Our New Liesegang on Life

Gaining a new "Liesegang" on life

Southern Illinois is nothing if not rich in photogenic rock formations. These particular sandstone ledges on a trail in the Crab Orchard National Wildlife Refuge and others like them have served as backdrop and inspiration for many of our (SAM's and my) adventures and misadventures. The Liesegang rings that have formed inexplicably over time and space remind us that the shaping of us, individually and together, is not done yet.

We are endlessly fascinated with the many faces that Southern Illinois presents for our inspection and delight. Every step we take on trails throughout the region precipitates an idea, an action, perhaps a prayer:

Lord, make us be solid yet fluid, weathered yet refined. And may our imperfections, our follies, our blunders be nothing if not instructive, nothing if not amusing?

Seeing 555 Through the Lens of Gematria: When Laws of Mixed Bird Offerings and Calculating Menstruation No Longer Apply

Seeing 555? It may be positive, may be negative...

Gematria /ɡəˈmeɪtriə/ (Hebrew: גמטריא‬ גימטריא‬, plural גמטראות‬ or גמטריאות‬, gematriot)^[1] originated as an Assyro-Babylonian-Greek system of alphanumeric code or cipher later adopted into Jewish culture that assigns numerical value to a word, name, or phrase in the belief that words or phrases with identical numerical values bear some relation to each other or bear some relation to the number itself as it may apply to Nature, a person's age, the calendar year, or the like. (Source: Wikipedia)

********

For the last several weeks, on multiple occasions, I have seen 555 when checking the time on my phone or on other time-keeping devices. The latest occurrence was this morning when I was preparing to make coffee and found the digital display on the coffee pot was blinking 12:00. I knew for a fact that time was incorrect as I had been awake, tossing and turning since 2:30, so I turned around to look at the clock on the stove and saw those three fives again. Could this be a digital dispatch from angels? Some websites claim a spiritual message is being conveyed if you are astute enough to take notice. Of course, divining the meaning becomes a little tricky depending on which online source you choose to believe. 

If I were inclined to see things from a negative point of view (who me? never!), as some experts suggest I might, 555 could spell disaster. Dare I say death? Icky! I would rather perceive 555 as something positive, a good change in fortune coming my way. The number 5 does seem to be a forward looking, progressive sort of thing, kicking dust back in the face of the Past. I can buy into that meaning. The past few years have not been particularly advantageous for me or my loved ones, and I would just as soon not have to face anything like them again. 

I could, as J. D. Vance, the author of Hillbilly Elegy, lean into his Marines-instilled stance that my circumstances are mostly a result of making poor choices in life, or I could look through the prism of pragmatism, a philosophy that claims an ideology or theory is true and should be adhered to if it works satisfactorily (for whom, I'd like to know?) and tossed out if it doesn't. Better yet, I could be "foolish" enough to think that there is a divine purpose to my meandering missteps, a labyrinthine challenge to my ingenuity and spiritual fortitude. I could wander endlessly, (like Abraham?) seeking to understand why I'm here, what I'm made for, and where I'm going, or I could just be satisfied with my LOT in life, vexed in my soul but reluctant to step away from the source of the vexation. 

Decisions, decisions! If only life today were as easy to navigate as in the old days. The ancients didn't have to worry about retirement planning, market analysis, healthcare costs, etc. Things were fairly simple, if you knew what was good for you and paid attention to what your elders advised:

Rabbi Eleazar Chisma^[9] said: the laws of mixed bird offerings and the key to the calculations of menstruation days—these, these are the body of the halakhah. The calculation of the equinoxesand gematriot are the desserts of wisdom.

An alternative translation to the Hebrew word פרפראות is "minor side dishes".

Minor dishes may be served before, during, or after a meal, to add interest and variety; they are the appetizers, side dishes, desserts, tid-bits — never to be served as main dishes. In other words, these sciences, while important, are yet only auxiliary and secondary. What is primary is the Torah. What is central is the life-giving law. (Source: Wikipedia) 

The Gulf Between (Us)

Peanut has bid this world adieu

Ode on the death of a favorite cat

Thomas Gray

Twas on a lofty vase’s side,
Where China’s gayest art had dyed
    The azure flowers that blow;
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima, reclined,
    Gazed on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declared;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
    The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
    She saw; and purred applause.

