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Check the Gallery!

Your Humble Narrator, Knox Farm, East Aurora, NY

I’ve not exactly done the Bestest Job Evah in updating my Photo Gallery on this site, ’tis true…but this day, it is updated! Go look! I’m planning to update it quarterly, which is (I hope) a more manageable schedule than the monthly plan that I proceeded to just not do at all. Hmmmm….

(OK, one factor is that I tried a couple of photo-gallery plug-ins to make managing a gallery easier and better on the viewer end, but I didn’t care for their functionality, so out they went and I’m managing the current Gallery by hand like it’s 2003 again. Sheesh! The things we do for art!)

 

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“There’s a million things I haven’t done!” (Sunday Stealing)

This week’s Sunday Stealing is a list of things you either have done or have not done. I’ll bold the ones I have actually done, and I’ll provide occasional comment throughout because a list by itself is kinda boring, right? Here we go!

Have you ever …

1. Slept under the stars


I mean, technically, we’re always sleeping under the stars! But really, I get the point here. Have I slept the entire night outside, with nothing between me and the sky? Well, no. But I’ve dozed off out there, and I’m counting it. Especially the times as a kid when we were camping and I was sitting by the campfire and the next thing I remembered, it was morning and I was in the camper.

By the way, I’m reminded of a great joke:

Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson went on a camping trip. After a good meal and a bottle of wine they lay down for the night, and went to sleep. Some hours later, Holmes awoke and nudged his faithful friend.

“Watson, look up at the sky and tell me what you see.”

Watson replied, “I see millions and millions of stars.”

“What does that tell you?”

Watson pondered for a minute. “Astronomically, it tells me that there  are millions of galaxies and potentially billions of planets. Astrologically, I observe that Saturn is in Leo. Horologically, I  deduce that the time is approximately a quarter past three. Theologically, I can see that God is all powerful and that we are small and insignificant. Meteorologically, I supect that we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. Why, what does it tell you?”

Holmes was silent for a minute, then spoke. “Watson, you imbecile. Some bastard has stolen our tent.”

2. Played in a band


Concert bands and jazz bands count. No, I have not played in a rock band, a country band, a jam band, or a swing band.

3. Visited Hawaii 

And we’re hoping to go back next spring!

4. Visited Easter Island 

(Does anyone just…visit Easter Island? It’s extremely remote and I’m not sure what there is to really do there other than see the Moai statues.)

5. Watched a meteor shower


My mother loved the Perseids.

6. Seen the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace

Aside from Hawaii, I have never left North America.

7. Been to Disneyland or Disney World 


I was at Disneyland when I was very young, and Disney World when I was a little older (both before I was ten). I had an Epcot visit in college while on a music tour, and The Wife and I celebrated our first anniversary, in 1998, at Disney World. I used to really want to go back, but now? I’m not against it, by any means, but it’s not a priority.

8. Climbed a mountain 


Well, define “climb”. I’ve hiked quite a few. If by “climb” we mean the whole bit with pitons and ropes and the possibility of long plummets punctuated by unfortunate impact, then, no.

9. Held a praying mantis

As a kid. I’m not clamoring to do so again. They’re beautiful insects, but I don’t think they need to be handled by humans.

10. Been to the Louvre 

I wouldn’t mind at all!

11. Had food poisoning


Yeah, that was unpleasant. Luckily it passed pretty quickly.

12. Eaten vegetables you grew yourself

I’d do more, but I’m lazy.

13. Slept overnight on a train

I’d love to do this!

14. Built a snow fort

When we moved in 1981 to WNY and finally lived in a place with consistent snow, where we lived was too sparse to make a snow fort really worth the effort. And why make a snow fort when sledding on the hills is right there as an option?

15. Held a lamb

16. Gone skinny dipping

Weirdly, I prefer swimming clothed!

17. Been on a cruise (day cruises and dinner cruises count)

Booze cruise FTW!!! Also whale watching off Cape Cod and dolphin watching off Cape May.

