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I Am Easily Amused

Words to Consider

  • There must be more to life than having everything. -Maurice Sendak
  • Don't take life so serious; it ain't nohow permanent. —Pogo
  • The first revolutionary act is to call things by their true names, said Rosa Luxemburg.
  • The test of our progress is not whether we add more to the abundance of those who have much, it is whether we provide enough for those who have too little. -- Franklin D. Roosevelt
  • When you arise in the morning, give thanks for the morning light, for your life and strength. Give thanks for your food and the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies in yourself. —Tecumseh
  • i do it for the joy it brings / because i am a joyful girl / because the world owes me nothing / and we owe each other the world / i do it because it's the least i can do / i do it because i learned it from you / i do it just because i want to / because I want to —"Joyful Girl", Ani DiFranco
  • Democrats are the party of those who are working, those who have finished working, and those who want to work. -- Elizabeth Edwards
  • Do not worry over the charge of treason to your masters, but be concerned about the treason that involves yourselves. Be true to yourself and you cannot be a traitor to any good cause on Earth. - Eugene V. Debs, Speech, June 16, 1918
  • "Nothing living should ever be treated with contempt. Whatever it is that lives, a man, a tree, or a bird, should be touched gently, because the time is short. Civilization is another word for respect for life." - Elizabeth Goudge, author of The Joy of the Snow
  • "There is nothing I can give you, which you have not; But there is much, very much, that while I cannot give it, you can take. No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in today. Take heaven! No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present instant. Take peace! The gloom of the world is but a shadow. Behind it, yet within reach, is joy. There is a radiance and glory in the darkness, could we but see, and to see we have only to look. I beseech you to look. Life is so generous a giver, but we, judging its gifts by their covering, cast them away as ugly, or heavy or hard. Remove the covering, and you will find beneath it a living splendor, woven of love, by wisdom, with power. Welcome it, grasp it, and you touch the angel's hand that brings it to you. Everything we call a trial, a sorrow, or a duty, believe me that angel's hand is there; the gift is there, and the wonder of an overshadowing presence. Our joys too: be not content with them as joys. They, too, conceal diviner gifts. And so, at this time, I greet you. Not quite as the world sends greetings, but with profound esteem and with the prayer that for you now and forever, the day breaks, and the shadows flee away. " (Fra Giovanni 1513 A.D.)

Art Dolls

  • Another Pink Jester
    My imaginary friends.

Artist Trading Cards

  • Feather
    A sampling of my ATCs. Some available for trade, as noted.

Beadwork

  • Face in Browns
    Mostly pins, with some other oddments.

Hats, Etc.

  • Yellow Beret
    Both hats and scarves, almost all crochet . . . so far.

Journal Quilts

  • Mona
    I'm doing one 8.5" x 11" quilt a month for an online challenge this year, plus a few others.

Paper Dolls

  • Pashmina, A Lady from the Mysterious East
    Second childhood? Not quite . . .

