Leslie’s Blog

July 29, 2009

Sloth Gene

Filed under: Thimk, blogging, camera — Leslie @ 9:51 am

No, I don’t really have a Sloth Gene, that I know of, but that will be my excuse for not posting anything in over a month.

Dear sweet Ian, of And I Still Think So, sent an email inquiring after my health and reminding me that I hadn’t posted in a while. I am healthy, I assured him, and he is right.

Over a month! Holy Smokes!

Despite that, I still don’t have anything to say.

Well, actually I have lots to say, but I’m not saying it. Most of the things I want to say are frothing diatribes about stupidity and politics and racism and injustice and such, and it’s just so blue it would scare the horses.

And all the other stuff I want to say is so trivial and non-consequential and whining and complaining that it would scare the horses.

Like, such as, (to quote my second favorite pageant contestant) one of the trivial things I thought to complain write about is when people ‘toast’ by clinking glasses together. For me, a ‘toast’ should be a gentle touching of the glassware, particularly wine glasses, to indicate respect for the fellow drinker and their offerings of wine. Too often I see and hear a clashing and clunking together, like so many wooden and leather tankards after the fourth round of mead at a Renfest. It makes me cringe. One robust clash of glass and all that wine would be wasted. Gently. Do it gently.

And another thing…

What the hell ever happened to decent footwear? Not the fancy stuff. I’m talking a nice pair of utilitarian sneakers. I don’t want retractable wheels, blinking lights, blown out soles, megaknobbies and multicolor, or a giant product endorsement on my feet. I just want something in a solid black, with laces or velcro, that is wide enough, with my size in stock, that won’t wear a blister on my heel before I get it off the showroom floor. And that won’t cost a hundred dollars. Geeeezloueeeze.

And one more thing…

Racism is alive and well in this country, and I find it appalling. The previous eight years of fear mongering has come to fruition in the form of xenophobia and disrespect that has delusional people scrounging to find one limp excuse after another as to why they are presently unhappy politically.

That’s all.

Leslie

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June 17, 2009

Rusty the Flea

Filed under: Art, camera — Leslie @ 2:28 pm

rusty-the-flea

I have been having a ball playing with my digital camera.

I am actively taking pictures of the sunrises, the sunsets, the local flora and fauna, and pretty much anything that gets in front of me. I upload the results to my Flickr account.

I have a full blown case of what is known as Flickritis. It’s curable, but I would rather be sick.

Flickr has, as part of its structure, Groups, administered by participating photographers, that focus (photography pun) on certain subjects, and Flickr members can post their photos of that subject in that Group. Kind of like a giant Flickr filing system… all photos of cars go here, all photos of flowers go here…you get the idea.

There is a large presence on Flickr of groups that deal with Rust. Yes, Rust.

I had no idea rust could be so cool. This is not your run of the mill rust, like old abandoned cars or hinges that squeak. This is some highly Sophisticated Rust. Rust as Abstract Art. Rust as Social Commentary.

Well…there is not much rust around my house. I was feeling all deprived and inferior about not having any rust to photograph. No urban decay or blight here. For one thing, the humidity level, or lack thereof, in Tucson is not conducive to rust formation. You need water for that. There is just precious little of that stuff lying around making rust. Dust, yes. Rust, no.

Yesterday morning I decided that I needed to make desultory broom motions in the garage to discourage the accumulation of said dust. I moved the metal drip pan from the middle of the floor where it had been placed to catch the occasional motor liquid drips, and to my great delight, I was rewarded with the motherlode of all rust spots, Rusty The Flea.

Seems that the auto air conditioner drain was spilling a goodly amount of water each evening when my husband would park the car in the garage, and enough of that water found its way to underneath the drip pan, and formed…ta da… Rust.

I did a little goodygoodygoody dance, ran and got my camera, and spent the cool morning hours confusing the dog and taking lots of Rust photos.

Some of which are quite Sophisticated, I must say.

Leslie

harlequin

rustav-klimt

smoky-rust

buffalo-dancer

Comments (26)

June 15, 2009

Whew!

Filed under: Tucson, camera, dog, earth, funny stories, stories — Leslie @ 2:19 pm

copy-of-party-here

Whew!

Glad to get that out of my system. Thanks, everybody, for reading my tales. I promise not to tell any more heavy stories, unless of course I happen to have one to tell.

I don’t have anything special for this post, but thought it might be nice to write something in the present tense. Actually, it’s about ancient history, written in the present tense. I’m now 58 years old. I had been telling people that I was almost 60 for a few years, and now, finally, it’s official. I’m almost 60.

This weekend I went to a poolside birthday party for two gals that were celebrating their 50th. Ah, youth! It was a great party with easily thirty women all swimming and talking and eating and making regular trips to the margarita machine that had been rented for the occasion. No boys allowed.

Today is the official first day of Monsoon Season here in Tucson. It used to be an ambiguous, changeable date dependant upon three consecutive days of dew point over 54 degrees, and a celebratory deluge from the gathered thunderheads. Now it is an “official season” from June 15th through September 30th. I guess that waiting for rain was too tenuous a circumstance for TV weathermen, so now, along with the retirement of analog television broadcasting, we now have a consistent date for the beginning of monsoon season, whether it rains or not.

I liked it better the other way. The clouds decided. Don’t you think that the start of the rainy season is somehow the domain of the clouds? Me, too.

I keep my camera with me all the time now, and do a good bit of picture snapping of sunsets and ravens and agaves. I walk the dog every day. Not much else going on here.

Oh. I stopped on my morning walk the other day and watched a raven digging a hole in the desert sand with its beak . I didn’t think that was too strange, as I thought he was looking for bugs to eat. He dug the hole, hopped a few feet away, picked up something white that looked like a bird egg, put it in the hole, and covered it up!

Well. I was surprised! I had never seen a raven bury anything before. I waited until he flew off, and walked to the covered up place in the sand. I dug down a bit and found….a golf ball.

Who knew?

I covered it back up, just in case he needed it for tee time…

Sooooo, that’s all for today, kiddies.

Leslie

Comments (4)

June 10, 2009

July 23, 1981

Filed under: Mom, stories — Leslie @ 6:19 pm

Mom came home.

It took lots of reasoning argument with the hospital officials, and then lots of signing of paperwork meant to protect the hospital from suit should my mother die as a result of her removal, to get her there.

The ambulance drivers wheeled her into the house and helped us move her into the rented hospital bed arranged on the sun porch, Mom’s office and the heart of the home.

It was the right thing to do for Mom. It was obvious that she was in an extraordinary amount of pain, but I could see that she could now relax and concentrate on dying.

The next three days were filled with hiring and firing night nurses, rallying resources from friends and phone book, crushing up little bitter blue pain pills and feeding them to Mom on a spoon. I learned about sponge baths and Hospice and portable potty chairs.

People made pilgrimage to the house bringing food. My mother was a celebrity of sorts among her friends and gift shop customers and the house was a constant stream.

Everybody felt awkward. Some people overcame those feelings by leaving immediately after saying hello and goodbye to Mom. Some people lingered trying to absorb the last bits of Mom’s presence. I was most comforted by her friend Doe, who took position in the kitchen and kept the sink cleared of dishes, kept the casseroles and hams positioned in the refrigerator that was now full to bursting, and kept the sympathy cards all in one place, with their envelopes attached.

My father could only sit and stare into space. His grief was something of the abyss.

On July 23, 1981, at 4:10 in the afternoon, Mom died.

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