18. Seen Niagara Falls 


Well yeah, it’s just 30 miles that way. [points]

19. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors

If by “ancestors” we mean my parents, then yes! I’ve been to Pittsburgh many times and was born there myself. If by “ancestors” we mean Germany and Ireland and wherever else might be in there, then no.

20. Sung karaoke

21. Sat for a portrait

22. Walked on a beach by moonlight


23. Been transported in an ambulance

24. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling 


Snorkeling.

25. Kissed in the rain


26. Played in the mud


As a kid, yeah. But I’m not a fan of mud. I see photos of muddy people from Woodstock or other festivals and I’m like, “Ewwww.” And this from a person who finds getting hit with pies a fun experience….

27. Gone to a drive-in theater

Only as a kid. There’s a popular one not far from where we live, but somehow it never ends up on our summer agenda….

28. Changed your vehicle’s oil yourself

I did this a few times some years ago, mainly so I could get that in my memory bank and develop a few mechanical skills. But I don’t bother anymore; I just get it done twice a year, once at inspection time and once six months or so after that.

29. Taken a martial arts class

30. Visited the Vatican

I have very little interest in seeing the Vatican, actually. My parents went to the Vatican when they went to Rome twenty years or so ago. My mother, who by this time was not just a lapsed Catholic but an angry lapsed Catholic, really hated the experience. She only wanted to see the Sistine Chapel, which apparently comes at the very end of a long tour during which there are no places to sit to take a rest, and she also had things to say about how many “marble penises” there are in the Vatican.

31. Volunteered at a soup kitchen or food pantry

I donate a lot of product and money, but I’ve never donated labor. I should, I suppose.

32. Sold Girl Scout cookies

33. Bought a used car

I honestly don’t see any reason to buy new.

34. Sat on a jury

35. Ridden an elephant

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Something for Thursday (Glen Hansard edition)

In shocking and sad news, singer-songwriter Glen Hansard died in a motorcycle crash the other day. This one hurts. As he did for many people, Hansard came to my attention via the wonderful movie Once, which I watched many years ago (and, oddly, have not watched since…I need to rectify that).

Below is the text of the post I wrote about Once back in 2009, but first, here’s the song that really put Hansard on the map from that movie. This song won the Oscar for Best Song, and it remains one of my favorite songs from the last twenty years. Even longer, frankly.

Thank you for the music, Glen Hansard. You are gone too soon and will be missed.

My original post on Once:

“Take this sinking boat
and point it home.
We’ve still got time….”
-“Falling Slowly”, song from Once

A vacuum-cleaner repairman in Dublin works on the side as a street musician, playing his guitar and singing his songs on the streetcorners for whatever change he can get from passers-by. Occasionally he does well, other times he does less well. He has to contend with the occasional thief who tries to run off with his guitar case and the money inside it, and he has to refrain from singing his own songs for night-time when foot traffic is lower, since most people are more rewarding of a musician playing songs they know, this even though his performances of his own songs are searingly emotional. There’s something eating away at this guy, though; we can see it, although we don’t know what. He looks young but weary, idealistic and cynical at the same time; his guitar is so old that it has a second hole worn through its face and the strings are not neatly trimmed but have lengths that dangle off the ends of the frets. He wears a black overcoat and a scarf tied around his neck, even oftentimes when he is inside.

Along comes a young Czech woman who also works the streets of Dublin, selling her own wares: magazines, individual flowers. She hears one of his songs at night, and compliments him; he is trying to end the conversation when he lets slip that he’s a vacuum cleaner repairman, and her face lights up because she has a broken vacuum cleaner! She vows to bring her broken cleaner to him tomorrow, and she does. They then begin a brief friendship that deepens quickly into love as they walk the streets together, him carrying his guitar and her pulling the vacuum behind her like a dog. She seems more open, more willing to smile, more idealistic than cynical, but it soon becomes clear that she is masking her own series of hurts as well; there’s a sadness in her eye that she hides except for when she thinks no one is looking, she has a two year old daughter with no father in sight, she buys her clothes at a cheap mens’ store, and she too spends much time wearing a heavy overcoat with a scarf round her neck.

