Saturday, April 26, 2014

In my travels, I found this:

Even if you don't read all of it, read a bit. Dip your toes in.  Im not sure the URL takes, if not, copy and paste it, somewhere.  Its worth the effort


www.politico.com/magazine/story/2013/12/politico-obituaries-2013-why-they-mattered-101460.html?ml=m_ms#.U1v8WfldWls



Ohhh and by the way, somewhere between and here and over there we passed the 20,000th post event.... how cool is THAT...yay

whoever gave me this, thank you (6WS)



the cough the wheeze 
the sudden sneeze
this cold has brought me to my knees
my head feels like it's fulla bees

Thursday, April 24, 2014

Sooty

                             

          Youve got to admire this kind of singleminded devotion to duty



                                               (click on the image to enlarge it)

Monday, April 21, 2014

sometimes one picture...









Words of way too many syllables dept.

(names changed to protect the embarrassed) found in one of the local papers:

"X  X  poses for a portrait yesterday with the road the town of  X built on her property as an access road to a water tank a couple of years ago over her left shoulder."

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

What Desire (the porcupine)





What Desire
(Porcupine)

All I ask is to be left alone
with my endless hungers;
axe handles rich with the savor
of sweaty hands, old tires stored
behind the barn; green lumber
oozing pitch; crates, leather gloves,
hoses, discarded boots. Last summer
there was a salt lick in the field;
even now my quills rise in pleasure
at the memory. My mate and I embraced
the salt, licked it down to the ground
while the cows, longing for a taste,
were forced to wait their turn.
Young maples, scored and girdled--
we feast on the sap quietly, at night,
while the cold air flows around us,
the silence broken only by the sound
of our own determined chewing.
And in early spring, compelled 
by I know not what desire,
I climb a small tree
and sing for love
into the dark, cold, sky






Saturday, April 12, 2014

Monday, April 7, 2014

Rant of a Personal kind

Sometimes there are places we go that we dont talk about much,  partly because it has a specialized language, or a specialized following.  In some groups computers are only touched upon briefly, no one has one, or they have a limited knowledge.  In some instances what is online important to one person barely touches another.

Games is such a pre-occupation.  I am an avowed games addict;  if it has dice, or cards, or a game board, move over,  honey, I want to play too.

For the past 16 or 17 years Yahoo has had, not only email, and Messenger, but a fairly extensive and well working set of games that covered everything from solitaire games to dominoes, pool, and gin.  Dozens of games, thousands of players.  I was there for  16 of those years, off and on.  They were (past tense deliberate),  I'm finding out, some of the best online games on the net, consistently.
Last week they closed the doors.  We were braced for upgrades, updates to what was familar, perhaps a new look to the game rooms. That was the implication.

It turns out that all the games, from Cribbage to Literati (the strange wildflower version of Scrabble), from Hearts to Spades, Chess and Checkers, have been closed out.  The administration is being quite cheery about this in the forums, in spite of the pitchfork and burning tar responses which most former players are exhibiting.  Oh, they say,  we KNOW you'll just love our new games. 

 No we won't

New games, new graphics, all bright and super fun

Not bloody likely. Where's my Spades?  Where's my Cribbage? What have you done with Gin? Who the hell washed the floor in  here?  Get those damn frilly curtains outta here--

Oh, they will be SO much fun to play, we just know you'll feel differently once you've seen them

No we won't.  All the games we spent all those years on,  and they're gone.  We dont want dancing bears or 'rewards' or adorable tutorials with cute pink borders.   Give us back our games

We can't.  They're gone.  

Then so am I

Friday, April 4, 2014

Poem



Pastel

"hope is the thing with feathers", she said
but love is the thing with wings
that keeps it aloft
long after need, or want, or time
has dimmed  the colors
to muted pastels
and the background
has receded into the fog

love is the destination
but hope is the heart
of the migrating  bird