somepinkflowers

i am treating you {{with help from my friends}} to a bit of one-eyed halloween magic

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~~~I am needing all the help I can get over here!~~~

My recipe for one-eyed Halloween fun:

* one mini-me somepinkflowers witch by Susanna Sketchbook
who was inspired over here {{ don't i look fabulous!}},
* crows by Martha Stewart at Michaels yesterday,
* candy corn by Brock at Target last week,
* owl box by Punch Studio at Marshall's last year and
* little magic trees from over here.  {{ i so love a good recipe!}}

And  for an amazing & evocative adventure go here and for another witchy tale pop in over here and for a Haunting Treasure Book sublime go here and for a seasonal taste of Orange do drop in here and so on....

a hauntingly magical celebration

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

If you think life is grand, if you do not want to miss a thing, then go to Vanessa's Hauntingly Magical Celebration.

She was so thoughtful to dream up this stellar event. We all do love her so!

Then pop in here and here and here and here...

Oh. Yes. Sign my guest book and leave a wish. It might come true.
Who is to say?

looking up for a sign

Last evening before the gloaming took its turn at the day, I charged up the 12V for my Black & Decker Quantum Pro cordless power drill and sent out a silent plea to the green~flash Florida sky.

A screw needed minor adjustment inside my white jeep, Blue, and nothing satisfies more that the use of a good power tool. Especially a tool long time rested in a dusty case sitting on an even dustier garage shelf.

Even though a simpler tool might have accomplished the job, it was the heft of the B&D I wanted. If you know what I mean.

All week it has been one thing after another for Blue with her persistent little needs.

New tires, new alignment, new valve gasket cover -----> new this, new that, NEW EVERY THING.

Never wants, always needs with my Blue.

Was it time? Was she trying to tell me something I did not want to hear?

Then to make matters worse, and isn't that always the way, I received an unsolicited letter in the mail.

"Now is the time!" the uninvited notice did shout, " Every one qualifies! 0% APR for 72 months on selected models! Step right up for your 'Cash for Clunkers' trade in!"

What?

What? What? What?

Cash for Clunkers trade in ?       What?

CLUNKER? 

Say it is not so! Not my sweet, ten~year old ride!   My Blue is practically pristine and she takes me every where I want to go that does not require air travel.

No! Not a clunker, my white jeep named Blue!

Confident with the solid weight of the B&D in my hand, I sent out a question to The Universe.

"Oh, heavens above, tell me what to do, please." I sent out my question in a clear and precise manner. No dilly~dally here.  "Should I purchase a new car or should I soldier on with my aging Jeep?"

"Grant me wisdom." I requested. Then I paused and searched the sky.

The sky said nothing so I fixed the wobbly screw.

I put the Quantum Pro back to sleep in her sturdy black case.

Then I felt someone looking down at me.

Then I felt 2 someones looking down at me.

"Are you  my sign?" I asked each someone as they sat watching me from the tree tops.

"Whoooo?" they both replied.   {{ Like I did not see that coming... }}

"You!" I answered somewhat impatiently, all the while reaching serendipitously for my beach camera, my some~what sandy point & shoot as it sat there waiting--as always--on the passenger seat of my car.

"New car? Keep the Jeep? Which will it be?" I remained calm, patient and beaming with hope as I waited for the reply.

The light was fading fast. I got off a few sneaky snaps.

Each someone looked at the other someone.

Clearly, neither someone wanted to commit.

"Tell me what to do," I pleaded but did not grovel one little bit.

With blithe unconcern both someones flew quietly away. To snack on a snake, for all I knew.

A single feather drifted down and landed on my Blue. One feather. Bright white tinged with light brown.

On Blue's roof. Back near the bicycle rack.

My sign.

sweets on pine street and an invitation, too

I don't know about over there at your house but over here we believe strongly that enchantment is good for the soul.

In the same way I know that biodiversity is good for the pond, I know that logic and magic hold hands and take turns pushing each other on the swing.

I just know it. For a fact. We should all dip our toes into many different oceans.

Or something like that...

About enchantment. I am not saying that unicorns frolic down by the creek but from my front porch everyday I see dogs walking around smiling to beat the band.

Clearly their eyes twinkle, they look at me and they smile. All dogs just know things.

Do not even get me started on the mystical ways of my cat...

