why i have been remiss

The selection

The positioning

This was not cruelty to children. She had been begging to do it, to do it before Daddy got home, to do it before school started, to just do it. She is almost six, Old enough to make her own decision about her own ears. The day was appointed. The big sacrifice for Mama and Nini was that they had to be brave too—and go to the mall.
The lead-up to the procedure was too drawn out, and the anticipation became tough. Mimi was very brave, but very afraid. But then, kachong, it was done and time to shop for school uniforms and headbands to keep the hair out of the earrings.

The result

The schoolgirl

life events

 It was an unexpected and very quick trip to Block Island. There was stepson Adam's holiday, Isaac's third birthday, and then the final settlement of the Shirley and Walter Gasner estate. The house went to one of Douglas's four siblings, and three generations were on hand to celebrate and toast the progenitors.

street life

Yes, that's the World Trade in the background. And yes, that's famed fotog Donna Ferrato playing in the water. So, yes, I am back home where most of the cabs are yellow and the people come in all colors and shapes and sizes and cultures but mostly have a certain New York je ne sais quoi in common. More than you'd think are wearing camo. So am I a country girl or a city girl? I take on the colors of the place I am. City now.

home, again

This time in New York City!
Parking place in front of the building!

goodbye to all this

It won't be long before I'll be hitting the road.
With the watermelons, of course.
And a carpenter bee trap.
And some other stuff.
Like, a truckfull.

roadside attraction

Through a screen, a scene looks like needlepoint.

The House by the Side of the Road

 The poem by Sam Walter Foss (1858-1911) may be trite, but I can relate.

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn
In the peace of their self-content;
There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths
Where highways never ran;-
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
Let me live in a house
by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by-
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner’s seat,
Or hurl the cynic’s ban;-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
I see from my house
by the side of the road,
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife.
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears-
Both parts of an infinite plan;-
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
I know there are brook-gladdened
meadows ahead
And mountains of wearisome height;
That the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice,
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.
Let me live in my
house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by-
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish- so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat
Or hurl the cynic’s ban?-
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

signposts

We made it through Jerktail Landing and Flat Nasty, but the Akers Ferry ferry had sadly blown a fuse. And now we were at God Knows Which River  about to head through fords and over high water bridges and down muddy tracks. We didn't really know this "shortcut," so we were lucky to run across a local boy.
"I have a high stress job," he said, which is why he takes off down the trails and through the rivers, where his palomino Missouri Foxtrotter is quite the hit. So much so that he was gifted many beers, and by the time we met him he had lost his compadres if not his sense of direction. Not that it mattered much to him. "Fortunately, my old buddy Samson knows his way back so it doesn't matter how drunk I am," he said.
   He have us directions and we chatted. "I try not to talk about politics, but I guess I'm going to vote for Trump. Clinton is going to take our guns."
   "Well everybody said Obama was going to take their guns, and he didn't," I said.
   "And it was two terms," said Frank (or Dianne?).
   "Well when Obama came in it was open carry on the rivers," he said. "Before it was 600 feet away and then when Obama came in they changed the law."
    I couldnt really understand that.
    "I'm not really much for guns," he said. "But my friends tell me we're gonna need those AK-47s when everything falls apart and the city people come down to try to take our food."
     To Frank and Dianne's relief, I did not tell him the invasion had begun.
    Our invasion had lucked into a local guide.

the report

Hannah called my landline this ayem to see if I was alive. I am, but no internet until at least Thursday now, and maybe not! Last night the electricity went out, to add insult to injury. Don't give up on me. I'll be back with you when I return to New York next week at some point.

visitation

 Kate and Dennis rolled into town and parked in The Yard of Silver Trucks. We had some gala evenings and chatty mornings and then they headed to to the north country, leaving figs in their wake.
    For those of you who are taking note, my modem was stuck by lightening and fried, and I likely won't get another one until Monday. No phone. No Internet. Incommunicado. At a friend's house now. Sorry to be out of touch.

postcards

 The day can change from sunny to stormy in an instant—just ask Donald Trump! But a swimming hole is as American as pie, and nobody packed up when a few drops of rain hit. And speaking of pies, better check the peach and blackberry I just put in the oven. No apple.

photosafari

 

Grab 'n' go. We chased streams and storms yesterday on a mini road trip. Frank had his gear; I had my phone. We stopped, we shot, we split. And, oh yes, we ate at Roy's gas station—one for the record books. In terms of quantity as well as quality. Urmpf. I will show you some pix manana.

another entertainment

pan-o-rama

The pimping out of the goose is about done. I balked at mopping.
   This is how the guest nook fits into the master nook. It may look big in the picture, but the building is 16 by 22 feet, as is this room and the one downstairs, so don't be misled.
    I think Hillary should have me decorate the White House.

your room is ready

Well, ok, it' not a room, it's a nook in my bedroom. So now one-quarter of the Goose is prepped for what promises to be several visitors. some of whom will be living in their Airstream. And now for the other three-quarters and the exterior. If it quits raining.

a hole in the sky

On a dirt road with no traffic.

Sometimes the sky is so beautiful I can hardly stand it. And mostly I can't stop to take its picture. Have I mentioned that there are no shoulders on most of the paved roads here? In fact, quite otherwise: a dropoff. A wheel off the road and you're rolling over in a ditch. So not easy to take pix while driving.

A required stop. Note bird shit on window.

keeping warm

 It was pushing a hundred degrees, so naturally I finished the sweater I started working on in winter. I was afraid Camilla would have outgrown it—after all, she heads for kindergarten in the fall, but apparently I made it just big enough. They are her favorite colors, BTW, not mine—though it does rather match the color of the floor. And my toenail polish, come to think of it.

word

In yard news, the hummingbirds are back. I only had a couple, but their numbers have been increasing daily, and yesterday there were about a dozen. 
Also, remember that weird squash? I planted some seeds and a couple are already up. Summer won't last long enough for them to come to fruition, but fun anyway. 

In other news—but I won't bother you about the convention. You know all that.
However, this is a very interesting article about the inherent problem of documentary work. It goes for still photography and writing as well as for film. Keep reading til you hit the point where the (Bronx born, Puerto Rican) filmmaker says, "have you ever seen a documentary about rich white people made by poor black people?"
Here is an article about a white person doing documentary work on her own kind: Donna Ferrato.
And finally, an article that I find very troubling because I know too many women in this situation, women who because of divorce, job loss, bad planning or other factors find themselves without enough money to live. And, yes, they are mostly women. I don't know what to do about it, but I don't think eliminating government safety nets will trickle down to help them. Maybe they should move to the Ozarks.

today's specials

This sign would be fairly unremarkable in the Ozarks, but for the fact that it's at a grocery store.
#grocerylist

say "road trip!"

Aaand. . . Guess what the price of gas is here now!

entertainment

Putting on an eight-hour lunch is no small feat, but David and Alison managed it. It was mostly a vegetarian delight, with grilled eggplant, fresh tomatoes and watermelon, humuus, corn with mint, yogurt cakes baked in swiss chard wraps and she-crab chowder. The wine pairings were doubtless supurb, but how would I know? No, I am not posting pix of the food. You gotta draw the line somewhere.