Books, 2008

  • A Language Older Than Words, by Derrick Jensen
    I don't know quite how to describe this book—it's disquieting, uncomfortable, and eminently worth reading.
  • Catwings and Catwings Return, both by Ursula LeGuin
    I listed them together because they're short juveniles, with charming illustrations. James, Thelma, Harriet and Roger were born with wings, and they flew into adventures.
  • Firebird, by R. Garcia y Robertson
    Takes the firebird legends of Russia and Eastern Europe and adds several new twists—a heroic heroine, for one, who rescues her knight . . .
  • World Made By Hand, by James Howard Kunstler
    American life in the aftermath of the long emergency, when lack of oil and climate change have put industrial civilization out of business. Not bad, but I've read better; specifically, I have problems with his characterizations of women (the proverbial madonna/whore and nothing else). However, I didn't buy this, so I got what I paid for . . . .
  • The Three of Swords, by Fritz Leiber
    A three-volume book club compilation of Swords and Deviltry, Swords Against Death, and Swords in the Mist. Leiber's epic fantasy stories and novelettes, featuring his heroes Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser. These were one of my first sword-and-sorcery readings, and I've never quite gotten over them, I suppose.
  • A Sand County Almanac, by Aldo Leopold
    This edition also contains Sketches Here and There, and some essays—I loved the Almanac part! The sketches were enjoyable, but not essential to me, and I'm afraid I got bogged down in the essays and didn't finish them.
  • The Penelopiad, by Margaret Atwood
    The story of Penelope, the long-suffering and constant wife of Odysseus, as told by herself and the twelve maids hanged by Odysseus upon his return.
  • Crossing Open Ground, by Barry Lopez
    Nature essays, on various subjects—I highly recommend this. In fact, I ordered his Of Wolves and Men, which has moved to the top of the "read this next" pile; and I have Arctic Dreams here *somewhere* . . . but I can't find it!
  • The Dispossesed, by Ursula LeGuin
    I've read this twice now, and I still don't "get" it. There doesn't seem to be much point to the story, though LeGuin is always a good writer. It's probably some lack in me, but there you are.
  • The Hounds of the Morrigan, by Pat O'Shea
    Comic fantasy set in the world of Irish mythology (and Faery)—the heroes are Pidge and his sister Brigit, who are chosen to thwart the Morrigan. This was O'Shea's first novel; I need to see whether she's written anything else . . .
  • The Pilot's Wife, by Anita Shreve
    I read this in one long evening—it's that good. Learning to live with the unthinkable.
  • The Iron Dragon's Daughter, by Michael Swanwick
    Very, very strange, even for a fantasy novel "Industrial Darkness and Magick" says the dust jacket—the story of Jane, a changeling stolen to toil in the dragon factory in Faery.
  • The Killer's Tears, by Anne-Laure Bondoux
    A very strange and thoughful little book that explores guilt, innocence and the nature of love.
  • The Left Hand of Darkness, by Ursula LeGuin
    Another of my periodic re-reads. The story of the Terran Envoy to Winter, a planet whose inhabitants are androgynous and may chance sex every 26 days (but there's a lot more to it than just that).
  • The Spiral Dance, by R. Garcia y Robertson
    I first read this ten or fifteen years ago, and have been searching for a copy ever since (thank you, Alibris!)—set in Elizabethan Scotland, it is the story of Anne Percy, Countess of Northumberland, and the conspiracy (one of them) to restore Mary Queen of Scots to the English throne—and of a madwoman, the Virgin Mary, witches, a werewolf, the lands of Faery . . .
  • The Moon Under Her Feet, by Clysta Kinstler
    A feminist retelling of the conception, birth, life and death of Christ, as told by Mary Magdalene, High Priestess of the Great Mother in Jerusalem.
  • Kitchen Literacy, by Ann Vileisis
    An account of how we as a culture have become disconnected from the sources of our food, and why we need to return.
  • The Death of Innocents, by Sister Helen Prejean
    An eyewitness account of wrongful executions, this is the followup to her stellar Dead Man Walking. Must reading, in my not-so-humble opinion.
  • The Last Girls, by Lee Smith
    Another fine story by the author of Fair and Tender Ladies, Black Mountain Breakdown, Oral History, and so many more—all evoke The South beautifully, and this is no exception. A reunion-riverboat trip down the Mississippi is the setting, and the "girls" are now women looking back.
  • Feasting the Heart, by Reynolds Price
    52 essays originally aired on NPR, plus a couple that never made in onto the air—varying subjects, but always beautifully done.
  • The White Witch, by Elizabeth Goudge
    A yearly re-read—Cavaliers, Puritans and Gypsies in the time of Charles I in her tale of love and subterfuge in the English countryside. And Froniga, one of my favorite of all her strong women . . .
  • Pucker, by Melanie Gideon
    Thomas, horribly burned in a childhood fire and burdened by a 'crazy' mother, has always been an outsider—but now he must return to his birthplace, the world of Isaura, to save his mother and to face possibility and temptation. Fascinating and well-written.
  • The Scent of Water, by Elizabeth Goudge
    Begins with a death and ends with a birth in the tiny village of Appleshaw—and in between there is life, love, friendship, faith, and the enchanting cabinet full of 'the little things." As always, a portal into a way of life long gone. . . and one that I miss, though I never knew it.
  • A Swift Pure Cry, by Siobhan Dowd
    The story of Shell, who finds herself pregnant at 15—the baby is stillborn, so she and her brother and sister bury it in the back garden. Then the Garda arrive . . . based on a true story, and very well done.
  • The Dean's Watch, by Elizabeth Goudge
    I'd never read this one; the characters aren't nearly as sympathetic as in most of her books, and it was difficult for me to finish. But it was worth it—there are lessons here, and things don't end well, but they do end rightly.
  • Book of a Thousand Days, by Shannon Hale
    A shimmering retelling of the Grimm's fairy tale 'Maid Maleen,' reimagined on the Central Asian steppes. I read until 3 a.m. because I couldn't bear to stop until the end. . .
  • Tistou of the Green Thumbs, by Maurice Druon (trans. by Humphrey Hare)
    A strange and pleasant little book: Tistou, an only child with remarkable powers of growing plants simply by sticking his 'green thumbs' into the dirt, takes on the wrongs of society. A French juvenile, ex-library, my brother found it at Goodwill and passed it on.
  • A Country Year, by Sue Hubbell
    About life on the land in the Ozarks, and a woman finding herself in middle age—I recommend it highly. And she keeps bees, too.
  • Losing Moses on the Freeway, by Chris Hedges
    The 10 Commandments in America—Hedges explores the challenge of living according to these moral precepts.
  • In Defense of Food, Michael Pollan
    An Eater's Manifesto—Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants. (and nothing with over five ingredients, ingredients you don't recognize and can't pronounce, and nothing your great-grandmother wouldn't recognize as food.)

Friday, 28 March 2008

Brer Possum Pays A Call

I left the back door open the other night: it was warm, and I was very tired of letting someone either in or out approximately every thirty seconds. Then I went into the kitchen to see to something, and when I came back, here's what I saw: Possuminthesewingroom1

The cat food bowls on the back porch were empty, and he'd apparently come in to see if there was anything to eat inside. (This is the smallest—and least street-smart—of the three possums that eat here: the middle-sized one is mostly black, and the largest is gray with white blotches, and about twice this size.) That black box is my Featherweight case (and the other thing is my great-grandmother's treadle machine, which I use as a sewing table. One of these days I'm going to replace the belt and learn to sew on it, just in case—he must have gotten behind it and not been able to figure out how to get back out.  He was not a happy camper, and he has lots and lots of lovely sharp white teeth, so I got the broom and gently guided him away from the box so he could see the door—and after he rushed out, I closed the screen door firmly. (It has a wooden bar across the bottom, and I don't think he can climb over it to get in the cat hole.) By the way, did you know possums growl?

Possumcloseup

And where were the cats, valiant defenders of the homeland? Most of them were out. Earl was sleeping on John's desk. Mr. Poozle was sleeping on the bed. Sam was sitting on the counter, watching Brer Possum, and making absolutely no attempt to do anything.

If we're invaded by hordes of starving possums, apparently it's every man (or cat) for himself . . .

Wednesday, 19 December 2007

Dog at the Door!

Look! It's a neighbor, come to say hello!

Eugeneatthedoor

This is Eugene. Isn't he handsome?  And he's friendly, too. Eugene is a bloodhound, in case you couldn't tell. (And I couldn't; I'd always thought they were lower to the ground, kind of like basset hounds. Live and learn.) He came from Alabama, via a bloodhound rescue group; he's staying with Robin and Scott until his new home is ready. He had a terrible case of mange and all his ribs stuck out; now he has nearly all his fur back and has gained about 15 pounds.Eugeneheadshot_2

This is Eugene's house; he lives here with Wanda, whom Robin refers to as his 'trophy wife'.  (I think she must have been in the doghouse when I took this, but she's smaller and has a black saddle.)

See that fence? It's new, and a foot higher than the old one. You will notice that Eugene is not inside the fence where he belongs, but on my back porch . . . although Wanda is at home where she belongs, like a good wife (barefoot but not pregnant, so far as I know). Eugene is an escape artist. He climbs over the gate and comes visiting whenever he pleases; though he can't climb the fence anymore.
Eugeneshouse

He comes up the back steps, devours any catfood in the bowls, slops water about, and drools on my shoes if he can. He likes to be petted, too.

He thinks everyone loves him.

Sam, however, has a different opinion. (Will that stupid dog please go away? I don't see why you let him nose around here; we don't need any dogs! We have cats, who are much superior . . . )
Samwatcheseugene

Eventually he tires of being glared at (usually there are three or four of them on the railing, all busily being annoyed) and goes down the steps . . .Eugenegoesdownsteps_2

and into the yard, sniffing happily all the while.

You don't see any chickens out, either, do you? They have learned to beware of Eugene. (They're chickens, but not stupid. Much.) He has been known to catch one and take it home with him—when he did, Scott was working outside and Eugene set the chicken down in front of him, then sat  back and wagged his tail in a satisfied fashion. Look what I brought you! Isn't it cool?

The chicken, however, was less than pleased; it got up, ruffled its feathers in that way that annoyed chickens do, and stomped off down the driveway toward home.

