This weekend, Ed and I went to the Franklin Park Conservatory for a few hours to check out the main show they were featuring called The Orchid Forest. Although the town is blanketed in a thick layer of the fluffy white stuff outside, there was no hiding the vibrant color among the greenery inside.
The Franklin Conservatory, located in Columbus, Ohio was a beautiful way to spend the afternoon. Their web site says, "Set within the 88 acres of Franklin Park, the Conservatory houses 400 species of plants from a variety of global climate zones and features the historic John F. Wolfe Palm House where more than 45 species of palms are represented amongst more than 120 individual specimens." We even saw a bonsai tree that was over 100 years old!
The Conservatory also featured pieces by my favorite glass artist, Dale Chihuly, which was a special treat for me to see. I think Ed may have gotten even better shots than I did, which I will definitely be stealing to feature on the blog (yes, dear, you will get full recognition for your photos. Sheesh!).
Now enough about flowers....today I will be spending the day watching my new President get sworn in. Pass the tissues, please!
I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.
Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.
But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.
In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check — a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quick sands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.
It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.
But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.
We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.
As we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied, as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "For Whites Only". We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.
I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."
And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!
Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!
But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"
Marley is from Portland, Maine and usually does a lot of "Maine" humor in his act, so if you know anything about that part of the country, you will find his local references extremely funny. Tonight though, he did a lot of new stuff that we hadn't heard before and had us gasping for breath as we laughed through every minute of his show.
His style of humor is right up my alley. His use of his parents as a source of material is hysterical and he's completely dead on with the "I'm-married-I-don't-even-know-where-my-own-socks-are-I-need-my-wife-to-tell-me" bit. I think the message of that subject might just have seeped into Ed's brain enough to where he's understanding more and more that it's better (and easier) for him to just say, "Yes, Dear."
A couple of weeks ago, I received an email from Schmap!! requesting the use of this Pike Place Market photo that I took back in 2005, for their newly released sixth edition of their Schmap Seattle Guide: Of course I said yes and just two days ago, they informed me that it was actually selected to be in the guide. Cool!
It's a site that offers guides for 200 worldwide destinations and my submission has been included in the Seattle Neighborhood Guide - go check it out!
We came from Florida this week (which, by the way, was NOT sunny and warm) all the way up to Ohio where the temperatures are below zero. As some of you may know, I love the snow and cold weather.
But holy wind chill! It's FREEZING here. I actually put the heat on in the hotel room. I NEVER put the heat on in a hotel room. EVER. Even in the winter. Ask Ed - he's frozen through four winters with me so far. So for me to put heat on, I must have gotten a chill. This does not mean I'm taking back my love of winter - I would still rather be cold if given the choice.
We're here for a good reason though - we bought our NEW TRUCK today!!! If you look at the brochure, you'll get a better idea of what the interior looks like - ours looks just like the first interior picture with the light walls and the cherry wood cabinetry.
We'll probably be around for the weekend, so more truck stuff to come in the next few days...
The following was taken from the sign in front of the arch:
"Wilson Arch was named after Joe Wilson, A local pioneer who had a cabin nearby in Dry Valley. This formation is known as Entrada Sandstone. Over time, the superficial cracks, joints and folds of these layers were saturated with water. Ice formed in the fissures, melted under extreme desert heat, and winds cleaned out the loose particles. A series of free standing fins remained. Wind and water attacked these fins until, in some, the cementing material gave way and chunks of rock tumbled out. Many damaged fins collapsed like the one to the right of Wilson Arch. Others, with the right degree of hardness survived despite their missing middle like Wilson Arch."
** Do you see Eddie waving in this picture? Enlarge it if you can't find him.
Here's a picture of me at the Grand Canyon in the summer of 1993. I don't know what I was thinking with that huge Kentucky Derby hat I was wearing, but I was looking so stylish standing there on the rim of that hole in the earth, even other tourists were taking pictures of me!
As usual, Bleeding Espresso is a source of inspiration (read: great place to steal ideas) and once again, her meme has inspired me to do yet another one. I love these things! Read on...
1. My uncle once: gave me a nickname (Cie) and the perfume to go with it.
2. Never in my life: have I tried any kind of illegal drugs.
3. When I was five: I was the star of the family and the apple of my grandfather's eye.
4. High school was: a necessary evil.
5. I will never forget: the first time I saw my (first) newborn baby nephew. I still can't believe my brother and his wife made him!
6. Once I met: Josh Brolin (at Old Tucson Studios while he was filming The Young Riders. That's me on the left (well, half of me), Josh Brolin, and his son. This is what happens when you have a 70 year old man take the picture!) 7. There’s this girl I know: who was once involved in a very systematic organized crime operation in Nashville.
8. Once, at a bar: an employee called the police and then threw us out when my cousin tried to pull a Corvette mirror off the wall to give to me because I mentioned I liked it.
