plots are looking good. Weeks of raiding construction sites and dumpster diving for rejected wood finally paid off. We got our raised beds up, and they are planted with fall veggies.
Today is the first day that feels like fall is here. High winds and rain, and a temperature reading less than 85 degrees. We can leave summer behind and welcome the fall with open arms. Time to bring out the jackets, and add a blanket to the bed, and turn off the overhead fans. Time to turn off the air conditioner and turn on the oven and bake, and take long hot baths.

THINGS I'LL NEVER DO AGAIN

When we bought our house thirteen years ago, we discovered there was a privacy issue with the half-way house behind our property. There was nothing but a chain link fence between our back yard and this undesirable neighbor.
I thought a permanent solution would be to plant some bamboo next to the fence, Over the years, it grew, and spread. Some of the stalks rose some twenty feet up.


About three years ago, Carlos brought home a small potted plant called fo-ti. He was told it liked to grow next to a fence, so I planted it next to the bamboo. I watched it grow, twirling its way in and out of the chain links, filling in all the gaps until it looked like a solid green curtain of leaves. Quite pretty, and very private. Eventually, it wound its way to the top of the bamboo plants and latched on to the nearby trees.


I began to worry the fo ti was going to take over the entire area, so I took it upon myself to get rid of it. I found that in order to do this, I had to chop down all the bamboo plants. The removal of the visible parts of these plants was tedious, yet simple enough. Nothing, really, compared to the network of roots I have unearthed, so thick and tough I can hardly get a pitch fork or shovel through it. It has turned into a full blown project. I swear I'll never plant another bamboo shoot, much less an innocent looking monster like fo ti.

The dreaded final assignment

Without a doubt I've neglected this site. To all you expectant readers, I apologize. If you knew that I have not stopped writing, am in fact trying to get ahead on the final assignment for my writing class, you would, I'm certain, find it in you to forgive my long silence.

This final assignment is the one I've been dreading all along, the inevitable conclusion to an otherwise very pleasant experience: writing the first three chapters of my novel under the guidance of a teacher/mentor.

This final assignment is where I must prepare for the marketing of this yet unfinished novel. It involves writing a fetching query letter, a one page affair that must catch the editor's eye, or be doomed to the dreaded slush pile.
I also must write a brief summary of the plot, and compose a cover letter.

The biggest job, however, is not the writing of the afore mentioned things, but going through the Writer's Market book (a four inch thick affair) and trying to find a good fit for my book.

So, don't feel neglected, or forgotten. I am hard at work, elsewhere.

WILL IT EVER END?

We are making progress in the garden. It's difficult to see when standing on a pile of dirt and double digging for the deep weeds, but when stepping back and looking at the whole project from a distance, it is obvious we are moving forward in a systematic way. Indeed, we are making progress, at least that's what we tell ourselves. We only have a few more tons of rocks to move.

But I think its not just wishful thinking, or our tired imaginations, we are hearing encouraging words from other gardeners, especially those whose plots are closest to ours. Seeing as your neighbor's weeds eventually become your weeds, I think they are nothing short of ecstatic that we are cleaning up our little nightmare.

Carlos is now the man in charged of digging up the rocks and moving them. While I've been mourning the process of dismantling my once charming garden, still hold a special love for each and every rock, Carlos confessed this morning that he has come to hate rocks. Imagine!

SUNSHINE GARDENS

I was tempted to let go of our 2 plots (800 square feet) at the community gardens when I realized the enormous amount of time and energy it would take to re-design them. To fix the problem my wonderful rocks had created meant only one thing, and that was to get rid of them, all. If not for Carlos' promise to help out, plantings visions of a new, beautiful garden in my head, I would have been forced, by reason of limited energy, to leave the plots to someone else on the long waiting list.
There's something special about growing one's own vegetables, something akin to an addiction. They taste better, they are fresher, a fitting reward after months of hard work.
It was an unbearable thought to let go of the single thing that connects us to the land. Though the weather hasn't been exactly what one would order out of a catalog, it hasn't stopped, but merely slowed our progress. If it isn't the rain, it's the heat and humidity. And through it all, the pesky mosquito, who forces us to dress up when all we want is to dress down.
I have failed to make this gardening experience sound desireable, but then again, hard physical labor is something most of us will avoid if we can. The gardens never let us get soft. It keeps our muscles firm and strong, our pores clean, and well, what can I say, the harvest provides food for our bellies, the labor for our hearts and souls.

BETWEEN A ROCK AND A HARD PLACE

A few weeks ago our plot at the community gardens was cited for not being in compliance. What that really means is that our weeds have gotten out of hand, and that it's looking like an abandoned plot.

Four years ago, when I first laid the rocks for our eleven raised beds and paved the paths with bricks and flagstone, it was a most charming garden. But the recent rains and years of superficial weed-wacking have taken their toll this year, and the rocks and paths have all but been swallowed up by every kind of weed imaginable.

