I am so far behind on blogging. I haven’t told you about the second half of my vacation, or the books I’ve read recently, or my progress on the wedding plans. It is the wedding plans that are causing the problem. I spent the whole weekend dress shopping, coordinating with the bridesmaids, picking favors, and other miscellaneous details. Weddings are a lot of work!
These are the times that try women’s souls.
How many times have Faithful Reader and I joked about going to the Kitty Farm to adopt a new cat? I can’t speak for Faithful Reader, but I never intended to go. And yet on July 27th, we went to the Kitty Farm (known as the “pound” in common parlance) and we found the cutest little 6-month-old kitten. Blinded by her adorability, we brought her home on the following Monday and introduced her to the other cats the next day after that.
The youth and energy of our new Little Monster have made M, formerly the youngest, seem old and fat. He clearly needed a playmate and yet when he first met her, all he could do was hiss. He’s not usually the hissing kind, but he dislikes change, especially when it comes in the form of an aggressive furball with the audacity to stalk him.
I wished I could have explained the concept of hypocrisy to him. When he was the new cat on the block, he wanted to play with Z, but she hated him. Now that M has realized he is bigger and stronger than the new cat, he has become the aggressor, and is perhaps too rough with her. I hope they will learn to play nice someday. As for Z, she just hisses and/or growls at anything that comes near her, which is status quo, so I guess you could say she’s adapting well.
Faithful Reader and I have both admitted to buyer’s remorse. We didn’t think it through. We really didn’t need another cat. And yet…that’s often how the best things start—slightly unwelcome. She really is adorable, and even if we decided we hated her, we’d never send her back to that Death Camp. They do their best, I’m sure, but they could do a lot more to take care of their cats. They couldn’t even tell us if the she had FIV, FeLV, worms, ear mites, or anything else!
The Little Monster did have mites, but the vet pronounced her healthy. So here she is, ours to love for the rest of her life.
She doesn’t have an official name yet. If she doesn’t inspire “the perfect name” soon, she will be known as Peeps, because of the peeping noise she makes whenever she is picked up.
It had been months since we last knowingly heard from Bruce, an obviously troubled man who had been desperately reaching out for his old friend. I say “knowingly” because we no longer have caller ID, so Bruce may be also responsible for some recent hang-up calls. We know he called today because he left a protracted message on our machine. This scenario reminds me of a quote from the immortal Einstein—
Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
On my third day of vacation, we went to the Corning Museum of Glass. My grandfather used to work for Corning, which may be the reason why my parents took me and my brother there so many times when we were kids. It seemed only fitting that my brother’s kids should go, too.
Kids are always accused of having short attention spans, but it’s really the adults who lack focus. One of my nephews took 211 pictures in the museum and he would have taken more, he avowed later, had we not rushed him. While I’ve always been fascinated by both glass and archaeology, I started yawning almost immediately. The museum’s collection was too comprehensive for a one-day visit.
Some of the newer pieces were quite pretty. I love this glass tire, for example. I didn’t take note of the artist’s name at the time, but I believe it to be Robert Rauschenberg. The dark blob over the top of the tire is the reflection of my father bending over to look at it more closely.
Another highlight for me was the glass harmonica. My hero, Ben Franklin, devoted some of his genius to redesigning the glass harmonica in the 1760s. The museum’s display included earphones through which to listen to a recording of one. It had a beautifully haunting sound.
We had been making such slow progress through the exhibits, we finally had to start shooing the kids along. We made it through just in time for the next glassblowing show. The glassworkers made a beautiful pitcher and then, to the dismay of the entire crowd, trashed it by throwing it into a bucket of water. Glass has to be annealed (cooled slowly) and they didn’t have any room left in the kiln. What a shame!
The gift shop was a letdown. They had some wonderful, exorbitantly priced items, and they had plenty of cheap stuff made in China, but not very much in-between. I bought a couple of small gifts, then got bored and went to the cafe, where I waited for everyone else to finish their shopping.
Faithful Reader and I took my nephews in our car for the ride back to the lake. Their musical tastes are limited mostly to classic rock, thanks to their father. I love classic rock, too, but I haven’t yet transferred that part of my music collection to my iPod. Since they complained, I amused myself by torturing them with other kinds of music—a little scat, some opera, and one John Mayer tune (listening to them sing along mockingly to “Waiting on the World to Change” is something that I’ll never quite forget).