I do not have a fairy~godmother but I do have several friends that are sharp with needle and thread and could whip me up a ball gown in the blink of an eye.

If I should need one. Which I do not.

Those that live among us have their super powers and their wondrous ways...

If you have been out and about over here or over here or over here you might have noticed the invitations to Vanessa's Mad Tea Party.

When Vanessa is not sharing her amazing adventures and painting yummy treats, she gives the best parties, I must say!

All sorts of cutie creatures zoom in from miles around.

Why, even her cupcakes will make you swoooon....

Last year at the Mad Tea Party we had the best time visiting each other. Sharing festive tea~time snacks and colorful sweets. Some folks dressed to high heaven and some did not.

Here is the best part---> You are invited. I know. Isn't it wonderful!

Vanessa is an equal~opportunity, come~one, come~all, kind of hostess...

 

Over here on Pine Street we are getting ready for the party.

Mark your calendar, please. The Mad Tea Party is next Saturday and this social event will not be complete without you {{it never is}} so do join us.

I would find it so enchanting if you did...

tourist tuesday and which museum is this

"somepinkflowers, what are you up to, my little blossom," mother called lightly from the other room.

Momma was in the kitchen doing something with a pressure-cooker which meant her cooking skills were mixing with science. That is how it was done before the micro-wave. Women cooked with high heat and extreme pressure and, if not handled properly, a pressure-cooker could leave string beans hanging from the kitchen ceiling. I have seen such things in my lifetime.

"It sure is quiet in there, missy," my mom went on fishing for clues from afar, casting her words about innocently.

Being both busy and guilty, I said nothing.

I didn't realize at the time that a child alone in a too silent room can be a magnet to a wise mother.

Clearly I was up to no good.

I knew I could not use Crayola crayons on the walls but no one had said a thing about putting this on my mother's vanity mirror.

Now that I think about it, this might have been my first blush with pigment-play, watching how smoothly color could flow onto the right medium.

What is it about putting designs on a vertical surface? The way you can stand back and admire it so easily.

"Whoa, Nelly! Look what I just did!" I  thought to my 5 year-old self as the lipstick slid--waltzed--across the cool glass. "Will you look at that!"

I am most fortunate to have been raised in a patient, tolerant and encouraging family.

Growing up, I never wanted for art supplies. When most Florida moms grabbed candles and canned tuna to prepare for an on-coming hurricane, mine added a big box of new crayons and a huge stack of newsprint to the list. God love her!

We might not have power for days but my sweet sister and I had books and art supplies.

Keep those little hands and creative minds busy and maybe they will not notice the wind howling, the tree limbs breaking, the worried look in a parent's eye.

Art created where it was not intended calls my name as quick as cinnamon scones baking.

I know what you are saying, "This is so NOT gentle pink flowers and muted green leaves. How can you enjoy this shocking, some-what-ugly stuff, somepinkflowers? How?"

I would not want this art framed and hanging over my couch but the mystery surrounding it does pull me in. While I enjoy the graffiti, finding it unexpectedly here and there, it is the artist that holds my attention.

I am curiously hungry with a journalist's list of who, what, when, how and why.

I want answers I will never have.

So, I just imagine process. Process in the quiet, secret hours.

On my most recent trip I was blessed with product.

Some pieces seem quickly executed with no thought. Others demonstrate balance, leading line and presence of forethought.

Do they work in teams, these artists, I wonder? Are they young with loose pants hanging down to their knees? Do they have meetings? A secret hand-shake? Do they purchase their paint in quantity with a discount?

I have such questions for them, the graffiti artist I will never meet.

Is it about color or control or both, this drawing on the wall thing?

Is it about leaving a mark, art work, design and color where it should not be? Extra points given for succeeding, for getting away with it, for how long it stays uncovered?

Is it about filling up empty space just because it can be done, if no one is looking? Is someone going nani-nani-poo-poo! in my face?

Inquiring minds want to know, please.

Featured here is graffiti I captured this spring in Barcelona but the work could be from anywhere in the world. Street art in Chicago looks much the same to me.

Spray-paint colors in a fast moving world. Black-outlined cartoony figures, some jivey enough to make Walt Disney pause, if he were still out and about.

Icons giving birth to baby iconettes. What goes around, comes around, and so on, and so on.

Edgy. Angles. Art.

What I really want to know is ----->How can the artists hold down that little spray-can button-nozzle-thingy for such a loooong time? How?