It turns out that she is a piano player too, although she keeps that part of her life carefully secret, only playing an hour a day in the studio of a music shop while the owner closes for lunch. She offers to play for him there, and he goes to hear; after she plays him some Mendelssohn, she asks him to play, and he does, to her accompaniment, teaching her one of his songs. He seems slightly skeptical of this whole thing, until she begins to sing along with the lyrics he’s placed in front of her, harmonizing his own vocals. He smiles in pleasant surprise; he’s made a connection with this woman, a musical connection, the kind that comes when we discover entirely by accident that someone we’ve just met is, on at least one level, completely in tune with ourselves.

Is that when they fall in love? I’m not sure. But it starts there, with that smile of surprise and delight. It happens early in the movie Once, about twelve minutes in, and the rest of the film follows the guitarist and the pianist through the next few days as they get to know each other and to love each other and to make music together. (The scene is helped by the fact that the song, “Falling Slowly”, is a wonderful song that would eventually win an Oscar for Best Original Song.)

The feel of Once is very similar to Before Sunrise, another great romance film about two people in similar circumstances who find each other and get to know each other over a fairly short period of time. Here it’s a few days, but it’s still fairly brief. There is a girl in his past, and a husband in hers; both lean on the other in efforts to deal with their respective pain and find their ways to their respective next steps. Those steps make sense, in the end, and if I found myself hoping for a different outcome, the one the film depicts is still moving and satisfying and right.

A movie like this can’t possibly succeed unless its performances are good, and there’s not a false note of performance in the entire movie, from the leads (who are never named; the credits list them as “Guy” and “Girl”) all the way to the jaded soundbooth operator who first thinks he’s recording a bunch of yahoos but soon realizes different once he’s heard the songs. The leads are played by Glen Hansard and Markita Irglova, who have paired as a singer-songwriting duo, penning some of the songs used in the film. And the film’s songs, by the way, are really very good, with one, “Falling Slowly”, being a truly excellent song indeed, the best movie song I’ve heard in years. This song won the Oscar last year for original song, and this was richly deserved. (And I cited it as my song of 2008.)

Once is a beautiful, beautiful movie. This is what movies are for.

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Tuesday Tones

Tuesday Tones! (The title of the music series over a bit of music score.)

Yasuji Koyose (1900-1981) was, among other things, a teacher of Toru Takemitsu, who could well be Japan’s greatest classical composer to date. His music incorporates Japanese tonalities and elements of Japanese folk song. This piece is not orchestral at all: here we take one of our infrequent detours into the world of the solo piano. Fairy Tale of the North is a moody work, solemn and meditative, that was apparently inspired by the composer’s impressions of the darkness of Japan’s north country, that he experienced in Morioka, a city in the north of Honshu. The piece has a familiar sound at first, but as it progresses it seems to get, well, stranger and stranger.

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[taps the mic]

“I knew I shoulda learned about those ‘settings’ things photographers are always talking about….”

Yup, another unplanned break from posting here, sorry! Usual reasons apply: several really busy days at work, including a carpentry project that I had to design from scratch and honestly I’m not the best at design; and then our annual trip to the Sterling Renaissance Festival. That was a big long day, lots of walking if not actual hiking, and tons of photos taken. (Oooooh, that editing session is going to be a looooooong one.)

Anyway, what’s new?

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Tuesday Tones

Atsutada Otaka (1944-2021) was a Japanese composer and teacher…and that is just about all of the biographical information I have been able to find about him. A longer (but not by much) biography can be found here.

