If it’s Friday, it must mean leftovers . . .

Today’s Self-Portrait: Lots of Movement that Gets Me Nowhere

“Can we really conquer chaos so easily? If that were so, I should be able to prune the pandemonium of my own soul into something neat and tidy rather than this maze of wants and needs and misgivings that has me forever feeling as if I cannot fit into the landscape of things.” ~ Libba Bray, from The Far Sweet Thing

Friday afternoon, overcast but mild, 66 degrees.

I’m in one of those moods. Yep. Could it be day five of this unending migraine? Awaking each morning at 4 a.m. for no particular reason and being unable to go back to sleep? Eating stale tortilla chips and salsa because I’m craving salt and now I have incredible heartburn? The fact that I’ve been trying to write Tuesday’s post for 4 days and can’t get past the poem?  Continuing/unending issues with just trying to live our lives?

All of it? None of it?

Whatever . . .


Oh, the good old days . . . kind of . . . you know, Spanish flu deaths, diseases, sexism, racism, rampant poverty, fascism . . . no, wait . . . yep, that whole making us great again thing . . .

Harrisburg Telegraph, Pennsylvania, June 26, 1913

Found on irisharchaelogy’s tumblr:

From Ultrafacts.com (love this one):

Many of these old trees were dying or had died and, despite their age, were destined for a meeting with a chainsaw. Tingle, however, saw potential in the old trees and over time transformed many of them into remarkable works of art. They are located in Orr Park, Montevallo, AL (Fact Source)

This one reminds me of how Paramount’s mountain logo faded to the mountain in Raiders of the Lost Ark:

I love drinks with paper umbrellas; it’s like Hawaiian Punch:

From anxietyproblem’s tumblr:


Music by Lauren Daigle, “You Say”

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If it’s Friday, it must mean leftovers . . .

Friday evening, sunny, and 58 degrees.

No walk today. Became obsessed with trying to find something I’d seen before online but couldn’t remember the exact name or where I first saw it. So . . .  many hours later, it was already 5 p.m.

Enjoy.


Dorothy and Golden Girls forever:

So, who’s been spying on me?

I’m not ashamed to admit that I really miss “Rugrats.”  I think that I liked it more than my sons did:

And this is why I no longer allow myself to enter a T.J. Maxx:

And finally:

Clarion-Ledger, Jackson, Mississippi, December 14, 1937

“I am a jumble of passions, misgivings, and wants. It seems that I am always in a state of wishing and rarely in a state of contentment.”~ Libba Bray, from The Far Sweet Thing

“Our doubts are traitors
And make us lose the good we oft might win
By fearing to attempt.” ~ William Shakespeare, from Measure for Measure (I,iv)

Monday afternoon, partly cloudy, 55 degrees.

Monday misgivings . . .

I was so eager for the internet to be restored, and then when it was, I think that I froze internally. I stared at the posts that I had written on Word, and then realized that I didn’t have images or poems or songs, and I immediately became dismayed, and then distracted, and then I ended up playing hours of spider solitaire.

Later, I was so angry with myself that I decided I would post everything today, with or without images. I compromised with that perfection side of myself and settled for adding an image at the top of Friday’s and Saturday’s posts, even though it makes me view them as being incomplete, somehow. I tend to think that since I’m so heavy on verbiage that the inclusion of images helps to break up everything and make it easier to read. (Does it?)

But I did have a good idea about which music to include, and the poems were actually easy as I keep a collection of them for future posts; it’s just a matter of marrying themes, if possible.

Anyway, that’s what happened to my big plans for back posting yesterday. Whatever . . . . . . . . . . .

Monday misgivings

Apropos of nothing: Sean Bean as Richard Sharpe in 1993 ITV Show (loosely based on novels by Bernard Cornnwell; when a CD was later released with theme music from the show, it was called “Over the Hills and Far Away”—no idea as to why)

“Far from the mountains and the seas,
back in her arms again he’ll be.” ~ Gary Moore, lyrics from “Over the Hills and Far Away”

Monday afternoon, a dusting of snow, cold.

Out of sorts today. I’ve been thinking about posting these very different versions of an old folk song, “Over the Hills and Far Away” (not to be confused with the Led Zeppelin song of the same name), and today seems like a good day for that. In researching this tune, I found lots of different versions based on the 17th century ballad, but the ones below are all based on the lyrics by Gary Moore.