9. By noon, I’m usually: still sleeping, since I typically drive at night.
10. Last night: I listened to my iPod while driving till the wee hours of the morning.
11. If only I had:uninterrupted free time - I'd get SO much done!
12. Next time I go to church: it will probably burn to the ground the minute I cross the threshold.
13. What worries me most: nothing, really.
14. When I turn my head left I see: the right side of Ed's head.
15. When I turn my head right I see: scenery out of my window.
16. You know I’m lying when: I don't lie often enough to have a tell-tale sign.
17. What I miss most about the Eighties is: my voluminous hair and my perfect skin.
18. If I were a character in Shakespeare I’d be: sadly, I don't think I've read enough Shakespeare to pick a character.
19. By this time next year: I will have been without a boss (self-employed) for over 5 years and hopefully, still going strong!
20. A better name for me would be: I have never wanted to change my name, even though people have trouble spelling it . And, it's just different enough to be remembered.
21. I have a hard time understanding: the mass epidemic of incompetence.
22. If I ever go back to school, I’ll: learn a foreign language till I'm fluent in it, take Latin (which would help with the language) and study English literature.
23. You know I like you if: I make time to be in your company.
24. If I ever won an award, the first person I would thank would be: my mother, for telling me I could do anything.
25. Take my advice, never: joke with a TSA agent if you're late for your flight. They're just self-important enough to hold you up to search your bags for NOTHING.
26. My ideal breakfast is: French toast (alone - no sides) or cottage cheese and cantaloupe.
27. A song I love but do not have is:Waiting For A Star To Fall by Boy Meets Girl. Watch the video here:
28. If you visit my hometown, I suggest you: go to the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum. It's a world-renowned zoo, natural history museum and botanical garden, all in one place!
29. Why won’t people: work on having manners - especially in public.
30. If you spend a night at my house: plan on having a great meal, watching a movie, playing Scrabble and staying up till the wee hours laughing and talking.
31. I’d stop my wedding for: a death of an immediate member of the family.
32. The world could do without: racism.
33. I’d rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: eat anything "exotic" containing blood.
34. My favorite blond(s) is/are: I'm not a big fan of blonds, so I don't really have a favorite.
35. Paper clips are more useful than: most items when trying to "MacGyver" something.
36. If I do anything well it’s: making people feel comfortable.
37. And by the way: I wouldn't have minded if this list had 37 more things on it. Send me memes!
Because the truck was moving and night was falling, this isn't the best picture of the monument known as Shiprock, but I sort of like the silhouette. While searching online, I found this information on Shiprock, which I'm sure my mother will like since she likes to think she descended from the Navajo Indians and not the Europeans: "Known today most commonly by the name Shiprock, the nearly 1800-foot eroded volcanic plume is sacred to the Navajos as Tse Bi dahi, or the Rock with Wings. This name comes from an ancient folk myth that tells how the rock was once a great bird that transported the ancestral people of the Navajos to their lands in what is now northwestern New Mexico. The Navajo ancestors had crossed a narrow sea far to the northwest (the Bering Strait?) and were fleeing from a warlike tribe. Tribal shamans prayed to the great spirit for help. Suddenly the ground rose from beneath their feet to become an enormous bird. For an entire day and night the bird flew south, finally settling at sundown where Shiprock now stands. Geologists tell us the rock was formed 12 million years ago during the Pliocene Era. The legend of the rock seems more likely to be a metaphor hinting of the site's magical power to lift the human soul above the problems of daily existence into an awareness of the great spirit. From ancient times to the more recent past, Tse Bi dahi was indeed a pilgrimage place of major importance, the destination of young men engaged in the rigors of solitary vision quests."
OK. Flying through the air on a giant dirt bird? No disrespect to the Navajos, but really? And if you could fly through the air on a giant dirt bird, why would you land in the middle of nowhere? And why did the bird turn into a ship? In a place that has no water?? I don't get it.
Maybe my mother is Navajo; some of her stories are just as bizarre.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes How do you measure, measure a year? In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife
In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes How do you measure a year in the life?
While I was driving the other night I was thinking of different events in my life and when they happened. Some people are able to remember the exact date something happened; when they started the second grade, the exact month, day and year they started their first job, the date they received their first paycheck or the time (down to the moment) they broke up with their first boyfriend.
I’m not good at that. I’m not one to remember the year or the exact date of things that happened in my life. I can probably tell you what I was wearing when I broke up with my boyfriend, what was playing on the radio when I was driving to meet that guy I had a crush on for lunch, what the weather was like the day I buried my grandfather or what state I was in when I got the news of my father’s death, but most often, I remember events by other things that were going on at the time.
For instance, my first kiss happened in the summer of 1983. I was fifteen going on sixteen, working at the family restaurant. I had a HUGE crush on one of our chefs but he was three years older than me and figured he wouldn't even give me a second glance, let alone kiss me! But then he did. I don’t know what day it was or even what month it was, but I know it happened that summer. And even though it never went further than a kiss, the flirtation and friendship went on for years and wound up turning into some really great memories for me.
Another life changing event for me was the day I met my best friend. I know it was winter because I just started a new job at a ski lodge, but I don’t remember the month and the year is pretty foggy. I remember the events of the day itself very vividly because we met while putting together informational packets for the ski-lift operators; sort, staple, stack. I remember an instant connection and later in the day, getting reprimanded by our boss for “goofing off” because we were laughing the entire time we did our task. I do remember it was in the neighborhood of twenty-three years ago, but I'd have to do actual research to come up with the year.