The work in question today is a large-scale piece for organ and orchestra. I’m always surprised that organ-and-orchestra is not a combination encountered more often; the organ is, after all, the only single instrument that can stand toe-to-toe with the modern symphony orchestra in terms of the sheer sonic output it can generate. If your main impression of works for organ and orchestra is Saint-Saens’s Organ Symphony, then this piece, with its fiery dissonances, massive crashing chords, and slicing sonorities will come as something of a shock. It doesn’t get more purely modern than this.

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Apollo at 57 (a repost)

Today marks 57 years since humans first landed and walked on another world. All my life I have wondered, “When will we go back?” I’m thrilled to know that, even with everything else that’s going wrong, we’re working on doing just that. We’re going back, and Apollo wasn’t just a thing we did one time. It really was a start.

Here is my annual repost:

 

Sam Seaborn: There are a lot of hungry people in the world, Mal, and none of them are hungry ‘cause we went to the moon. None of them are colder and certainly none of them are dumber ‘cause we went to the moon.

Mallory O’Brian: And we went to the moon. Do we really have to go to Mars?

Sam Seaborn: Yes.

Mallory O’Brian: Why?

Sam Seaborn: ‘Cause it’s next. ‘Cause we came out of the cave, and we looked over the hill and we saw fire; and we crossed the ocean and we pioneered the west, and we took to the sky. The history of man is hung on a timeline of exploration and this is what’s next.

–from “Galileo Five”, season two of The West Wing, written by Aaron Sorkin

Anniversaries are a good thing, even if they’re leavened with the weight of years of thwarted expectations and deferred dreams, as the First Lunar Landing’s is: Why have we never gone back? Why are we stuck in low-Earth orbit? Was it all just politics and none of it the call of the stars?

But such anniversaries are a bit of a balm in times such as these, when humanity seems bound and determined to roll back on itself like some kind of distended, drunken serpent consuming its own tail in a weird and awful version of an ouroboros. We can look back on the Apollo missions as a reminder of the kinds of things humanity can do when the primary motive isn’t necessarily profit.

I was born in September 1971, which means that I have never lived in a world where the Moon was not a place where humans have gone. I hope that I live to see a day when the Moon is no longer the only place other than Earth that we’ve gone.

 

From Pale Blue Dot by Carl Sagan:

It’s a sultry night in July. You’ve fallen asleep in the armchair. Abruptly, you startle awake, disoriented. The television set is on, but not the sound. You strain to understand what you’re seeing. Two ghostly white figures in coveralls and helmets are softly dancing under a pitch-black sky. They make strange little skipping motions, which propel them upward amid barely perceptible clouds of dust. But something is wrong. They take too long to come down. Encumbered as they are, they seem to be flying — a little. You rub your eyes, but the dreamlike tableau persists.

Of all the events surrounding Apollo 11‘s landing on the Moon on July 20, 1969, my most vivid recollection is its unreal quality. Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin shuffled along the gray, dusty lunar surface, the Earth looming large in their sky, while Michael Collins, now the Moon’s own moon, orbited above them in lonely vigil. Yes, it was an astonishing technical achievement and a triumph for the United States. Yes, as Armstrong said as he first alighted, this was a historic step for the human species. But if you turned off the byplay between Mission Control and the Sea of Tranquility, with its deliberately mundane and routine chatter, you could glimpse that we humans had entered the realm of myth and legend.

We knew the Moon from our earliest days. It was there when our ancestors descended from the trees into the savannahs, when we learned to walk upright, when we first devised stone tools, when we domesticated fire, when we invented agriculture and built cities and set out to subdue the Earth. Folklore and popular songs celebrate a mysterious connection between the Moon and love. The word “month” and the second day of the week are both named after the Moon. Its waxing and waning — from crescent to full to crescent to new — was widely understood as a celestial metaphor of death and rebirth. It was connected with the ovulation cycle of women, which has nearly the same period — as the word “menstruation” (Latin mensis = month, from the word “to measure”) reminds us. Those who sleep in moonlight go mad; the connection is preserved in the English word “lunatic”. In the old Persian story, a vizier renowned for his wisdom is asked which is more useful, the Sun or the Moon. “The Moon,” he answers, “because the Sun shines in daytime, when it’s light out anyway.” Especially when we lived out-of-doors, it was a major — if oddly tangible — presence in our lives.