I've been hauling rocks to our garden plot for years. To say I have a ton of rocks would be partly true, but in reality, its more like ten tons. It didn't feel like such a big job taking them to the garden, perhaps because it was done in increments, a few at a time. But now that we are in the process of removing all the rocks at once, it feels gigantic. A friend has offered to take every rock to the last pebble for landscaping her yard, so I don't have to bring them all back home.

I managed to get a fingertip smashed between two rocks. It bled instantly, and I think I'm going to lose the nail. I was tempted to get some black nail polish, so that I could match the other nine nails to the color of my injured one.

A friend loaned me the last of the Harry Potter books, so I read it while nursing the very swollen and throbbing finger. I enjoyed it very much, but I'm glad the series is over.

SUNNY-SIDE UP

"How would you like your eggs this morning, Miss Joy?" the waiter asked the lone woman sitting across from me at the next table.

"Sunny side up, if you would, Walter," she answered in a cheerful voice.

I looked up from the morning paper, feeling a trite suspicious of anyone named Joy. Apparently, she'd not read the headlines, or bothered to turn the television on. I took her cheerful mood as a personal affront. No one should be happy, taking into account the sad state of affairs.

I had the sudden urge to sober this happy woman up, to make her see that there was nothing to be happy about, nothing at all. She should've asked for her eggs scrambled, and she should've done it with a scowl on her face, like mine, as I read the morning paper and got all tangled up in national and world affairs.

I leaned over in my chair, motioned to get her attention.

"Excuse me, Miss Joy, but did you happen to read the paper this morning?" I asked. Surely there was a glint of spite in my eyes, but she didn't seem to take notice.

Instead, she nodded and smiled sadly. Then her blue eyes became cloudy and her smile disappeared. The waiter arrived with her sunny side-up eggs, and she picked at them without gusto.

Strangely, I didn't experience the satisfaction I thought I would by wiping the smile off her pretty face. I felt sad, and wished I could put aside all the bad news, take a moment to enjoy the everyday things life has to offer. Like a cheerful voice and a bright smile coming so appropiately from a woman named Joy.

MORALS OF THIS FICTICIOUS STORY:

Ignorance is not bliss, though it helps.

Happiness doesn't come from without, but from within.

Everyone has a right to a happy moment.

There are things we can change and things we cannot. It is important to make this distinction, to separate the world news from our personal lives. One is out of our control, the other at our fingertips.

THE THINGS WE LOVE TO HATE

Pet Peeves are the things we love to hate. They give us something to gripe about, a good venue to air our discontent. Usually, pet peeves are the things that we encounter all too often, perhaps on a daily basis, often enough to get our attention, and cause us to pause whatever we are doing and scowl.
I've had a few pet peeves of my own of late. The rooster across the street is gone, so I'll skip over him and get to the ever-present one: Early morning honking. Car-pooling is good, everyone knows this. We give it two thumbs up. However, why disrupt the morning peace when picking up a co-worker with a two-three second blare, when a few polite taps on the horn would do the trick? What kind of person does this morning after morning, precisely at 5:30?

LESS IS MORE A TRUE STORY

Richard was tall, dark and handsome. He was a friend of the family's, a frequent dinner guest at our table.

Once I became a liscenced hairdresser, he booked an appointment for a haircut. When I asked how he wanted his hair cut that first time, he said he was putting himself entirely in my hands, being that now I was a professional.

This type of opportunity is a rare happening in the hair cutting business, where the client usually arrives with a clear vision of what the end resuilts should look like. Yeilding happily to the green light, I began cutting, and in no time Richard's former mane was cropped down to an inch of its existence.

I handed him the mirror, and he inspected his haircut from every angle, running his free hand across his short hair. He looked like a new man. I personally thought he'd never looked so handsome, and was very pleased with my haircut.

A few months later, Richard booked another appointment for a haircut. Seated and draped, he asked in a most casual way, "Are you part Indian?"

Secretly flattered, I stole a glance at my pale reflection in the mirror. "You think I look like an Indian?" I asked incredulously.

"No, but you scalped me last time. You think you could leave it a little longer?" he said. I laughed good-naturedly, but inside I was hurt and embarrassed.

Though I may not look like one, I'll admit that sometimes I wish I was an Indian, because I've had the sudden urge to scalp a client or two. I always think of Richard when this mood comes over me, and manage to get a handle on myself before any harm is inflicted.

THE LUCKIEST FOOL

Time got away from me, as it often does when I'm in the yard, weeding, weeding, weeding. I stopped to examine the small patch I'd managed to clear, and then glanced at the rest of the yard and realized the futility of my efforts. I'd never be done weeding.

