Archive for the ‘My brain’ Category

SpringTreeBlossomsI would tell you that “two way streets are two way streets”, in a way more meaningful than “Brexit means Brexit” or “OATH-with-a-blue-colon says away more about that merger than anyone should admit in polite company.”

I would tell you that the sunrise has shifted northwards, such that the glare can still wake me, but I don’t get any of the lovely gold-red glow to go with my insomnia and the boisterous dawn chorus of [possibly tasty] wrens, titmice, and robins.

I would tell you that taxes are preferable to death, at least so long as the arts and sciences still get funding.Purple croci pair.jpg

I would tell you tulips, and daffodils, and finally, blessedly, honeybees and carpenter bees; crinkled green leaves on the raspberry canes and tongue-colored fists of peony leaves punching up at the sky.

I would tell you that I wish people would say plainly what they want other people to know, but I have this fondness for truth, so we might need to edit that wish a bit, depending on who is doing the speaking at any given time.


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…..do not mix well.

So instead, may I offer you the 2017 Purple Crocus Kickline:

Crocus kickline

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I’ve never tried sleeping on this rock, but it does regularly get anointed with oil.  Call this offering ‘The first fruits of lunching’, as this oil is from each jar of peanut butter I open here. Yes, I know you’re supposed to stir it in….but we don’t need those calories, and the peanut butter works just fine without the separated part.

I think the local squirrels are more impressed by my actions than any Deity.  But you never know….

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There was the trainride and the van ride. Old friends in new settings that were really their native settings. There was the bomb scare, and the concert. The lunch and the revelation.  A visit to a building that hadn’t been there 15 years ago, and to one that’s been there for over 100.  Reuniting participants in a one-sided crush.  Watching behavioral loops ossify and tighten.  Crying and singing and SINGING and sending music out in as many directions as possible.

We were going about 45 mph when I snapped this.  Maybe you can see the time distortion through the lack of crispness in this image?

I’m kind of surprised there was any definition at all…

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Unsurprisingly, this never caught on….


To be honest, other than the text and the mustaches, there was very little I had to do here; we can compliment/blame Alice Cordelia Morse for her lovely watercolor and gouache work.  It’s archived at the Smithsonian, as an image from the Cooper Hewitt Design Museum. I’m reasonably sure that the skull-like blotches around the cross were really meant as shorthand for cherub faces.  But scrubbing bubbles [wha-hoo!] are much more entertaining.

We’ve had a houseguest that did not arrive [or leave] on four feet.  So perhaps that’s why cleaning has been on my mind?

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Let’s not tell Smiling Typewriter about this…..

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[with apologies to Gilchrist’s SSAA arrangement of Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Bells”, available here]

In the early morning light, hear the wrens…
I am sure they take delight
In the metal that they bend

To stake out their territories
They must warble, they must boast
While the humans trying to sleep all dream
Of having them on toast!

How they kvell kvell kvell!
It’s a special kind of hell!
Oh the tintinabulation of the Troglodytidae Nation
It’s the wrens wrens wrens wrens
Wrens wrens wrens wrens wrens!


Courtesy of Google image search; all photo copyrights assuredly belong to other people. The wrens are suspicious of the whole arrangement.

Even in the dimming light, hear the wrens
They’re an auditory blight
And it never seems to end

They are perky, they are chipper,
They can keep this up all night!
They are tiny feathered creatures who
Cannot afford to fight

So they yell yell yell!
It’s a special kind of hell!
Oh the tintinabulation of the Troglodytidae Nation
It’s the wrens wrens wrens wrens
Wrens wrens wrens wrens WRENS!


This image of wrens is my responsibility. The wrens may or may not believe I have taken that seriously enough….

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I used to get them at conferences, stocking up each trip, prizing the vendors with the best paper or the smoothest-writing pens. Now random charities and real estate offices send the stuff, and the pens at conferences seem to be deliberately under-filled with ink, in order to save on weight or price point.  
But in a life where I don’t have to label stacks of papers to be returned, and I’m just as likely to grab a torn envelope for writing my shopping lists,  the pads accumulate… Drawers overflow with solicitous, gift-seeking, stationery, and yet I’m conditioned not to waste paper….

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Points if you know the song lyrics, of course.  This picture is unrelated, in the sense that I knew I wanted to post the image before the title for the post made an awkward shift from a single word to something with more [literal] resonance..


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Stephanie Pearl-McPhee, the Yarn Harlot, periodically has posts about having to undo work because of errors.  Often, she soldiers on longer than she ought after having identified the errors, and we all get to be amused/distressed together about it.

Today, I get a similar opportunity.

It was supposed to be simple — download the document from my office, finish the edits, upload the document, DONE!

No.  Something has become strange and unreliable about my local conversion program.  Sentences are missing, or broken, or spliced in strange ways.  My line numbers have vanished. AGH v.1

I think: Oh, I’ll switch to the cloud-based version, and see if I can wrap up the edits in Google Docs.  I open the supposedly very same document, see that the sentences are not mangled or missing, and then……. realize I can’t see my comments.  And I can’t tell if they will magically reappear when the file is sent back to the intended recipient. [You know how saving in a different format is just asking for additional badness to occur. It’s like standing on the blasted heath with King Lear, daring the lightning to come down.]

So, my Friday afternoon at home, editing with intervals of lawnmowing, will soon become my afternoon on I95.  Aghhhhh v.2   Agh v.3 And I’ve taken a lot of allergy medicine, because RAGWEEEEEEEEED.

Word is making me moar coffee.

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