In my childhood I recall Easter Saturday dedicated to coloring Easter eggs, using those dye kits produced by PAAS since … since forever. My mother would have a series of empty jam jars lined up on the kitchen table, one jar for each of the color tablets supplied with the kit. She also taught me to place a flatware knife blade under each jar as the boiling water was poured in – to keep the glass from cracking.
I’m not sure I was particularly good at making pretty colored eggs, though I’ve always liked the pristine dimensional oval shape in combination with appealing pastel colors. It’s been a couple decades since last I tried to dye Easter eggs. Maybe these days I’d be more interested in taking a class in Pysanky – the remarkable and intricate holiday eggs produced traditionally by the people of the Ukraine. I understand the tradition of resist-dying eggs predates the introduction of Christianity in that part of the world. Originally the eggs were made as tribute to a pagan sun god – and the eggs themselves, traditionally given away to family and friends, were a means of keeping evil at bay in the world.
In recent years I’ve fallen under the spell of another, more contemporary Easter tradition: Peeps! – those marshmallow confections resembling chicks or bunnies. Being drawn to them is ridiculous …but a siren-call in my modern experience. Furthermore, what I do with them is something I learned from no less an authoritative source than National Public Radio. Here’s the deal: place a Peep on a plate; put plate in the microwave; hit the ON button for 15 to 25 seconds; watch the thing inflate …then pull it out and devour the sweet gooey mess. Delicious! (…with taste like that it’s a wonder they allow me into decent restaurants).
Happy Bunny Day, everyone !
p.s. ….we don’t have much in the way of flowers outdoors yet, though buds are beginning to show on trees. But birds are singing; rabbits, squirrels and chipmunks are cavorting … and this evening’s calm is punctuated by the happy horny clatter of “spring peepers”, the minute amphibians in the local drainage ditches eager to get it on with their nearest truelove.
I am working on a post and photos about shooting at twilight, but I just have to share this photo independently because I want you to know that what you see here is STRAIGHT OUT OF THE CAMERA. I love this shot. It is not cropped, tweaked, or enhanced in anyway. This is EXACTLY how I shot it and how the camera and lens captured it. Isn't it unreal? LOVE shooting at twilight. Back later with lots more photos etc.
I started a NEW moleskine which I am calling my Travel Moleskine of Love in which I will only draw when I am out on the road. This is my first drawing. Very fast. My moleskine is my Pen Noise Gym.
March to the SeaCharacters:
Hugo "Hurley" Reyes, Jack Shephard, Kate Austin, James "Sawyer" Ford, Michael Dawson, Bea Klugh, assorted OthersRating:
Set between Season 2 and 3.
) (Ch 2
Libby is dead, and Hugo joins Jack, Kate, Sawyer and Michael as they journey to the other side of the Island to confront the Others. ( Read Chapter 3Collapse )
It's been raining all day with very little interruption.
I went out for maybe five minutes, and my waterproof jacket got dripping wet.
We've had only two days without any rain this week, and aren't likely to get even one more. It's going to be a rainy Easter. :P
And then we expect - guess what - some more rain next week.
Last week wasn't much different, and there is some more rain to come next week. The fields in the region are all mud, very deep mud, and it's impossible to sow the sunflowers. Ugh!
This is what my windows are looking like now. It may be annoying, but at least it's beautiful. :P
Tulips at Roozengaarde, Mt Vernon WA, USA; 4575
© Bill Pusztai 2014
Tulips at Roozengaarde, Mt Vernon WA, USA; 4634
© Bill Pusztai 2014
Tulips at Roozengaarde, Mt Vernon WA, USA; 4281
© Bill Pusztai 2014
Tulips at Roozengaarde, Mt Vernon WA, USA; 4565
© Bill Pusztai 2014
Right click the images for a larger version.
I think this time it really is
too much. I lean against
the side of my car. Stare
at my reflection in the side
mirror. Sun bakes a red
stripe at the back
of my neck. I let it.
The burn breaks
the spell of meaningless
objects cluttered with meaning.
A basket of tea bags
and cookies. As if swallowing
tea and cookies will stop
the clock. The building is
round. The rooms form a circle.
Beds with bodies shutting
down mark the passage
of time. Today number
4 dies at 3 pm. Tomorrow
number 7 will die at 10 am.