The Moon was a metaphor for the unattainable: “You might as well ask for the Moon,” they used to say. Or “You can no more do that than fly to the Moon.” For most of our history, we had no idea what it was. A spirit? A god? A thing? It didn’t look like something big far away, but more like something small nearby — something the size of a plate, maybe, hanging in the sky a little above our heads. Ancient Greek philosophers debated the propositon “that the Moon is exactly as large as it looks” (betraying a hopeless confusion between linear and angular size). Walking on the Moon would somehow have seemed a screwball idea; it made more sense to imagine somehow climbing up into the sky on a ladder or on the back of a giant bird, grabbing the Moon, and bringing it down to Earth. Nobody ever succeeded, although there were myths aplenty about heroes who had tried.

Not until a few centuries ago did the idea of the Moon as a place, a quarter-million miles away, gain wide currency. And in that brief flicker of time, we’ve gone from the earliest steps in understanding the Moon’s nature to walking and joy-riding on its surface. We calculated how objects move in space; liquefied oxygen from the air; invented big rockets, telemetry, reliable electronics, inertial guidance, and much else. Then we sailed out into the sky.

…

The Moon is no longer unattainable. A dozen humans, all Americans, have made those odd bouncing motions they called “moonwalks” on the crunchy, cratered, ancient gray lava — beginning on that July day in 1969. But since 1972, no one from any nation has ventured back. Indeed, none of us has gone anywhere since the glory days of Apollo except into low Earth orbit — like a toddler who takes a few tentative steps outward and then, breathless, retreats to the safety of his mother’s skirts.

Once upon a time, we soared into the Solar System. For a few years. Then we hurried back. Why? What happened? What was Apollo really about?

…

For me, the most ironic token of that moment in history is the plaque signed by President Richard M. Nixon that Apollo 11 took to the Moon. It reads: “We came in peace for all mankind.” As the United States was dropping 7.5 megatons of conventional explosives on small nations in Southeast Asia, we congratulated ourselves on our humanity: We would harm no one on a lifeless rock. That plaque is there still, attached to the base of the Apollo 11 Lunar Module, on the airless desolation of the Sea of Tranquility. If no one disturbs it, it will still be readable millions of years from now.

Six more missions followed Apollo 11, all but one of which successfully landed on the lunar surface. Apollo 17 was the first to carry a scientist. As soon as he got there, the program was canceled. The first scientist and the last human to land on the Moon were the same person. The program had already served its purpose that July night in 1969. The half-dozen subsequent missions were just momentum.

Apollo was not mainly about science. It was not even mainly about space. Apollo was about ideological confrontation and nuclear war — often described by such euphemisms as world “leadership” and national “prestige”. Nevertheless, good space science was done. We now know much more about the composition, age, and history of the Moon and the origin of the lunar landforms. We have made progress in understanding where the Moon came from. Some of us have used lunar cratering statistics to better understand the Earth at the time of the origin of life. But more important than any of this, Apollo provided an aegis, an umbrella under which brilliantly engineered robot spacecraft were dispatched throughout the Solar System, making that preliminary reconnaissance of dozens of worlds. The offspring of Apollo have now reached the planetary frontiers.

If not for Apollo — and, therefore, if not for the political purpose it served — I doubt whether the historic American expeditions of exploration and discovery throughout the Solar System would have occurred. The Mariners, Vikings, Pioneers, Voyagers, and Galileo are among the gifts of Apollo. Magellan and Cassini are more distant descendants. Something similar is true for the pioneering Soviet efforts in Solar System exploration, including the first soft landings of robot spacecraft — Luna 9, Mars 3, Venera 8 — on other worlds.