Still had she gazed; but ‘midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
    The genii of the stream:
Their scaly armor’s Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view
    Betrayed a golden gleam.

The hapless nymph with wonder saw:
A whisker first and then a claw,
    With many an ardent wish,
She stretched in vain to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold despise?
    What cat’s averse to fish?

Presumptuous maid! with looks intent
Again she stretched, again she bent,
    Nor knew the gulf between.
(Malignant Fate sat by and smiled)
The slippery verge her feet beguiled,
    She tumbled headlong in.

Eight times emerging from the flood
She mewed to every watery god,
    Some speedy aid to send.
No dolphin came, no Nereid stirred;
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard;
    A favorite has no friend!

From hence, ye beauties, undeceived,
Know, one false step is ne’er retrieved,
    And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;
    Nor all that glisters, gold.

*****************************************************

I thought it only fair to bridge the gulf between us and let my dear readers know that I'm still kicking in Southern Illinois and Peanut the Grand-Cat in Florida is no more. She gave us much love, was a source of joy and laughter, and comforted us in times of sadness and loss. Her illness came on quite suddenly (shallow breathing, loss of appetite) and occurred right after being boarded at an animal hospital in Tallahassee where she had received regular exams, vaccines, and previous boarding. Of course, we suspected some sort of nosocomial infection, but the vet told Daughter that x-rays showed a mass near her heart and lungs filled with fluid. The vet was fairly certain that the tumor had been present for a while, slowly compromising her health, and that the stress of being away from home and family was the proverbial nail in the coffin for Peanut.

 A nasty thing, STRESS is. Just look at the word--a serpent that swallows up serendipity and slithers across our serenity. It robs us of life's pleasure and enjoyment and ultimately of life itself. It must be a close cousin to Malignant Fate, and I hope they both soon drown in the Lake of Fire.

2016: Time For Another Presidential Election and #Trump-Pence-A-Bag!

Feed the Birds! #Trump-Pence-A-Bag

Please excuse my poor attempt at artwork. I just can't help myself, what with the presidential election coming up in just a few more months. I used to think that presidential candidates (or even presidents) should be models of dignity and decorum, great statesmen or women, not so eager to be making asses of themselves or careless with sensitive, classified information. There must have been one or two of them in the not-so-distant past.

Well, I guess too many sitcoms, talk shows, and silly game shows, not to mention reality television, have dulled our nation's sense and sensibility to the point that we think it doesn't matter who is leading this country anymore. It could be that this country's moral compass has been tampered with to the point that we don't know or care what's right or wrong. Scientists will probably tell us that sunspots have messed it up or that the tilt of the earth is just a wee bit off and so are we.

Maybe it's just me that's a wee bit off. For some reason, I can't summon up any enthusiasm for this year's presidential election. But at least I can find some humor in it. I hope you do too.

Coaxing Old Gardening and Blogging Habits and Marketing My Tonico Jardin

"Habit is habit and not to be flung out of the window by any man but coaxed downstairs a step at a time." (from Mark Twain's Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar)

As you can see, I've been coaxing my gardening habit since we moved back to Southern Illinois. Old habits die hard and so do (I hope!) old gardeners (and bloggers?). This one anyway is still alive and kicking.

I wonder if the Echinacea I've planted in my garden is adding years to my life? 

Or could it be the Salvia?

Perhaps it's the Bee Balm?

If there were a way to bottle and market this Tonico Jardin I've coaxed here, I would be a wealthy woman... 

...or perhaps I am one already.

Black? White? Brown Month? Pied Beauty Month!

Pied Beauty

(poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins, pub. 1918)

Glory be to God for dappled things--

For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;

For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;

Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls, finches' wings;

Landscape plotted and pieced--fold, fallow, and plough;

And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;

Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how??)

With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;

He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change;

Praise him.

