Been a while...

4 1/2 years......hmmm.

We are now hoping to survive the presidency of Donald Trump, his benefactors and his toadies.  He seems motivated by the basest of instincts: greed, pride, vanity, sloth. His idea of statesmanship is to alienate our allies while currying favor with anyone who flatters him even as they seek to harm us. We fear for our democracy. We fear for the very planet. These are scary days.

It's high summer in Connecticut and I've never in 70+ years seen lovelier weather than what we're enjoying right now. Back yard gardens are cranking out string beans, Swiss chard, cucumbers, sweet corn, eggplants, peppers, garlic, beets, basil, squashes, tomatoes. Oh the tomatoes!! There is so much good to be had in this world if we would only use the earth gently and be good to one another. I'm not religious but could it be that this is Heaven?  Maybe it's right here, but we don’t get it, can’t appreciate it, and certainly won’t share it. There's more than enough for everyone but we clamor for more and bigger. Imagine letting go of selfishness and practicing tolerance instead of squandering our resources, talents  and energy on conflict, Forget your holy wars. If you are devout, what better way to honor your deity than to gently tend the world and life you believe S/He created?

Go Goats!

The relocation of the New Britain Rock Cat baseball team to Hartford has been bobbing up in our CT news for some months. Would New Britain let them go?  Would Hartford take them?  Where would they play?  By what new name would they be known?

The deal finalized, the last question was put to the people.  Suggestions poured in and this week the decision was made.  Hartford CT is the proud owner of the newly dubbed Yard Goats.

Go Goats!  I love it!  Having grown up with goats, I understand goats.  I appreciate their intelligence, perseverance and especially their tendency to find the ordinary in the absurd.  Their eagerness to engage is remarkable.  If you’ve never known a goat, you wouldn’t understand.

This same week, another nearby city has finally donned the mantle of political correctness by removing ethic graphics from the mascots of their two high schools’ sports teams.  They are, however, digging in and keeping the accompanying nouns Warriors and Chieftains since those words don’t apply to any particular group of people.  After all, ny of us can be bullies or know-it-alls.

With that in mind, I’m thinking nastily about an ethnic mascot that is as common as cow pies in a meadow: The Fighting Irish.  I’m 3^rd generation Irish, you see, and I bristle at the idea that my ancestors are depicted on uniforms, flags, banners as overly pugilistic.  Adding insult to injury, a short man dresses up in a Leprechaun costume and acts intoxicated.

It’s our time, Hibernians! Sing those raucous bar songs, pump your fists, slosh your beer.  If anyone objects, give him a clout on the chin.  Let your voices be heard from one state line of Indiana to the other (how did they get away with naming a State that?)

Faux Onions

We’ve been noticing lately –  yellow onions from the grocery store.  You get your gear out and start peeling but……no tears!  Barely a puny sniffle.  They look like onions; the artsy ones that appear Still-Life-like on the covers of high end cooking mags.  But when it comes to aroma and flavor, they are poor substitutes for the onions of only a few months ago that you loved to peel when you had a good snit on because of the cleansing cry you could generate without even having to slam a door.

52 Photos Project: In My Hands

Daughter and I making quilt blocks today.

52 Photos Project: Bright

In late August, early September, I start looking for signs of Autumn.  These maple leaves, bright against our blue stone front steps, promise my favorite season is almost here.

52 Photos Project: On the Line

Hostas line the side yard,
late summer 2013.

52 Photos Project: Unusual & Uncommon

I was coming up empty for this week's theme when our granddaughter, K, presented us with this spoon , hand-smithed by her very own 13-year-old self.  It will hang on a wrought iron utensil rack in our kitchen forever after.  Thank you, K!