I went inside to cool down and replenish lost fluids, but a quick glance at the clock reminded me I'd better hurry if I was to get the credit card payment to the post office before the last pick -up of the day. I forgot about my immediate thirst, slipped into a decent pair of shoes, and drove off in a rush to beat the five o'clock deadline.

I was practically at the post office when a man behind me began flashing his lights and gesturing for me to pull over. My immediate thought was that I'd left a door open, or that I was driving on a low tire. Regardless of what the problem was, my exit was fast approaching, so I put my turn signal on and drove up the steep ramp into the post office parking lot.

Still flashing his lights and vying for my attention, the man followed me up the ramp and pulled up alongside my car. He gestured for me to roll my window down.

"There's a telephone on the back of your car, lady," he said.

"You've gotta be kidding!" I responded, but no sooner were the words out of my mouth that I remembered I'd placed it there myself, while I was out weeding the yard.

In my rush to avoid a late fee, I'd plain forgotten our expensive cordless, left it to its own fate as I backed down our steep driveway, wove in and out of traffic, bounced over speed-bumps, turned sharp curves and drove up steep inclines, not to mention a few abrupt stops at inconvenient signs. A more loyal phone I've never owned. Surely it would have cost me more than a late fee to replace it.

On my way back home, I glanced at the phone, now safely nestled in the passenger seat, intact after its adventurous ride to the post office, and I felt like the luckiest fool in the world.

ONLY BORING PEOPLE GET BORED

I'm not sure anyone reads my little bitty nuggets of wisdom, but by popular request (that is, from my one avid commentator), have been summoned to write something, anything.
I've heard that only boring people get bored. I'm afraid I'm feeling a bit like that these days, what with Frances clear across the world having a big adventure and all. My life is rather tame in comparison, and even the vegetables I bring home from our double plot at the Community Gardens aren't as fresh or tasty as the news coming from Dubai.
Even though there is a certain degree of predictability in my life these days, I refuse to call it boring, or admit that I've become a bore. Boredom is a state of mind, and as long as I can travel vicariously to distant lands and see the world through someone else's eyes, there is not a dull moment to be had.

kEEP IT SIMPLE

When I behold a fashionable table set out in all its magnificence, I fancy that I see gouts and dropsies, fevers and lethargies, with other innumerable distempers, lying in abundance among the dishes. Nature delights in the most plain and simple diet. Every animal, but man, keeps to one dish. Herbs are the food of this species, fish of that, and flesh of a third. Man falls upon everything that comes in his way; not the smallest fruit or excrescence of the earth, scarce a berry or a mushroom can escape him.

This is a quote by Thomas Addison (1793-1860), a British doctor famous for his description of Addison's Disease.

My favorite quote is from our own beloved Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790):

I saw few die of hunger-of eating, a hundred thousand.

Apparently, man has been eating poorly for a long time. No wonder we live in a state of confusion about food.
"Keep it simple, stupid," can well be applied to the way we eat. A general rule to follow, for those interested, is never to eat anything that has ingredients you can't pronounce.

THE MIRACLE

Just as science is meaningless without facts and figures, religion is nothing without faith. The enduring conflict between science and religion lies in that which can and cannot be proven, between the visible and the invisible.

Science slowly and meticulously unravels the mystery of life's origin as solid evidence unfolds. The search continues... Religion has left creation in the hands of a Supreme Being. One need look no further for answers. A true believer does not need to see to believe. The dictionary defines faith as "believing without proof."

While every culture has its own religious beliefs and practices, it is obvious that science could never function at such a level. It must remain within its boundaries and claim as fact only that which can be proven without dispute. Science does not enjoy the flexibility that religion takes for granted, and would be ridiculed and deemed inconclusive it it based its theories on faith and then challenged us to adopt them as facts.

In the scientific world, a miracle occurs when a new discovery is made. Spiritually speaking, a miracle occurs when no earthly explanation can be found for an occurrence.

Ours is a unique planet, an oasis in the desert sky. It is a miracle we are here at all. This is probably the single fact that science and religion agree upon.

IS IT LUCK, OR PROVIDENCE?

When I graduated from eigth grade at the Colegio Junipero, my classmates said I was lucky to receive the general excellence medal. I remember thinking it had nothing to do with good luck, everything to do with hard work and persistence, which translated to better grades and test scores, the best in the class.

Some people say they are lucky. I often wonder if it is provident they mean. After all, luck is a chance encounter with good fortune, while providence seems to be an act of God.

Luck would have one win the lottery, while providence would place one in the right place at the right time. Or is it the other way around?

Like wishing and hoping, luck and providence can be a bit confusing.

Are hopes nothing more than wishes? Or is it the other way around?

NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED

There is an old saying that no good deed goes unpunished.
How can this be?
Karmic law says that for every action there is an equal reaction. Certainly there must be some error in this old saying. I ponder, for somewhere lies a hidden meaning, and I aim to shed light on it.
No matter how selfless one's good deed may be, one expects gratitude. When gratitude is not forthcoming, or does not live up to expectations, disappointment sets in, feelings get hurt. Sometimes, a good deed gone unthanked can lead to resentment, and loss of friendship. While it takes but a moment to do a good deed, feelings of resentment and anger can linger indefinitely.
No good deed goes unpunished. It is our expectatiions that make this so.

Prudence

Prudence is a word we seldom hear these days. In reply to a question, our beloved president George Bush, Sr. anwered, "It wouldn't be prudent." Ever since, that phrase has been used in comedy. But do we know, when we hear the word prudence, what it means?
All definitions point in the same direction. Prudence means caution, discretion, managing carefully and with economy.
Seems that governments, worldwide, are becoming less prudent. Old grudges have festered, and it becomes increasingly evident that their differences will not be settled peaceably. Prudence is the last thing on anyone's mind. Rash, bold, to the point of irresponsibility, that's what I'm seeing, and it makes me mighty nervous.
I think we ought to begin to use that word, prudence, more. I think we should demand to hear what George Sr. uttered from our next president.

Is it fear, or something more sinister?

While it's true that a paranoid individual is full of fear, one who is fearful is not necesarily paranoid.
Have the terrorists succeeded in creating a paranoid nation? Or is it simply that we are now a nation full of fear-second guessing when and where the next attack will take place?
There is no shortage of reporters that interview 'experts' on our national security. Invariably, these experts point out how fragile our security really is, how easy it would be to launch an attack on any given nuclear site, poison our water supply, etc... How many more ideas can we give the enemy, I ask, before they know all our weaknesses and vulnerabilities?
An enemy that has nothing to lose is a most fearsome one. Their ultimate goal is to strip those who have much to lose from everything they hold dear. They are watching us squander money and resources to defend our airports, seaports, borders, and every conceivable place in between. Even if there is never another attack on American soil, the terrorists have sucessfully instilled fear in our nation, and we all pay the price as they slowly bleed us to death.
As the experts deliver the sad state of our national security, we become more watchful, more suspicious. Only thing is, we don't really know what we're afraid of. Unsure of where to be looking, we see danger everywhere. Is this fear, or has it morphed into something more sinister, like paranoia?

Words to ponder

I like words. I like to look them up in the dictionary and write their definitions in a notebook I have designated for good words. Oftentimes, while I go about my tedious housework, or the never-ending gardening, I ponder on words.
It seems there is some confusion about obligation, responsibility and duty.
Duty is dictated by one's conscience.
Obligation refers to what one is bound to do to fulfill a particular contract, promise or social requirement.
Responsibilty refers to a particular task for which one is accountable or answerable.
Nowhere is this more confusing than from a parent's perspective, where all three merge, becoming almost indistinguishable from one another. It's difficult to separate obligation from responsibility, easy to confuse them with duty.
Perhaps on a larger scale, we all forget which is which from time to time. Is it our obligation, our responsibilty, or our duty to do the things we do?

Antidote for depression

Thank you, Frances, for posting the first comment on my blog. It makes me feel like a player, whatever that means.

Kindness is the best antidote for depression. Being kind makes us feel better about ourselves. For obvious reasons, the person on the receiving end also feels better. If you happen to witness an act of kindness, you, too, will feel better.
In a study, it was found that a single act of kindness increased serotonin levels in giver, receiver, and observer.
Kindness needs no reason, so create your happiness- do something nice for someone.

Many inventions have made modern life what it is: comfortable, convenient, and efficient. One invention, however, stands above the rest, as it has made all the other inventions possible. Stop. Can you guess what it is?
While it is true that life would have gone on without the arrival of ink, mankind's history would read differently. In fact, it wouldn't read at all. A world without ink would take us back to the stone age.
Although ink has undergone many changes since its crude beginning, it earmarks the beginning of recorded history, an event bigger than anyone can fathom, as it is still going on.
We must not lose sight of those that came before us, because they braved unmapped territory. Had they not had the ability to record their findings, obviously things would be different. In a single breath it can be said that ink has both simplified and complicated life on planet Earth.
While I stand agape at all the new inventions, I bow in humble gratitude to those who made everything thereafter a possibility.
to be continued....

Unlikely Connections

Ever wonder where pharmaceutical companies come up with names for their new meds?
I certainly don't lose any sleep over it, but one day, while indulging in my favorite passtime, which happens to be flipping through the dictionary, I came across the word 'virago'. From its Latin roots, it means a manlike (or warrior) woman.
Is it mere coincidence that 'Viagra', and this word, virago, share so many letters in common? Pray tell. And please, please, say it isn't so!

greetings

Sometimes an inspiration comes our way. No telling when or where it will happen, or who or what causes it. No matter. Inspiration is free, and what we do with it is as personal as the clothes we choose to wear each day.