Arlee Bird of the blog Tossing It Out, in his post dated 2-15-16, observes that in this month, known as Black History Month in the United States and Canada, much (maybe too much?) has been made of "black" history: 

"There is no doubt that the descendants of African diaspora have made important contributions throughout the world, but so have the peoples from many other cultures.  My preference is to become aware of as much history as I can absorb and have a very keen knowledge of the history that made my country of the United States of America what it is and to discern where it can go in the positive sense."

SAM has told me, and I find it interesting, that many job applications now have a new choice to fill in for the category "race." It's "two or more;" which, I believe, is as it should be. No one race can (or should) be claimed to the exclusion of (or preference for) any other one. There are unintended ethical, legal, and political consequences for making racial distinctions, as we all should know by now. We, as Americans, must acknowledge our differences but celebrate our unity--one nation, you know?

Land o' Goshen!: Finding Hidden Explosions and 'Sunlight on the Garden' in Southern Illinois ('Egypt')

A "pebble pup" pores over a pile of mostly purple fluorite for sale that was extracted from a mine in Hardin County

Weekend before last, we traveled with a group of ardent rock hounds, members of the Southern Illinois Earth Science Club, to Hardin County. We were on a quest to find ancient, cryptoexplosive breccia and associated treasure, hiding for untold centuries under Hicks Dome and elsewhere nearby, that miners would eventually discover: Fluorite...

and chunks of iron. We raked and picked through a section of the leaf-littered forest for the tailings of a long-abandoned iron mine. An old iron furnace nearby that dates back to Civil War days helped to fire up my imagination and make me wax poetic in this land called Egypt...

The Sunlight on the Garden

The sunlight on the garden

Hardens and grows cold

We cannot cage the minute

Within its nets of gold,

When all is told

We cannot beg for pardon.

Our freedom as free lances

Advances towards its end;

The earth compels, upon it

Sonnets and birds descend;

And soon, my friend,

We shall have no time for dances.

  

The sky was good for flying

Defying the church bells

And every evil iron

Siren and what it tells:

The earth compels,

We are dying, Egypt, dying!...

(from the poem by Louis MacNeice, c.1937, 1938)

I found Mr. MacNeice's poem in my Norton Anthology of English Literature and was struck by the editors' comment that "in love with life's irreducible multiplicity, he [MacNeice] strives to embrace life's flux, despite an underlying sense of sadness and, sometimes, tragedy: 'All our games are funeral games.' " The editors note that he traveled to the United States at the beginning of World War II. I can't help but wonder if he ventured into Southern Illinois during his travels? The words of his poem certainly have an eerie sense of belonging here. 

The book club at our local library is at present reading Murder in Little Egypt by Darcy O'Brien. It's a true story of filicide, but I consider that it's also a story of community culpability. Mr. O'Brien's in-depth study of the history of this place called Egypt at the beginning of the book supplies the reader with building blocks for constructing a pyramid of plausibility: Tyrants/terrorists are, essentially, enabled by their communities. "When all is told, we cannot beg for pardon."

Secret Aging Man: What a Catch!

It was a dark and stormy night...but at least the redfish was biting!

You won't find redfish in Southern Illinois or Tallahassee (at least not live ones still in the water), and Secret Aging Man was sure chomping at the bit to catch one after our Christmas visit with Daughter and her husband. As soon as we dropped anchor (the Lance camper) at our spot in Navarre's Santa Rosa RV Resort, SAM hightailed it to the end of the fishing pier so he could drop some bait (live shrimp) in the Sound and try his luck. A few other hardy souls (including yours truly) joined him there as it began to rain. The rain held on and so did his luck. He caught the only fish of the evening and asked around if anyone had a cleaning table? No luck there, so he took matters into his own hands and used the bed of the trusty Dodge truck to filet the fish.

