As the bus slowed down at the crowded bus stop, the Pakistani bus conductor leaned from the platform and called out, “Six only!” The bus stopped. He counted on six passengers, rang the bell, and then, as the bus moved off, called to those left behind: “So sorry, plenty of room in my heart – but the bus is full.” He left behind a row of smiling faces. It’s not what you do, it’s the way that you do it.
~The Friendship Book of Francis Gay, 1977
Another little black party dress
One last dip in the ocean before heading back to the city
One more piece of pie!
and trying to catch frogs
Trying to get the perfect tree photo
Or the pefect sanderling photo
Sticking my nose deep into blooming tea olive bushes
Whistling back at Blue Jays
Poetry at bedtime
Stopping to watch Red Tails turn lazy circles in the sky above me
Waking up napping kitties
Singing along with Paolo Nutini
Befriending horses on country roads
Another cup of coffee
Making funny faces at shy babies
Memory is a complicated thing, a relative to truth, but not its twin.
~Barbara Kingsolver, Animal Dreams
Reflection is the beauty of a time remembered, a daydream captured in a flash of sunlight and sea sparkle. Two selves connect at the photographer’s wrist on a cold October day by the sea.
I miss the boardwalk. I miss its opportunity for people-watching. I’d go there looking for things to photograph. I’d go there often to reflect and turn the world on end, to dive inside and peak beneath the ordinary world I faced everyday.
I gazed into windows searching for other dimensions. Through reflection, other worlds seemed to break free and be united. Nothing is as it seems in these photos. I love their dreaminess.
Photography is equal parts abstract art and truthful storytelling. Reflections provide creative control. Bending and twisting the world into something surreal and obscure, this tweaking of reality is incredibly freeing. And disorienting. And fun!
Reflection also grants a window into the mind. Like paint on canvas, there’s a glimpse of a loved one abstracted, but true. We might catch each other in passing, yet hardly recognize one another. These images mark a place in time: the confusion of life turned upside down and inside out, but also an honest mirror into reality.
All pix from what feels like a lifetime ago in Asbury Park, NJ.
My fake plants died because I did not pretend to water them.
– Mitch Hedberg
I found these adorable knitted cacti recently at a shop on the Atlanta Beltline. Any friends want to volunteer to knit me a couple? I promise not to kill them.
As a kid, I loved having tacos for dinner, but could hardly convince my dad to ever make them. I guess assembling all the proper parts was too much trouble. What I’m sharing tonight are not tacos, but something better, I think.
Jay calls these “Poor Man’s Tostadas” and we had them for the first time last week before our first Braves game of the season. They came together quickly and were delicious! We started with a corn tostada instead of a taco shell… important to the stability of the end product, I think. We used warmed refried beans spread in a thin layer over the tostada as the base for the yummy things and as a “glue” to hold it all together.
We made a meat-free version, hence the “poor man” title, with boiled carrots and potatoes in place of any meat. On top of that we added a crumbly Mexican cheese called queso fresco, diced tomatoes and diced jalapenos.
The final touches were sour cream, fresh cilantro and a green tomatillo salsa. All very yummy!
A proper approach is necessary, so that you don’t lose the whole thing in your lap. It’s definitely worth the trouble balancing it all, though. I’m trying to dream up something besides potatoes and carrots that might be used as an alternate… any ideas?
My name is Sadie and I “buried” my dog food under a thick layer of dirt and leaves and forest debris.
(We were camping.)
Any theories about why she might do this?
So subtle, in fact, that I’ve walked past this site at least a half dozen times and never noticed it before!
An artist worked with nearly two dozen teens to fabricate miniature “ruins” within the recessed areas under numerous small rock overhangs and ledges of railroad cut for visitors to encounter new worlds as envisioned by the teens. Before the clays eventually deteriorate in the elements, visitors are able to examine the curious nooks and crannies of the rock wall, scouting for traces of civilizations from long ago to the post-apocalyptic.
Seen along the Atlanta Beltline.
I’m grateful for red sleds
(and bottlebrush tress, of course!)