Apollo conveyed a confidence, energy, and breadth of vision that did capture the imagination of the world. That too was part of its purpose. It inspired an optimism about technology, an enthusiasm for the future. If we could fly to the Moon, as so many have asked, what else were we capable of? Even those who opposed the policies and actions of the United States — even those who thought the worst of us — acknowledged the genius and heroism of the Apollo program. With Apollo, the United States touched greatness.

When you pack your bags for a big trip, you never know what’s in store for you. The Apollo astronauts on their way to and from the Moon photographed their home planet. It was a natural thing to do, but it had consequences that few foresaw. For the first time, the inhabitants of Earth could see their world from above — the whole Earth, the Earth in color, the Earth as exquisite spinning white and blue ball set against the vast darkness of space. Those images helped awaken our slumbering planetary consciousness. They provide incontestable evidence that we all share the same vulnerable planet. They remind us of what is important and what is not. They were the harbingers of Voyager‘s pale blue dot.

We may have found that perspective just in time, just as our technology threatens the habitability of our world. Whatever the reason we first mustered the Apollo program, however mired it was in Cold War nationalism and the instruments of death, the inescapable recognition of the unity and fragility of the Earth is its clear and luminous dividend, the unexpected final gift of Apollo. What began in deadly competition has helped us to see that global cooperation is the essential precondition for our survival.

Travel is broadening.

It’s time to hit the road again.

Someday we’ll look up with wonder again. Someday we’ll go. I firmly believe that.

 

Footage of Walter Cronkite’s live broadcast of the lunar landing. Note his happy amazement at what he gets to report, at the 1:58 mark. He takes off his glasses, shakes his head, and smiles at the person next to him. I can’t help contrasting that with another moment when, while reporting on air, he had to remove his glasses and shake his head with disbelief, less than six years prior to this moment.


And I know it’s not the right mission, but for the movie Apollo 13, James Horner managed to really catch some of the unbridled optimism of the entire Apollo era.


Seriously, humans: when are we going back, and when are we going farther?

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This quiz oughta take up some time….

Sometimes the Sunday Stealing is really short, and sometimes it’s…not….

The Alphabet Meme

Answer these questions with anything from a single word to a paragraph or two. It’s up to you.

A is for Age.

50-mumbly-mumble.

B is for your Booze of choice.

Rum. Or bourbon. Or scotch. Tequila’s nice on occasion. Gin works, as does vodka (though I prefer flavored vodkas). And I love me some orange liqueur! (I actually don’t drink nearly as much as my booze roster suggests.)

C is for Career.

That’s what you do instead of the thing you really thought you’d actually be doing. Nothing wrong at all with Facilities Management at a large retail store, but it’s not really a job anyone sets out to do, is it? Meanwhile, writing and photography remain tantalizing possbilities.

D is for your Dog’s name.

Carla and Hobbes. I should post some new-ish photos of those two one of these days….

E is for Everyday Essentials.

Water, vitamins, daily meds, coffee, and overalls.

F is for your Favorite Food.

Burgers. Or pizza. Sausage is lovely, in many ways. Waffles! Chicken in so many forms. Special appreciation for the wings. Cake, cookies, ice cream. Pie.

G is for your favorite Game.

I honestly play very few games. I’d like to play more, but I dare not allow myself to become a videogamer. Tabletop would be fun, but I need other players….

H is for your Hometown.

Let’s just go with Buffalo.

I is for an Instrument you play. 

I used to be a really good trumpet player. Those were the days…and I often think that if I could re-do one decision, leaving music would be the one.

J is for your favorite Jam or Jelly flavor.

Grape. Or strawberry. Or blueberry. I just bought a jar of bacon-onion jam yesterday, I’ll have to report when I open it and put it on something. And hot pepper jelly is oooooh Lord where has this been all my life!

K is for Kids.

One living.

L is for the Last show or movie your watched.

Last night we watched Riding in Cars With Boys, a memoir-type movie starring Drew Barrymore. It was pretty good, for a movie where everybody in it is an ass in one way or another.

M is for your Most prized possession.

