Wordless Wednesdays . . .

“July. Silence. Complete silence.
The whole world floated.” ~ Lola Ridge, from “Silence”

Wednesday morning, sunny and mild, 75 degrees.

From La Collectionneuse (1967):

 


Music by Frédéric Chopin, Etude in A Flat Major, Op. 25 No. 1, “Aeolian Harp”

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“Resolution #4: I must encourage greedy people to use the term, ‘Low-hanging fruit,’ because that’s just like old times.” (Crowley) ~ Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, Crowley & Aziraphale’s New Year’s Wishes


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

Friday afternoon, mostly sunny and lovely, 76 degrees.

Cannot wait to watch the  Good Omens adaptation with David Tennant and Michael Sheen, except that means we need to hook up the Blu-Ray to get access to Amazon Prime, which means . . . probably not going to watch it anytime soon . . .

A bit of a hodgepodge collection. Enjoy.


The miracle of tea:

Rules to live by:

Totally relatable:

Goats? Yep.

St. Louis Post-Dispatch, Missouri, July 21, 1908

Hmm . . .

Not I can’t stop thinking about a spider wearing flip flops. . .

Good for him:

Good boy:

And finally, coffee. Yes.:

The Topeka Daily Capital, Kansas, January 14, 1904

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”

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

marshawn-lynch-nfl-super-bowl-xlix-seattle-seahawks-press-conference1-850x560
Marshawn Lynch at NFL Super Bowl Press Conference

Friday afternoon. Drizzle and cold, 47 degrees.

Corey arrived home safely yesterday. No word on when he will be called back. I never thought I would wish for oil prices to skyrocket . . .

Bad night last night—too wired to sleep, and the dogs were feeding off that anxiety by announcing a need to go out pretty much once an hour. In between, I was seized with a vicious migraine, and then the ensuing body-itching from the pain medication. Today I plan to do a whole lot of nothing after spending two days cleaning a house that wasn’t really dirty, which didn’t stop me from taking the bottom of the vacuum apart to pull strings from the roller (love that my Dyson doesn’t have any belts). That’s just how I get once I go into overdrive.

Ah, the sweet, sweet joys of my life . . .

More later. Peace.

This week’s headline:

“I’m just here so I won’t get fined.” ~ Marshawn Lynch’s Super Bowl Press Conference

As Jon Stewart pointed out, Lynch was threatened with a ridiculous $500k fine if he didn’t show and a possible other fine for wearing the wrong hat, yet the NFL does little to nothing when it comes to the serious infractions, you know, like domestic violence:

“How is it that this guy is facing international drug cartel penalty money, but the owners and commissioner of the league have no obligation to address stadium financing shenanigans or concussions or domestic violence policies?” ~ Jon Stewart, “The Daily Show” (29 January 2015)

Shakespeare’s tragedies by body count:

Diagramming my life:

Dr. James Barry was a woman:

James Miranda Stuart Barry was a military surgeon in the British Army. After graduation from the University of Edinburgh Medical School, Barry served in India and Cape Town, South Africa. By the end of his career, he had risen to the rank of Inspector General in charge of military hospitals. Although Barry lived his adult life as a man, he was born a female and was named Margaret Ann Bulkley. In his travels he not only improved conditions for wounded soldiers, but also the conditions of the native inhabitants. Among his accomplishments was the first caesarean section in Africa by a British surgeon in which both the mother and child survived the operation.

Well, how could I not include this?

See this? This is not how my dogs would help:

They would either sit on the extended part of the tape measure or take the whole thing and run away . . .

Too perfect . . .

And oh how I wish so many times that I would have been able to say and do something like this:

See—I freaking told you . . .

Things that can happen at Wal-Mart: