Mag 36

The New Colossus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she

With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Unfortunately, there is no originality in my brainpan this week.  The poem was written by Emma Lazarus and is engraved on the base of the Statue of Liberty in New York harbor.
 
And, yes, I know it's not necessarily a golden door in the photo but a Dutch door.  So be it.
 
Please look at Willow's Magpie Tales page for some writers with more imagination than this unworthy scribe.

Blackwell's new collar

We are trying to convert Blackwell from being an outdoor cat to an indoor cat.  But that is not an easy task.  Every time a door opens, he makes a dash for it and the outer world.  So, I insisted on a collar and a tag.  He has that now as well as a bell, which he is not happy about.  But the color looks very good on him, I think.

 



Me and my shadow

What a grouchy looking bird!

Mag 35

Halloween candy -


You want Hersheys?

Make it Brachs.



Like my tresses?

Ah . . .

Goldilocks.



Getting cold?

Wooly socks.



Is that a dog?

No, it's a fox.



Like my music?

Yeah, it rocks!



Turn the time back?

Fix the clocks.



Boats at anchor

Near the docks.



We’ve passed the silly season,

So what’s the silly reason?



Ahhhh….

Autumnal Equinox.

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There has to be some better writing at Magpie Tales!  Go there!  Quickly!

Tornadoes in Arizona?

You gotta be kidding me!

Pretty clouds at sunset

Beautiful but stormy skies.

The rain came later.

Prescott Folk Music Festival

This weekend marked the 32nd annual Folk Music Festival at the Sharlot Hall Museum in Prescott, Arizona.

There were some older musicians on hand . . .

And some younger ones . . .

Attendees enjoyed all of the musicians and their music.

Here's a little sample from Victor Johanson.

Mag 34

Light the light . . .

pour the wine . . .

Tonight . . .

Tonight . . .

You'll be mine!

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There's more, much more, at Magpie Tales!

Veggies!

I don't care what George Bush (I) says.  I like broccoli!

The Mighty Gardener

I thought you might like to see some of the produce which came from my gardening this summer.

 

Well . . . so they're not very big.

Blue Mustang

Vrooooooooooooom!

Wrigley

The BRD has been out of town for a few days so SWMBO has been house sitting her cats and her dog.  Today, after I went over and took SWMBO and myself to breakfast, I agreed to take the effusive Wrigley to the dog park.  He was thrilled.

 So we got there but most of the other dogs weren't paying much attention to him.  He sort of had the look of "Hey, guys, can't I play?"

But he didn't let that get him down for long and besides those guys looked kind of big and sprightly.  So he just began exploring the park by himself for awhile.

Until a newcomer discovered him.

That seemed to make him happy so his trip to the dog park was a success!

The moon is full

Couldn't resist it.

My name is Blackwell

Here's a bit of a better photo of our new addition.

O.K. He's ours!

Some time back regular readers of my postings here may recall I talked about a stray cat that seemed attracted to us. (Probably because we started feeding him.) Since he was black, I called him Blackie. Then I was talking to a neighbor who said he wasn't her cat, he just sort of came around. She said she called him Detroit. So I began calling him Blackie Detroit. There's even a short video of him on You Tube.

Well, he was becoming more and more interested in coming into the house (wherein reside two female cats). Blackie Detroit is a male, unfixed. So we let him come into the garage to eat and sleep but no further. Finally, I said "Oh, hell" or something like that and took him to the Humane Society to be neutered. Then we brought him inside.

Blackie Detroit, whom I now officially call "Blackwell", showed his thanks by eating everything in sight.

About that ear. The nice young lady said since he was a feral cat and I hadn't decided at that point whether he should come in or not they could notch one of his ears. That way, if someone else picked up the cat and brought him to the Humane Society to be neutered, they would know by the notch that he had already been there. I anticipated a small "notch". What I got was a cat with the tip cut off his left ear! Neither SWMBO nor I were pleased about that but what can you do?

Anyway, in spite of criticism by the other two cats (Muggles and Jazz), Blackwell has been making himself at home. The other day he curled up for a nap . . . in a box Jazz had taken for her own! She glared from a distance.

Jazz expresses her dismay, disdain, perhaps outright hatred of this little imposer by growling, moaning and occasionally spitting when he comes too close. She is, as the British royals are said to say, "not amused."

But the outbursts seem to be coming less and less and it appears, in time, that she will learn to live with him. In the meantime, SWMBO and I have been policing the occasional set-to's and saying to ourselves "why have we brought this on ourselves."

I guess it's "cat love".

More clouds

Yesterday . . .

Today . . .

Wanna buy a car?

The BRD and her beau have decided to sell the Mercedes. It's just what everyone needs: a bright red classic. Take a look.

If you're drooling now, call Beau Jack. The area code is 928. Each of the photos will get bigger if you click on them. (Tell him you learned about it on Oddball Observations!)

Studies of Muggles

I vant to be alone!

Can't you do something about my eyes?

I'm trying to tell you something . .

I'm HUNGRY! GIVE. ME. FOOD!

I feel better!

I feel much better today, possibly thanks to this video sent by a friend.

Oh, those years

I don't know why. But every once in awhile I have a day where I feel every one of my years. That's about a month shy of 70-and-a-half right now. No particular reason. Oh, I didn't sleep very well last night. And my morning paper wasn't in the driveway when I went out to get it. (That's the Sunday New York Times - the only paper we take and SWMBO is never happy when we don't get one.) But we went out for breakfast, which as it turned out, neither one of us really wanted. And I picked up a copy of the Times at a grocery store. So, no loss there.

But, I just felt kind of off all day. Creaky in the joints, sort of tired. A short afternoon nap didn't seem to help. I took a picture of myself a few minutes ago and it seems to tell the story.

That kisser ain't very young anymore. Lines in the forehead, bags under the eyes. The beard is nearly all white, though the gray in my hair still is fairly well disguised by the brown. I was in to see an eye doctor a week or so ago and asked her what color my eyes were. She looked and said they were hazel. Well, I always thought they were blue but I'd noticed recently that they didn't look a bit like Paul Newman's always did. I guess that's just one more part of me that's blanding down as I age.

This could get real depressing if I didn't remember what an old friend of mine used to say.

I'd say, "Aw, this old age is for the birds." He'd say "Yeah, but it beats the alternative." That always got a laugh. Up until the alternative caught up with him.