Honestly, I’m not sure. I have a lot of stuff. I should probably start looking to wind down on stuff someday in the not-too-distant future.

N is for the Name of your first crush.

There was probably one before her, but whatever, she’s the first one I remember and this was third grade in 1980, in Hillsboro, OR. What are the chances? Beth Kornegay was cute as hell, if I remember correctly. (No, I have not investigated her at all, nor do I plan to, nor do I want anyone else do so in my stead. I’d be stunned if she had any memory at all of who I was, especially since we moved away a year later.)

O is for what you Observe from your window.

Oh look! Carla wants to come in. [reaches over to pull open the sliding door so Carla can come in]

P is for Phobias.

I love to swim, but I have to be able to see the bottom. Deep water where the bottom is out of sight? Nope. 

Q is for your favorite Quote.

I’ll name a different one each and every time I’m asked this, so right now I’ll go with the first one that pops into mind: “Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.” (Groucho Marx)

OK, fine, one more, a bit more cynical but I come back to it a lot these days: “I believe if you vote, you have no right to complain. People like to twist that around. I know, they say, they say: “well if you don’t vote you have no right to complain”. But where’s the logic in that? If you vote, and you elect dishonest, incompetent people, and they get into office and screw everything up, well you are responsible for what they have done, YOU caused the problem, you voted them in, you have no right to complain.” (George Carlin)

R is for Regret. 

Oops, I mentioned that up above. Leaving music. I really think I should not have done that.

S is for Sweets.

Too damn many, I tell you what.

T is for the Time you wake up.

Too damn early, I tell you what. I’m almost never up any later than 7, and during the week I’m up right around 6.

U is for Underwear.

What about it? It’s there.

V is for your favorite Vegetable.

OK, don’t be getting all biological on me here, got it? I know it’s technically a fruit, but I’m going with tomato. Onions are also awesome, as are peppers of many, many varieties. Potatoes are lovely. Corn, too. I’ve even come to like asparagus, though only if it’s grilled. Brush with olive oil, sprinkle with salt, and grill it? Ooooh, that’s good.

Broccoli and cauliflower can be ejected into the sun.

W is for your Worst habit.

I have a terrible sweet tooth, and I swear like a sailor. Also, I often have sufficient difficulty just getting motivated to do stuff that I sometimes wonder if I wouldn’t be well-served getting tested for something like AD-HD.

X is for X-rays. 

I had them for my teeth a few times, and for my collarbone when I broke it in school. (By the way, a dental tech discovered the hard way that I have a really sensitive gag reflex when she stuck her fingers in my mouth to put the X-ray film in place without explaining first what she was doing. I have never once felt any guilt over that.)

Y is for your Yummiest recipe.

Pastitsio, which I make once or twice a year to this day. (I thought I did a more recent post of the recipe but I’m not sure where it is; this link is from the very early days of this blog when it was still on BlogSpot.)

Also Buffalo Chicken Soup. As soon as the weather starts getting the slightest bit cold, my family starts clamoring for this stuff.

I cook and make a lot of stuff; maybe I should do more of that content along the way…I also make a lovely whipped cream pie, but honestly, while you probably could slice it and serve it, it’s actually designed for a different use entirely….

Z is for your Zodiac sign. 

Libra, though I do not truck with astrology at all. It’s fun, but it’s total nonsense. (Year of the Boar in the Chinese zodiac, by the way.)

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716 Day!!!

Today is July 16, 7-16, or…716 day! Which means it’s time to celebrate the 716!

Here is a bunch of photos that I have taken since the last 716 Day. Long live the 716!!! It was hard to pick which ones to use…I limited myself to two photos from any Flickr album I have devoted to images taken of or at a 716 location. (So, no Ithaca or Toronto or Letchworth photos here, among other places!)

I truly believe in the beauty of this region and the loveliness of its people, and I hope my photos capture that.

Lord, I love this area….

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The official site of Kelly Sedinger: Reader, writer, photographer, and dreamer

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