After our tasty supper of pan-fried fish, I asked him what he intended to do with the bloody remains on the bed of truck? Surely not let the rain wash it off? This RV resort is kind of classy. We felt like the Jed Clampetts (in reverse) of the camping world with our crater-dashed Dodge truck and little Lance truck camper. I'm surprised they even let us stay, what with all of the fancy rigs parked there. SAM just smirked a little and left me to tidy up our tiny camper kitchen. He was back a few minutes later and assured me that there would be no tell-tale signs of the redfish slaughter for any of the other campers to see come morning. This kind of camping comes with the convenience of a car-washing place nearby. My Secret Aging Man--what a catch!

A view of Navarre Beach from the fishing pier at Santa Rosa RV Resort

Moving Forward But Still 'Lookin' Out My Back Door': Watching the Slow, Painful Death of the Illinois Oil Industry

Peaceful autumn scene from Lake Murphysboro State Park

The plummeting price of oil elicits barely a ripple of reaction from most Southern Illinoisans. They're not the ones who have lost good-paying jobs. Again. "Drilling for Oil in Southern Illinois?" No fracking way! Not now and maybe never again, if current conditions continue for too much longer. Experienced oilfield geologists, engineers, and drilling equipment operators are going the way of the dinosaurs. And now that sanctions on Iran have been lifted, even more oil from the Middle Eastern countries will flow like wine from California, glutting the market and gutting the oil industry here in Illinois and elsewhere in the United States.

One of the many sinkholes at Leon Sinks Geological Area

So what? you might say. Isn't it grand paying less at the pump? Cheap, cheap, cheap! Sure it is, until there's another oil embargo imposed on us (sheep, sheep, sheep) by those friendly folks over there in the Middle East. I'm sure there are still some people here in the States who remember the sinking feeling of waiting for hours in line for fuel only to be told there's no more of it to be had until the next shipment comes in, courtesy of those friendly folks over there in the Middle East.

Our trusty, crater-dashed Dodge truck and Lance camper

In that case, our trusty, crater-dashed Dodge truck and Lance camper might have to be turned into permanent yard ornaments or sold for scrap.

Lookin' out the back door of the Lance camper at Navarre Sound

And in that case, we (or any other camping folk) wouldn't dream of heading (moving forward) down the highway to Florida. Yuletide visit with Daughter and Son-in-law? Forget it. You'd better get used to lookin' out your back door because fuel is in short supply, and it's stay-cation from here on out. That is, if you still have a home or community in Southern Illinois in which to enjoy that stay-cation. Guess who pays a lion's share of income and property taxes in many counties around here? That's right. Those fricking-fracking oil producers and mineral right owners do, as long as there's income and oil property to tax.

Forward troubles Illinois

Lock the front door, oh boy!

Look at all the happy

Creatures dancing on the lawn.

Bother me tomorrow,

Today I'll buy no sorrow.

Doo, doo, doo,

Lookin' out my back door.

--John Fogerty/CCR

Comments Are On Again! Europeans: Beware of Cookies!

My version of Spanish eggs

Blogger has let me know on my dashboard that hiding cookies on my blog is a big no-no. Since I'm not sure that I understand how to properly warn my European friends that there may be cookies on my blog, let this post serve as my notice: There are cookies as well as other food items on this blog!

There. Consider yourself warned. Oh, and thanks to bloggers Mr. Geo and KaHolly (who has a quilt pattern giveaway going on, by the way) for letting me know you missed being able to comment on this blog. You should now be able to leave comments again if you so desire. Take some of my cookies along to share too...

Walking at Heron Pond in Southern Illinois: A Tale (or Tail) of Us Two "Sitties"

A reminder to tread as lightly but as often on those feet as possible: the rest of your body will thank you for it

The reflex is an only child
He's waiting by the park...

Sitting and working at the computer all day can lead to pain of the posterior, or PITA, as we acronymically refer to it around here. But--does the problem begin or even end with the tail? Bone, that is. If the evolutionists are correct, then our sitting so much, which is forcing the coccyx or remnant of our ancestral tailbone to remain constantly tucked under and out of the way, may cause it to just disappear altogether! Never fear! There are solutions. Reflexology and walking are here...and here...and here (see pictures above and below) to save the day.

The reflex is in charge of
Finding treasure in the dark...

No clover here--just lots of duckweed and cypress trees

And watching over lucky clover
Isn't that bizarre?