Enjoy.


Gurdy version:

Nightwish version:

And if you’re interested in the 1987 version by Gary Moore, here it is:

 

“Perhaps we’ve never been visited by aliens because they have looked upon Earth and decided there’s no sign of intelligent life.” ~ Neil deGrasse Tyson, astrophysicist and all around truth teller

If it’s Friday, it must mean leftovers . . .

Friday afternoon, clouds and rain, 52 degrees.

Sorry no post yesterday. One of the horses, Petra, was very sick. According to Dallas, sometimes horses get sick from eating too much green grass too quickly. Anyway, he picked her up in the horse trailer and worked with her, giving her electrolytes, and some concoction for constipation. Corey went back over last night to double check on her and make sure that Dallas hadn’t just shut her up in the barn. Fortunately, he was pleasantly surprised as Dallas was genuinely taking care of her.

I won’t even get into details on the last thing he did when one of his horses died, but suffice it to say that had I been present, I might have beat him with his cane . . .

Anyway, while he was here, Dallas also loaded up Amy, Boots, and Franklin. He had said that he wanted to separate Franklin from any of the mares that might be going into heat, which is fine, but I still don’t know why he took Amy or Boots. He assured Corey that he’d return Boots and Petra. At least he knows not to touch Napoleon.

More later Peace.


We should all strive to be the people our dogs imagine us to be. Just saying . . .

I can actually see something like this happening . . .

I don’t know if this one is true, but it’s what I imagine I’d do if ever I was forced to be a greeter . . .

What the hell are people learning in school lately? Anything? Anything? Bueller? Bueller?

Is it sad that I can relate to this kid?

Me, at the end of “Orphan Black,” or “Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” or the upcoming final season of “Game of Thrones.”
And finally, I will always, always, post Nurse Rat-chit:

Music by Phantogram, “Black Out Days”

 

“I swing on a continuum between ridiculous and sublime.” ~ Amit K. Ghosh

 
If it’s Friday, it must mean leftovers . . .

Friday afternoon, more rain, 47 degrees.

I really think that it doesn’t rain nearly enough around here . . . not. The only good thing about all of the rain here is listening to it at night as it falls on the tin roof.

Anyway, sorry no post yesterday. I could think of nothing to say. Corey spent the day in bed as it’s his turn to be sick. Honestly, I wonder how long we’ll swap this bug, whatever it is. He’s better today, but he was also better earlier in the week, so who knows . . .

I’m fairly certain that the header quote is a take on Marshall McLuhan’s quote, “All through his life, he swung between the ridiculous and the sublime,” which comes from his famous 1964 book, The Medium is the Message.

(Just an aside here: I cannot believe how many people online think that the word is massage, not message . . . We really need to go back to spelling tests in grade school.)

Pretty good collection today, so enjoy.

More later. Peace.


Michigan ghost apples caused by extremely cold temperatures (found here):

Yep.

Also yep:

The Baltimore Sun, Maryland, February 8, 1932

This reminded me of how my old dogs used to try to get on the hammock with me . . .

Completely logical:

From This Isn’t Happiness:

I used to love this show:

And finally:

“Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored.” ~ Aldous Huxley, from Complete Essays 2, 1926-29

If it’s Friday, it must mean leftovers . . .

Friday afternoon, overcast and drizzle once again, 54 degrees.

Don’t even get me started on the presidential faux state of emergency.

During the night when I opened the door to let the dogs out, I was hit in the face with the smell of impending spring, which is miraculous considering we have horses and the accompanying smell of equine eau du poo. It almost made the sleeplessness worth it. Almost.

I began a post on Monday, picked it up again yesterday, and still haven’t finished it. So . . . should I finish or scrap it and start over? Thoughts, opinions, ideas?

Anyway, enjoy today’s collection.


I want a red hat that says this:

Seen in the window at Gulf of Maine Books in Brunswick, Maine. Photo: Bill Roorbach

I want a baby elephant . . .

Why all of the reminders about my age?

The entire automotive industry was against seat belts at one time. Now, they spend all of their time trying to out do one another with more and more safety features. Go figure . . .

I cannot even begin to list the number of times this happened to me when I had to get up for work . . .

I love this one:

Sounds about right:

And finally this:


Music by Cardboard Kids, “Echo Boomer”