My dad died in number 2
at 8 am. Every dog
has its day. But frankly I am sick
to death of the smell
of death. Hard to wash
away the way clean linens
mask traces of failing
organs. In the end if we are
lucky or unlucky enough
to get there we cannibalize
ourselves. Ouroboros. Eating
our own tails. The social
worker blinks when I walk
in the door as if I am
a ghost. I feel
like one. “I can't believe
it's you,” she says. Trust me. I don't
want it to be me. She digs around
inside her chest and pulls out
a smile. “Ah your dad
was such a charmer. ” This
breaks me. I look over at
room number 2. A family huddles
around the same bed
where my dad woke
up at 4 am just long enough to check
the 49ers score and charm
the nurses one last time before
he died. The woman points
to my neck. "I’ll always remember
your beautiful necklace." I finger
the silver symbol resting in the hollow
of my throat. Infinity means
forever. But life doesn’t
work that way even if you try
to buy it for 300
bucks at Tiffany's. "At least
she's not in the same room."
The woman shakes her head and nods
toward number 8. Repeats
herself. "I can't believe
it's you." This is too real
not to be me. The balled
up handkerchief clutched
between timeworn fingers. Some people
still use handkerchiefs when they cry.
The same handkerchief they use
to blow their nose or wipe their glasses
while catching the bottom half
of the 9th inning of a Yankees
game. A Styrofoam
cup is filled halfway
with cold coffee. The tiny woman
rests. She has checked
out. She is in the place
where horses run on the beach
and waves crash to the shore
to the tune of Gospel
songs at twilight. Amazing
grace how sweet the sound. It’s not
that death stinks. It’s the smell of permanence
that’s hard to forget. I head
home and hallucinate
my way through orange
construction cones, a pollen
storm, water leaking
from my eyes. I remember the hidden
picture puzzles my dad liked
to solve. He’d circle the hammer
and the saw but always needed
help finding the pencil. I stop
at the Asian market for oolong
tea and ginseng. The grumpy
guy takes my money. I want
to ask him for a cure for death
and the pain it brings but he’s too
grumpy so I wave at a row of lucky
cats. Battery powered. Their luck runs
on AAs and runs out when there is no more
juice. That's how things work
or don't. I wait for the sun
to set and hit the streets
at dark. This is my cure. I don’t need
to buy it from the grumpy man.
My feet trace the same
streets I’ve been running for
fourteen years. The streets
will be here whether I am
or not. Miles of my streets
that are not my streets full of houses
that are not my house. Late at night
I cruise in my car looking for the perfect
house with the perfect light.
The one where people go
about ordinary things like doing dishes,
watching TV, or tinkering with an old
car in the garage. I am a stalker
of the domestic. The places
where people live. I find the house
I’ve been looking for. This one.
I take a photograph. Try to capture
something that can disappear
in a heartbeat and in fact
does. My shutter clicks and the lights
go out. The street turns
black. There are too many
stars in the sky to count.
After a long spate of boring logs, today we have litterbugs, working contractors, and a camera-shy gent.Sunday, April 14
- At 8:02 a.m., police responded to a neighbor complaint/harassment issue on Russell Street
- At 9:19 a.m., a woman visited the police station to report that the trail in the Forest River Conservation area is littered with trash near the rock, on which graffiti is written. The woman brought in a receipt, and think it may lead to the culprits who left the trash
- At 10:30 a.m., a man visited the police department to report that a woman walked up and photographed him Say "Cheese!".
- At 11:30 a.m., a caller reported that contractors were doing work Nothing worse than a working contractor, I suppose.
- At 2:27 p.m., a man reported to police that the utility door where the bathrooms are located on Lighthouse Lane was wide open
- At 4:15 p.m., police responded to a delivery truck that struck a light pole on West Shore Drive and Village Street
- At 4:19 p.m., a caller reported that there was a syringe at the beach on Ocean Ave.
- At 5:10 p.m., police responded to reports that a car backed into a wall on Maverick Street and knocked it over
- At 9:27 p.m., police responded to a water main break on Green Street and Arnold Terrace
- At 9:40 p.m., a woman called police complaining of a toothache and is transported to the hospital Hm. I guess tying the tooth to the doorknob didn't work.
- At 10:49 p.m., a caller reported an erratic operator on Atlantic Ave.