A friendly face (or two) along the trail at Heron Pond

Every little thing the reflex does...

The only time I seem small

They don't grow 'em like this anymore!

Leaves you answered with a question mark...

(Like what does that song by Duran Duran really mean? And why is SAM wearing a camouflage shirt while gesturing with a peace sign?)

Phantoms in Murphysboro State Park (or Phasma of the Optera)

Two members of the Family Phasmidae out for a stroll together at Murphysboro State Park

Secret Aging Man, known to my regular readers as SAM (if I still have any regular readers?), was quick to spot these two walking stick lovers out for their own kind of walk whilst we were taking our usual stroll at the park. I have been meaning to post about them since last month when I snapped the picture, but my thoughts of late have been preoccupied by weightier matters. Time for something light and fun, I decided this afternoon. "All walk and no write makes W2W a dull girl," you might say.

According to one site I found on the subject of walking sticks, the ladies of the species appear to have the upper hand (don't they always?) as far as reproduction goes. They can lay eggs that hatch without any help at all from their male companions. And of course, these eggs only produce females. Judging from these two specimens that we saw on our walk, parthenogenesis is the furthest thing from their little minds: Time to make some males or else the females will end up ruling the world! We can't have that happening, can we?

No, we wouldn't want those males to become "Phasma (phantoms) of the Optera." They are needed (and wanted) for various things from time to time, not the least of which includes accompanying those female walkers on long strolls through the park.

Merlin's Magicicadas

One of many 13-year Magicicadas recently heard and spied at Murphysboro State Park

...Blameless master of the games,
King of sport that never shames,
He shall daily joy dispense
Hid in song's sweet influence.
Things more cheerly live and go,
What time the subtle mind
Sings aloud the tune whereto
Their pulses beat,
And march their feet,
And their members are combined...

--(from Merlin (I) by Ralph Waldo Emerson, 1846)--

The "daily joy" I find while walking in nearby woods or working in the garden has a beat of its own, a rhythm of life that is so invigorating it cannot be ignored or silenced by fear or dread or "change" of anything that modern society seems intent on smothering us with. The sound of the Magicicada, when many "members are combined" may be annoying to some people, but SAM and I somehow find the "tune whereto their pulses beat" an affirmation of eternity, of periodicity, of inexplicable magic, of life itself. I hope you hear and feel their "song's sweet influence" just as clearly:

Climate Change and Gearing Up for the Next Heave-Ho: It's Turtles All the Way Down, You Know!

Grow fast, little turtle! You've got a big job ahead of you!

'After a lecture on cosmology and the structure of the solar system, William James was accosted by a little old lady.

"Your theory that the sun is the centre of the solar system, and the earth is a ball which rotates around it has a very convincing ring to it, Mr. James, but it's wrong. I've got a better theory," said the little old lady.
"And what is that, madam?" Inquired James politely.
"That we live on a crust of earth which is on the back of a giant turtle,"
Not wishing to demolish this absurd little theory by bringing to bear the masses of scientific evidence he had at his command, James decided to gently dissuade his opponent by making her see some of the inadequacies of her position.
"If your theory is correct, madam," he asked, "what does this turtle stand on?"
"You're a very clever man, Mr. James, and that's a very good question," replied the little old lady, "but I have an answer to it. And it is this: The first turtle stands on the back of a second, far larger, turtle, who stands directly under him."
"But what does this second turtle stand on?" persisted James patiently.
To this the little old lady crowed triumphantly. "It's no use, Mr. James – it's turtles all the way down." '

—J. R. Ross, Constraints on Variables in Syntax 1967

"Men are making speeches... all over the country, but each expresses only the thought, or the want of thought, of the multitude. No man stands on truth. They are merely banded together as usual, one leaning on another and all together on nothing; as the Hindoos made the world rest on an elephant, and the elephant on a tortoise, and had nothing to put under the tortoise." 
      --Henry David Thoreau, journal entry, 4 May 1852--

"When you’re on deck, standing your watch, you stay vigilant. You plan for every contingency. And if you see storm clouds gathering, or dangerous shoals ahead, you don't sit back and do nothing. You take action — to protect your ship, to keep your crew safe. Anything less is negligence. It is a dereliction of duty. And so, too, with climate change. Denying it, or refusing to deal with it endangers our national security. It undermines the readiness of our forces...."
     --President Barack Obama, addressing the Coast Guard Academy Class of 2015 on May 20--

Heave Ho! My Lads! Heave Ho!