Another time, that same best friend and I did a drive-by of the house where a guy we knew lived. It's one of the best times I’ve ever had with her (and there are hundreds!). We swung by McDonald’s before we headed out there and when we stopped to eat, she made me laugh SO HARD, food came out of my mouth. Neither one of us remembers the month or the year, but I will always remember it as the night I spit lettuce on the steering wheel of my Chevy Monte Carlo.
These are just three examples of the many, many things that have happened in my forty-one years of life and when I drive late at night when there are no distractions, hundreds more fly through my head. The best thing about remembering one thing by associating it with another is the bonus of getting two memories for the price of one.
And like this song, I measure each year of my life in daylights, sunsets, midnights, cups of coffee, inches, miles, laughter and strife.
I listen to a LOT of talk radio when I'm driving and there is one thing that irritates me more than anything (ok, I'm sure there is more than one thing but for the sake of this post, I'll stick with just one thing).
Why do people who call in to a radio show, waste their valuable air time by saying, Thank you for taking my call??
There are all sorts of versions off this: "It was so nice of you to take my call." or "Well, I have two things to say. First, I'd like to thank you for taking my call and second..." or "I really appreciate you taking my call and I just wanted to say..."
It's a CALL-IN RADIO SHOW people! They have a call-in segment because they want you to CALL IN! They are asking for your calls. They are telling you to call. They are soliciting your opinion. You don't have to thank them for taking your call. They are expecting it.
It's like going to a restaurant and after you pay your bill telling the manager that you really appreciate him letting you pay for your meal; "Thank you for taking my money."
So in the future, if you call a radio show: When they pick up the phone and say hello, you're likely on the air (or will be if you don't screw it up and say something stupid). Don't waste your air time by thanking them.
This is the road to the Kennecott Copper Mine in Bingham Canyon, Utah. We recently delivered some materials here and the surrounding scenery was just breathtaking. One can almost forget all that's going on miles beneath the surface.
It's the largest man-made excavation in the world. You can read more facts about it here and see pictures of the mine here.
First, I have to say I'm thrilled that people read my blog. People other than my mother, that is. And I'm thrilled they comment. But what I am really floored about is that people from other countries actually visit my little home on the web.
Here's a list of countries I've had visitors from:
Australia
Austria
Bahrain
Bangladesh
Belgium
Brazil
Bulgaria
Canada
China
Cyprus
Czech Republic
Denmark
Egypt
England
Finland
French Guiana
Germany
Greece
Hungary
Iceland
India
Iran
Iraq
Ireland
Italy
Jordan
Lebanon
Libya
Malaysia
Mexico
Moldova
Netherlands
Nicaragua
Oman
Phillipines
Poland
Russia
Saudi Arabia
Serbia
Singapore
Slovenia
Spain
Sri Lanka
Sweden
Switzerland
Taiwan
Thailand
Turkey
Ukraine United Arab Emirates
United Kingdom
United States (of course)
Vietnam
Wales
I'd be overjoyed if Romania would visit someday, but what I'd really love is to get more comments from these visitors. Even if you said a few words in your native tongue (and if possible, include the translation). I love learning about new countries, cultures, customs and people.
And from the bottom of my heart - thanks for visiting!!
This GORGEOUS creature, Anthony Natiello, is my step-brother's wife's nephew. He's an international model and from what I understand, does a lot of work for Gucci.
I don't know him, have never met him and technically he's not family.
Considering this information, is it wrong to make him my new imaginary man-mistress? Is there even such a thing? What is the male version of a mistress? A mantress? Well, whatever it is, I'm going to have an illicit imaginary affair with him.
See more of him in this video:
He looks a little moody though, doesn't he? Not at all like he paints happy little trees. Feh.
How bad do you need a pen that you have to steal it from the bank or post office?
Even when they are attached to the counter by a chain???
Yeah, stealing is wrong (blah, blah, blah) and sure, you probably shouldn't do it (blah, blah, blah) but can't you steal the pen from a place where it's NOT tied down? Like, oh I don't know, work? Or the doctor's office?
Doesn't everyone need a pen that says Levitra on it??
It appears as if I'm now dating the reincarnation of Bob Ross; he's just as mellow and just as freakin' happy.
We're actually in a "hair growing" contest. Well, not really a contest, but Ed wanted me to grow my hair longer and I don't really want to, so he said if I grew mine, he'd grow his. He doesn't want to cut it till April. Argggggggggh.
Ed has naturally curly hair. Beautiful hair, actually. It's thick and has ringlets. Women tell him all the time about how they are jealous of his curls and the thickness. I'm jealous of his curls.
It's not this big on a regular day, it lays down nicely and gets a curly/wavy look to it. For this picture, I begged him to let me use a pick on it and create a huge fro.
Isn't he so accomodating? And so freaking happy! I am totally breaking up with him if he starts painting trees.