Eugeneinyard1

Other people, also, are less than pleased to see Eugene. They spend his visits staring over the fence at him.Theywatcheugene

But he doesn't care, and he isn't interested in them (though he might be if they were out, or he were in); he just lollops merrily through the woods on the way home . . . and when he gets there, he climbs back over the gate into his yard.Eugeneinyard2

Monday, 12 November 2007

Squirrel Monday

As you can plainly see, I did nothing very useful yesterday—I sat on a downed tree in the goat lot and took pictures of squirrels. Many, many pictures . . .  of which these are only the tip of the iceberg, so to speak.

Squirrels playing catch-me-if-you-can . . . 

Squirrels6

Squirrels climbing treetrunks . . .  Squirrels10

Squirrels eating corn . . .  Squirrels14

Squirrels heading for the feeding tree so they, too, can eat corn . . .  Squirrels18

Squirrels generally pigging out . . . Squirrels8

And then there was this gentleman, who has discovered that the squirrel corn is in this trash can, which has (alas) a plastic lid; he is an enterprising fellow, and has gnawed a largish hole in the lid. Apparently he was waiting for more privacy to steal corn . . . Squirrelandtrashcan

And just think—some people feel sorry for us because we have no television!

Monday, 25 June 2007

Monday Morning Oddness

DinocongalineThis is my latest toy (or set of toys)—plastic dinosaur skeletons. Six of them at Target for the grand sum of $3.00!

Here they are forming a conga line . . . I'm thinking about making them some rudimentary clothes (in all my spare time) . . . perhaps hats and cloaks? Or I could paint masks on them and they could become highwaymen. . .

Oh, the endless possibilities!

Unfortunately, right now I must go clean the bathroom, do some laundry, and feed the livestock. . .

Reality always gets in my way!

Thursday, 22 February 2007

Thief!

Squirrelrobbingfeeder

I wondered why this feeder was emptying so much faster than the other one . . .

Tuesday, 06 February 2007

Time For A Snack

Goround1

As you can see, the squirrels (or this one, at least) have discovered the Squirrel-Go-Round . . . with a vengeance. We've (well, actually John, as I am too short to reach it) replaced the corn four times this week. Of course it's been terribly cold, so they're eating to keep warm. Still . . .

We went over to see Mom and Daddy yesterday, and to take them some eggs. We came back with a bag full of craft clippings from Mom, some of which are probably twenty or thirty years old . . . I am to look through them, pick out anything I want to save, and return what's left so she can inflict give it to someone else. (You know what's worse? My first instinct was to say, "I'll just take them all." The apple falleth not far from the tree, all right.)

They also gave us a copy of the Hamilton Booksellers newsletter to read while we were there, and a spare order blank to fill out. Thanks, Mom. Just what we needed—more books. Well, we only ordered seven. (The apple again . . . )

John also got a closer look at all the kudzu he "volunteered" to spray this spring. Enough said about that.

And I got to look at Mom's new book about fairy houses, which I shall borrow later. And possibly remember to return. . .

Today it was above freezing! So we refilled everyone's water and did some rudimentary pickup outside before it gets cold again tomorrow.

Sunday, 28 January 2007

Breakfast

Breakfast

Clockwise, beginning with William (the large woolly one): Bella, Zeekie, Frank, Mona, Jesse, Lucy. Starving, every one . . . no one ever feeds them anything . . .

(By the way, it is NOT a good sign when the temperature at 8 am is 41°, and the high today is supposed to be 37° . . . the wind is blowing hard and there's a steel-gray bank of clouds off in the  southeast. Looks like a good day to stay inside and sew.)

Monday, 22 January 2007

Evander, Guard Turkey

Here is my self-appointed bodyguard, Evander:

Evanderpensive

Either that, or he thinks I am some sort of gigantic turkey hen and has claimed me for his own. . . in any case, he follows me about whenever I'm in the chickenlot. He demands to be fed from the corn bucket—I used to handfeed him, but since he's gotten larger he jabs my hand and it hurts, so I can only handfeed him with gloves on, and he seems to be frightened of gloves for some reason. Poor baby, having to eat from the ground with everyone else! He follows me into the chicken house when I gather eggs. He watches me whenever I'm outside . . . I have a feathered stalker!

When he's displaying, he resembles a giant ambulatory pinecone:

Evanderdisplaying

I have found a way to make him leave me alone . . . reach out as if I'm going to grab him while wearing my garden gloves. He flees—at least several feet—and begins eating to preserve his dignity. (You know how cats do that "I wasn't really going to attack your foot; I was just washing" thing? Like that.)

Never a dull moment . . .

Monday, 15 January 2007

Monday—Ack!

Smallfullfront

Saturday, 13 January 2007

Critters in the Snow

These were taken during this week's snow . . .

Cardinalinsnow

Victoriainsnow

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