VERSE
Give us the oil, give us the gas
Give us the shells, give us the guns.
We'll be the ones to see them thru.
Give us the tanks, give us the planes.
Give us the parts, give us a ship.
Give us a hip hoo-ray!
And we'll be on our way.

CHORUS
Heave Ho! My Lads, Heave Ho!
It's a long, long way to go.
It's a long, long pull with our hatches full,
Braving the wind, braving the sea,
Fighting the treacherous foe;
Heave Ho! My lads, Heave Ho!
Let the sea roll high or low,
We can cross any ocean, sail any river.
Give us the goods and we'll deliver,
Damn the submarine!
We're the men of the Merchant Marine!
--Official Song of The U.S. Maritime Service 

Song of the Merchant Marine

Heave Ho! My Lads! Heave Ho! 

Words and Music by Lieut. (jg) Jack Lawrence, USMS, 1943--

Withering Into Truth...About Maidenhair and Mandrake

SAM, don't sit under the ginkgo tree with anyone else but me!

The Coming of Wisdom with Time

Though leaves are many, the root is one;

Through all the lying days of my youth

I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun;

Now I may wither into the truth.

(a poem by W. B. Yeats)

******************************************************************************

Now that the ginkgo (stinko) fruit produced last Autumn in the back yard has dried up, been raked up, and piled up in the corners of my mind yard, SAM and I can comfortably sit, soak up some afternoon sun this Spring when our work for the day is done, and possibly wither into truth. I daresay that we are working and living more wisely these days, and the ginkgo (maidenhair) tree may play a part in that supposition: SAM is able to work from home except when supervisory field work is required; we now live close enough to many amenities like the library, a small grocery, the bank, and a video store to walk to them; and I don't have to pay rent for my work space. Of course, I don't have many clients yet, but time and a few good referrals will take care of that shortage. I just need to make sure those future clients--if they arrive for the first time next Autumn--understand that ginkgo is just all right with me. In fact, it's more than all right. It's essential (as in oil extract), used for centuries as a medicine and dietary supplement (reputed for its positive effects on the circulatory and nervous systems), and loved by squirrels and birds--at least the ones locally--as a food source and nesting habitat.

American mandrake (Podophyllum) seen at Murphysboro State Park

Besides admiring the ginkgo we have acquired along with our house, we have taken to walking around the lake at Murphysboro State Park, which is about a 5-mile, quite hilly stroll (though we have seen some youngsters take a run at it). The Mayapples, otherwise known as American mandrake, are among the first plants to pop up from last year's leaves and attract attention in the Spring. The picture above was taken several weeks ago, and the flowers that were so attractive then have now formed small "apples" or fruit that are barely visible beneath the large leaflets. This article about the Mayapple from WebMD suggests that some people (despite most medical advice to the contrary) still use these plants for various medicinal purposes. I have to wonder...

If Eve were Lilliputian in size, perhaps the Mayapple was the forbidden fruit she coaxed Adam to eat. After all, one of its common names is the Devil's Apple....

Unearthing Earth Day: The Earth is a Crystal Ball

The Earth is a crystal ball you see
It holds the future for you and me
The crystal held within its sphere
Is salty brine or fresh, it's clear

The people who would make Earth "Mom"
Would truly like to read the palm
The outstretched one that You laid bare
To help them out of their despair

That drowns their thoughts of Providence
And takes away their common sense
As ebbing tide will wash the shore
Or springtime floods sweep forest's floor


There is this trouble about special providences--namely, there is so often a doubt as to which party was intended to be the beneficiary. In the case of the children, the bears, and the prophet, the bears got more real satisfaction out of the episode than the prophet did, because they got the children. -- Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar --

Steephead or drainage swale in Murphysboro State Park

Though SAM and I both were brought up in the '70s when Earth Day began to gather steam, we both find peculiar this strange fixation on the health of the planet. Who would have the audacity to think we (alive and present on this Earth) are any worse or better at changing the Earth--for the worse or better--than the generations that came before us? It takes a pudd'nhead, I guess.

