Happy Friday, everyone. Here, for your perusal are a few nice finds and random thoughts. —– I found the above image via Gab.ai, which is now having an influx of libertarians, anarchists, and pro-gunners following the infamous Twitter purge. —– And here’s a polar bear patting a sled dog. This isn’t the first polar-bear-and-dog buddy image on the ‘Net. But it may be the most lovable. —– Seems everybody’s got a hopeful agenda for Donald Trump, who remains (despite media certainty that he’s Adolf Hitler reborn) quite the blank slate. Some of those hopeful agendas are worth getting behind. But…
Category: Arts and Aesthetics
All things creative. All things beautiful, profound, and moving.
The evening before election day, Ava and I walked down to the estuary, sat on a pier, and watched the fishing boats come in. The sky was cloud-studded but dry, the weather shirt-sleeve warm. The light resembled a luminist painting. The morning of election day, we walked down and watched the boats go out again under the same low, dry, radiant sky, while sharing a buttery croissant from the local tea shop. I thought, not for the first or last time, “It doesn’t matter whose butt gets planted in the Oval Office. This doesn’t change. This is my place and…
I bitch about the man. He is a loathsome toad. But I do understand why people place their hopes in Trump and stand by their views. Especially with more of Hillary’s evil being revealed every moment. And as Vin Suprynowicz reminds us, those Hillarian evils are oozing out despite the media’s most shamelessly shameful efforts. There are still, even in this Augean stable of an election, rare moments of civility between the parties. A cynic might see it as collegiality among rival bands of brigands. Okay, so you achieved “unawareness.” Got a little problem with “compliant” part, though. Hershel Smith…
Three days without Ava. As a special treat for myself, I dropped Her Royal Highness Princess Ava Prettypaws off at Furrydoc’s this morning. Ava is the most willing and loyal dog I’ve ever had. That girl lives to please. But along with that package of goodness comes extreme clinginess, hyper-vigilance, constant attention-seeking, and a seeming belief that every time I so much as twitch a muscle I’m either going to a) take her on a glorious adventure; b) feed her; c) throw a toy for her; or d) heartlessly abandon her in cruel Dickensian style. I literally can’t shift my…
Getting there. The Wandering Monk will finish the north-side wall (the one he’s sitting on) by early this afternoon. I’ve been out there working with him all week, but today I’m indoors, online, taking care of new-site business. Anyhow, face it. Though I can shovel rock and make artistic decisions, he’s about twice as efficient as I am at the heavy lifting. We’re leaving the east-side wall just two blocks high for now so we can monitor the drainage behind it when the rains come this weekend. But that north wall, the long wall, the high wall, the wall requiring…
That’s the Wandering Monk up there looking like a rather tall member of the seven dwarves. That’s him taking a break from carving out the channel that will hold the footer for the retaining wall. That’s him with the block newly delivered to my driveway. You don’t see the pallet with the 54 sacks of concrete on it. Still. Even with five pallets of block and one of concrete to go, the big, scary project is now a whole lot less scary. Because this … … and this … … are done. It took two days of this … ……