Sir Ducken

I'm currently reading Five Days in London, May 1940. This is a continuation of my interest in Winston Churchill and history in general. Of course, I've been listening to all these books or I would still be reading the first one.

One of the many problems with listening to books is that you don't have proper nouns in writing. There is one name that has confused me through every book. Sir Duggan? Terdugan? Turducken? Aargh. Wikipedia doesn't help you if you can't spell the name. This guy was important. He was in the War Cabinet. He wrote a diary or a book about what went on during this period. But who was he?

Alexander Cadogan, of course. Two countries separated by one language. According to Wiki, this is pronounced Caduggan, although the first syllable is emphasized and probably sounds more like Cur. I'd have pronounced this like cardigan without the "r". I love mysteries, especially ones that have a solution.

It's Done!

The cat is done. Adrian is going to show it to his friend to find out if she would like to hang it on one of her walls. If so, I will frame it. If not, it goes into a closet with the other two needlepoints that I completed years ago. I promised Karen that when I move up North I will frame all of them and hang them in my bedroom there. Or the bathroom. Or... It is a lot of work, but I like the stitching part. I'm not sure that I want to have dozens (as if) lining my walls.

Did I mention that my tax issues have been resolved? I have someone else doing my taxes after a horrible debacle while I was in India. Somehow Adrian got tax bills to me that I paid without really thinking. That after preparing returns without really thinking. Now I have a good woman who actually knows what she's doing. Hurray! I can't imagine how much I would have saved over the past years if I had trusted my tax forms to others. Oh well. All this means is that I can now afford to buy another needlepoint kit. Pshew.

Poppy Fields

Every rainy year brings millions of flowers to the California deserts. I figured that this year I'd have a chance to see them. There are many websites that tell you where to go and even have a nice bar that shows you the advancing state of the flowers. Once the bar rose above 4 (out of 10), I figured I should see what's up.

This is a 4.5 at the Lancaster Poppy Reserve. OK, not a great picture, but maybe you can see a hill smudged with golden yellow. I'll go back in a few weeks to see how this has changed. And I will take Adrian's advice and leave very early. Even in this lovely Spring weather we're having, it got hot as I walked up the hill. It was a well-cared for path, but the signs at the bottom of the hill that warned about rattlesnakes were a little daunting.

We used to hike in the Sierra Foothills a lot when I was a kid. My brothers used to catch and skin rattlesnakes and Mom even fried some for everyone to sample. Yes, it does taste like chicken, chicken necks due to all those bones. My sister even stepped on one once. Family legend? In any case, I'm not 8 anymore, not able to leap as high or as fast as my sister did. I watched every little hole and flat place along the trail. I did see two very fast lizards. Let the snakes eat them.

And please let the lizards eat all the gnats that swarmed around my face. They were thick. I held a Kleenex over my nose at some points in the walk. Sure, it was beautiful, inspiring nature. And next time I'm dousing myself with all that bug spray that I didn't use up in Virginia. And I wonder why I don't go hiking more often.

The prettiest poppies were next to the path by the information center. On those long hikes in my youth we used to try to identify all the flowers. There were Belly Flowers, Kneeling Flowers, Bend-Overs and more. I'm sure some park ranger knows all the real names. On this day I saw blue bellies and yellow bend-overs. Very pretty. And the day and the views were worth watching every step and inhaling every gnat. Really

Laundry Day

Adrian knows he has a crazy mother. It was confirmed today in the laundromat. For some strange reason, I love to go there. I love to watch the clothes chase after each other in the dryer. So today I took a picture for the blog. It isn't here because it was hard to get a feeling of the chase. Adrian saw a flash go off on the other side of the room and knew exactly where I was.

I first fell in love with watching a dryer with Karen in Hawaii. We sat there for some time, giggling about how funny it looked. This was not the high point of the trip and we were not high. But it is the memory that comes back to me every time I wait for my clothes to be dry.

Aloooooo-ha

These Made Me Laugh

I am just getting too emotional in my old age. First I cry for Owen Meany, then I laugh at these sweet little faces. The woman from Kelly Services who got me all those great assignments at BAH wrote to ask if I would come back for 4 days with my favorite VP. Uh, nope. But say, how's your little Joseph? They went to a farm in Herndon and Joseph's father put him on this little tractor. Their friend snapped this picture at the moment when he realized that he was about to slide off. Don't worry, no babies were harmed for this picture, Dad was there to stop the fall.

All I know is that that perfect O of a mouth speaks volumes. I thought I was done with this day's laughs until I read my niece's blog and saw this picture of Maggie.

This is from casual picture day. Maggie loves her new headband and wanted to share it with posterity. She shoots, we score. Not a wallflower where pictures are concerned. Love her silly little heart and her ability to make me laugh.

As for me, I opened an old fortune cookie that said I would do something different tomorrow (today). I asked myself, what would Karen do? She spends a lot of her days working in her garden. I don't have any sour grass to pull or good vegetables to plant. All I have is a little over-grown patio. So I spent the morning whacking bushes. That's different.

New Scrapbook

Did you notice that I have new pictures in the upper right of the blog? I found them on a thumb drive in my computer bag. They are from some of my travels at the beginning of the 2000's. Adrian said my mother would be proud of them, but not enough pictures of flowers.

You will see a lot of Frank Lloyd Wright's architecture in Chicago. Those are from a train trip I took across the US. Eric and I went to Niagra Falls on that trip. It was stunning.

Then I went on a trip to London, Paris and Florence just as the war started in Iraq. I went by myself and had a pretty good time. You will see that I rode on the London Eye - a big ferris wheel that overlooks the whole city. Down river from that is the Tate Modern. Although I don't care for modern art, it seems that they have the best museums.

I took a cooking class in Florence, went to the market there before cooking with ladies I met there from Pasadena. That was strange to meet people from home. They took me on a private tour of the Uffizi art gallery as one of their traveling companions had opted out. Another reason for going to Florence was to see the door panels from the Baptistry door. They took down the originals when they found pollution was pitting them. The museum was closed when Karen Moore and I went to Florence years before, so I had to go back. The museum was amazing.

And, of course, Paris was Paris. Pompidou (more modern art), the Jacquemart-Andre Museum, Sacre Couer, Montmartre. All but the Pompidou was new to me. It's nice to revisit it by looking at these pictures. It would be nice to find another hidden thumb drive with pictures from my other trips.

Say a Little Prayer

Where have you been! I've missed you. Where have I been? Probably in my living room. Or walking around the block to return Netflix. Yes, the busy life. Right now I'm trying to figure out how to pay income taxes, but that is a dreary story. Now that the weather has turned hot and clear, dreary stories should be dismissed.

And so, I will tell you about A Prayer for Owen Meany. Most of you must have read this already. It's pretty old. If you haven't and you like novels - get it. Read it. This is one of those whipped cream books that you want to spread all over your body. Hum. Maybe not a great image. Lotion?

This book was written. It isn't just a plot with dialog and action tacked on. It's full of words and thoughts that make you stop to think. Here's a website with some of Irving's words. Those are great, but I guess you do need a plot to help you understand why someone would say them. So.

The book is about a small person with a strange voice who lives in New Hampshire. He kills, dies and loves but not in that order. You, too, will probably learn to love this guy. And his story. It helps if you subscribe to the political views of the characters, but that might not be necessary. If you read this book and don't agree with his political views, please write me to tell me if you liked the book anyway. I cried at the end. You must know that I don't cry about anything. But there I was with huge tears streaming down my face, sobbing. I knew what was going to happen in the end because fore-shadowing is big in the book. Didn't matter. Hiccuping sobs.
On the lighter side, I read a biography about Charles Dickens. I've been reading a lot of his books and decided to re-read the story of his life. This was pretty interesting. He was a piece of work. His attitude toward women stinks. I've just read Little Dorrit and was struck by the character Flora. Seems Dickens did not care for his old flames to grow fat and made a joke of the sweet Flora with her dithering and run-on sentences. He also preferred to bring young women relations into his house. That left his wife to bear and care for his kajillion kids. Ah, my kind of man. At least he likes words as much as Irving. But, for now, I think I'll try to read more Irving and less Dickens.