Our children will be different. 😉
That was day three of my vacation. As soon as I can remember what we did on day four, I’ll tell you all about it.
My pictures of Niagara Falls made me start thinking about photography as an art. They’re fine pictures, but they’re “stock.” You can go online and find the same pictures on other websites, not because the contributors all stole from each other, but simply because Niagara Falls looks much the same from day to day and millions of tourists take pictures of it every year.
If you just want a record of what you see, then everyday tourist shots will do. If you want something more from your pictures, then you need to give them “soul”—that ineffable quality that makes a thing alive and unique. So how does one add soul to a picture? I’m no expert, but I’m guessing that part of it has to do with using interesting angles and with capturing elements that are different from day to day (or even minute to minute).
I don’t know how far I’ll go with my photographic efforts. Mostly I use photography to keep my brain busy while my body exercises, but some of the resulting pictures give me artistic satisfaction. I’m going to have to think more about how I can make my photographs special.
In the meantime, I offer you a few more pictures from recent walks.
Land snails are small and hard to see, but once I learned to spot them, I found them all over the place.
I think weeds can be beautiful. I would have retaken this picture to sharpen the focus, but a certain someone (who shall remain nameless) chopped the plant down the very next day. Zai jian, pretty weed!
The official name of this plant is Indian Pipe, but I call it Ghost Flower. Like a ghost, it’s white and creepy-looking, not to mention hard to capture on film.
As soon as I read about chicory being added to New Orleanian coffee, I had to try it. I even bought some, but then I let it sit and sit in the cupboard. A few days ago I awoke with the brilliant idea of finally making the chicory coffee. We brewed it. We drank it. It was strange, but not bad. This morning, I had that same idea again, and Faithful Reader (also a Reader of Minds?) already had it prepared for brewing. Thanks, Faithful Reader!
On the second day of my vacation, we all went to Niagara Falls. I had never been there before, but I wasn’t expecting much. It’s a huge and famous waterfall, but it also has a sappy reputation, thanks to all the honeymooners. Now, as a soon-to-be honeymooner, I still don’t get why it’s such a honeymoonish destination, but I do think every American (and Canadian) should see it at some point in their lives. It’s amazing.
It’s hard to capture the majesty and scope of the falls in a photograph. At the same time, it’s almost impossible to take a bad picture of the falls. Almost all of the pictures I took were acceptable. Choosing just one of them was the hard part. This picture gives you some idea of Niagara’s size and the amount of mist that it generates.
After oohing and aahing over the the view from the side, Continue reading
For our family vacation this year, we managed to talk my mom into renting a cottage on Keuka Lake (one of the Finger Lakes in New York state) instead of the usual Chesapeake Bay locale. Not that Maryland isn’t nice, and not that we don’t enjoy hunting for sharks’ teeth, but we all wanted a change, and we remembered Keuka Lake fondly. My grandparents used to have a cottage on the lake, and we vacationed there every year during most of my childhood.
This is a view of the lake from the cottage we rented this year. The dock, boat, and Adirondack chairs belonged to the neighboring cottage, but the scene gives you a good idea of how nice it is to be on the lake. Our dock was a little less photogenic.
Traveling down memory lane is a dangerous activity if you love your memories too dearly. Continue reading
The woods were dark and lonely yesterday evening. The clouds had prematurely aged the day, and the looming threat of rain kept all but the serious joggers at home. It was so quiet that I heard every rustle as various creatures moved around in the brush. The primitive part of me wanted to imagine they were mischievous spirits.
After spending part of last week walking in the wild woods of my youth, I suspected this very tame path would pale by comparison. It did, but not just because of the comparison. The blasting heat of last week finished off most of the flowers. There was too much wilted green and crunchy brown, and not enough softness, freshness, or color. I didn’t snap a single photo.
I guess it’s a good thing I took so many pictures during my vacation! Those pictures will be coming soon.
I am grateful for my washer and dryer.
My mother bought them for me when I first moved into my condo and they came with us when we moved. They have saved us hundreds of dollars over the years and provided oodles of convenience. Thanks, Mom!
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