nom nom

This week's theme is food; my son laughs, "but you never eat!" and he's got a point. So photographing food will be pretty staged.

I visited with my Dad for my birthday and he asked what I'd like to eat; wanting to please him and my brother, too (there's no pleasing Babs, so I don't even try...he'll eat rolls) I chose steak tips. On the grill. Mmmmmmmm.

I wish there had been leftovers :-) Oh, the peppers? Not my idea. Blech!

he's heard it all

Animals. Who says they can't be stuffed ones?

Capital C was given to me by my mom, Betty, as a Christmas gift when I was sixteen years old. If memory serves, she's the one who walked around holding him most of the day; he just fits nicely in the crook of your arm, riding your hip.

He's spent more nights in my bed and my arms than any man or child ever has, or probably ever will. He is the only one who saw my tears on my wedding night as I wept in the posh bathroom of the Ritz Carleton over the terrible mistake I'd made. He's absorbed so many tears, in fact, he should still be soggy.

He saw my son come into this world and take his first breath. He may see me take my last.

His seams are finally giving way and although he's still in my bed, he's out of my arms because last year he simply became too delicate.

He's almost Real now, don't you think?

no-no jo

No-No Jo came to our family from the MSPCA shelter in April of 2002; he was hiding under a blanket when I found him, but the one meow he gave was loud. I like loud, talkative cats (most of the time.)

He was so skittish he hid under Babs' bed for a few hours when I brought him home; when we moved in 2005 he hid under the basement stairs for at least a full day - I had to put his food and water there. He's always been timid - I am afraid someone else didn't like his loquacious nature - he talks a LOT and very loudly, too.

He's gotten more bold as he's aged: in the past year, he's wanted to sit in my lap (well, when the heated throw is on it) and lies on top of me in bed sometimes when I'm reading. When I sleep, he lies across a pillow of his own behind my head. He wants to go outside a little, when no one else is around - he's afraid of neighbors even if they're on their own deck minding their own business.

His name is No-No Jo because when Babs was three or so all the kids at daycare loved this book, "No, No Jo!" about a kitten named Jo who got into all sorts of trouble. Every other page the kids were yelling, "No, no Jo!" All the kids sort of thought that was the cat's name. Thus...well, you see. He is a great treasure.

potential

Well, it could turn into a landscape. Someday. Without help from me, which would damage its potential, because my thumb ain't green.

Today is sort of a black day for me. Something happened five years ago that scarred me badly. I still feel like this dirt, dark and still lifeless. I've waited for something good to grow out of that day, and nothing ever has. And when the soil gets quiet, along comes something that claws it all up again.

my father's landscape

This week's theme is landscaping. Personally, I can't think of a more boring set of pictures to look at than landscaping shots. What a coffee table book that would make. And I know they exist. "Great Landscaping Ideas" is the sort of book only those who can afford to care about their landscaping - meaning, firstly, that they have a house with some sort of yard, and then either that they have gobs of cash or gobs of time (and talent) to attempt it themselves.

I have none of these things. Our condo has minimal landscaping cared for by some dude we pay.

My father is an artist. He went to Mass Art and has painted, sketched and carved all his life as an avocation. I feel he wishes he were a great artist, but doesn't have the talent or time left to become one. 

I save a lot of things. One thing I have saved away is a sketch he made of me when I was about eight years old or so, holding a chick. It's on terrible doodle pad paper, which was what I had, and I cherish it. He'll always be an artist to me.

missing springtime

I pretty much missed the entire week for the "springtime" theme. I often miss springtime itself, too, as it seems to be gone in the blink of an eye here in New England. One day you'll notice the damp, green smell of the earth, and the next day you're wondering where all the leaves suddenly came from.

they're coming

Yes, the posts are coming - I've been off because it's school vacation week and I can't get the photos to the computer unless it's some insanely late hour of the night (when I forget or am distracted) since someone is home and using it all the time.....it's almost over! I'll past-post some :-)

holly jolly

Catching up a little on notions. I have this box that goes under the bed - another legacy from Grammy - that's perfect for wrapping paper and ribbons and bows. It may have been designed for that purpose; I'm not sure. Lingerie would work too, if you were the type of person who had a lot of it, which I'm not.

Every year, after Christmas, I can't resist buying up wrapping paper and ribbons at huge discounts. I tell myself I don't need this stuff - I re-use all the ribbons (the ones the cat doesn't chew or ingest and puke up, that is) so I sort of have a surplus. Here's a small sampling.

a notion of the divine

I have a little altar in my bedroom; I'm a non-denominational Christian, but I love some of the images from Catholicism. Also represented is Buddhism (prayer wheel) and God's creation in a crown of hammered leaves. Oddly, there is a pair of baby's shoes next to Mary; I think they may have been my mother's. Then again, perhaps they belong there; I am never shattered so much by the power of God and his love as when I contemplate the miracle my son is. When he was born, I was aware that a new immortal soul had entered the room.

This might have been a more mysterious shot if I'd lit the incense bowl :-)

baubles

I have a floral box on the cedar chest at the foot of my bed - it's full of baubles and trinkets, a treasure trove for the girl I never had, or perhaps the girl I was.