Spring (and Love) is in the Airing

Although this Sunday was an exception (it being Easter!), SAM and I enjoy taking in the sights, sounds, and sips of wine that an early springtime visit to a winery can offer. As the video above reveals--taken shortly after our return home from Florida several weeks ago--the loud music lovers had not yet invaded The Bluffs Vineyard and Winery in nearby Ava, Illinois. Now, it's not the music that we find objectionable. It's THE VOLUME! I'm sure the frogs you hear in the video, if they could voice an opinion, would agree: TURN IT DOWN! Let nature speak, softly, of love instead....

...For, nor in nothing, nor in things
Extreme and scatt'ring bright, can love inhere,
Then as an angel, face and wings
Of air, not pure as it, yet pure doth wear,
So thy love may be my love's sphere,
Just such disparity
As is 'twixt air and angels' purity,
'Twixt women's love and men's will ever be.

--from John Donne's "Air and Angels," c. 1633--

How Great the Art?

Twist but don't shout at Bonnet House in Fort Lauderdale

In a recent twist of fate, SAM and I were invited to stay at a distant relative's condo in South Florida. As fate would have it, this invitation coincides with our 35th wedding anniversary. The place is ours to enjoy for the time being, and what a place! I won't post a picture of the inside of the condo since it's not mine to show off, but I will say that the art it contains is inspiring.

Daughter, don't sit under the camellia tree with anyone else but me

 Before we traveled that far south, though, we made a pit[hy] stop in Tallahassee to visit Daughter and her hubby and to deposit Peanut.

Peanut makes herself at home while visiting Daughter and Son-in-law

She (the cat--and possibly I--not the daughter!) has/have put on quite a few excess pounds whilst living up north. Is it the stress of the cold or just living in Illinois that "comPounds" the problem of weight gain? If Peanut could talk, she would probably tell me to take a chill pill and relax. You can't make the wheels of Illinois' state government turn any faster than they are used to moving. Just because Florida could issue a professional license in short order (10 days) doesn't mean that Illinois can or will do the same for me (9 weeks and counting).

Speaking of wheels turning, while waiting on the license, I've been working on a train song. I always have liked that genre for some reason. Daughter gave me a guitar for Christmas in 2013, and I am finally trying to learn how to play the darn thing. Since we gave him a guitar this past Christmas, Grandson and I have been taking lessons together from a teacher employed by Mike's Music in Carbondale, Illinois. Ever since I saw Tommy Emmanuel in concert, I've been wanting to try my hand(s) at the art.

"Trunk art" at Bonnet House in Ft. Lauderdale

I wonder...If this tree we saw at Bonnet House Plantation in Ft. Lauderdale could be turned into an instrument, what song would it sing?

Timing is Everything

Woodrow Wilson, 28th President of the United States, who met his Maker on this day in 1924

The past several months since we have moved to Illinois have certainly been interesting if not at times overwhelming. Deciding to move (for work), selling a home, buying a home, enduring another Illinois oil industry bust (loss of work), losing a mom (SAM's), telling our son that we have no choice but to "unemploy" him, anticipating another grandchild....

Anyway, I noticed in the local morning paper (Southern Illinoisan) that today is the anniversary of the enactment of the 16th Amendment to the United States' Constitution which, among other things, supposedly buoyed our national confidence and helped fund our involvement in the War to End All Wars (World War I). Yes, indeed, folks, we now (still!) have the privilege of annually (or quarterly, as the case may be) enriching the U.S. Treasury with our hard-earned dollars, or in other words, paying our federal income tax. Thank you, W.W. and your fellow Progressives, for this privilege. We shall forever be indebted to you (and your successors). May God have mercy on your soul(s)!