I hardly have the endurance to spray-paint one small, tin bucket. My pressing finger gets all denty and red.

Whatever. Here they are. Some graffiti fashion from my spring collection.

I did not pay for a ticket or stand in line. I just walked around and looked up.

You know me. I do not want to miss a thing. I have such strangest tastes. I like this and this and now this.

I am nothing if not an equal opportunity art appreciator.

My favorite was this guy.

I called him Mr. Green-pickle-nose-man and I passed his way several times during my visit. He always caught me by surprise, wanderer that I am. Every time I meandered past, looking up, he was staring down that little alley so I walked down there to see what it was all about.

It was all good.

Mr. Green-pickle-nose-man stayed in my mind and rolled around there. I thought about the artist who created him. I thought about the artist's mom and hoped she was patient, tolerant and encouraging. When I returned home I discovered a strange thing.

I had seen Mr. Green-pickle-nose-man's funny face before I had even left Home-Sweet-Florida. I had seen him over here.  Isn't that the funniest thing!

Well, here he is, Steph. For you. Do you see any changes? The ivy has grown a bit and other artists have added their little touches but it is the same guy, months later. My Mr. Green-pickle-nose-man. What did you call him?

I just love how life turns out sometimes.

in my blood

Slowly I opened the narrow door to the small, secret room and peeked inside. It was dark within. A strangely shaped room without windows.

Overhead the air-conditioner droned on and on in this impossible heat.

How many times had I walking past this plain green door thinking that it lead to the broom closet? Even a neat and tidy library such as this one needs a proper place to prop a broom.

But no.

This was no ordinary broom closet.

This, my friends, was the small, secret room that very few folks talk about and even fewer have ever entered.  It was the small, secret room located behind the library's 24-hour book drop slot.  

Maybe you have wondered about this mystery your entire life. Where does your library book go when you slide it down the shoot? Are little elves with white-gloved hands waiting to catch each volume? Is each book gently placed into a down-filled basket until properly checked in and shelved again?

HA! Do you really think I am going to tell you secret library tricks of the trade?

Only those with Special Library Card Magic can stand to know the whole truth.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness in the small, secret room, I began to make out the shape of a single book. One thin book waiting there all alone for me,  waiting for my hands to pluck it up and take in back into the light.

As I stooped and picked up the glowing book, it seemed to pulsate in my hands and, then, out tumbled a few magic cards featuring beautifully dressed woman and mysteriously dressed magicians.

The cards had fallen out of a secret pocket, hidden deep within the book.

Suddenly the small, secret room started spinning. I was covered by a blanket of fog. As I looked down at my hands, they became more child-like. I realized I was traveling back in time.

I found myself standing on a thick, burgundy carpeted stairway and around me on tall, papered walls there were many, many posters of Houdini. Each one featured the King of Magic doing one of his world-famous magic tricks.

Tall, brightly-colored posters of floating woman and intricately knotted ropes surrounded me as I climbed the stairs. I saw everything with such detail: the flying doves, the top hat with flowers, a huge tank filled with water. And still I climbed on until, back in real time, the book dropped from my hands and landed with a thud, bringing me rubber-band-like back home to the small, secret room behind the book-drop.

I knew imediately this was no dream, no magic trick.

Clearly, I could only do one thing.

Quickly I grabbed up the book and checked it out. I took it straight away with me to see my mother.

"Look at this!" I pointed out the magic cards as I plopped the book on her lap. "I have seen many visions such as these before! But where?"

My mom, who had never even seen the book, turned to the bibliography. "Look!" she exclaimed and pointed to a name, as if to explained it all.

The name you ask? The name my mother pointed out there in the bibliography?

Milbourne Christopher!

 

And while this name will mean nothing to you, it was the name of my mother's first cousin. I knew this name well for Milbourne Christopher had been on The Johnny Carson Show.

My mother's first cousin was a magician himself and had lived years and years ago in a huge house in Baltimore where, it turns out, original Houdini magic posters lined the stairways. A house where, as I soon discovered, my mother and father took me only once before my sweet sister was even born so I must have been only 4 years old at the time.

"Look!" my mother said, "The books  by your first cousin once-removed were used as reference for this book!"

"Well, I'll be! " I said.

"Well, I'll be!" my mother said.

And, then we had some Earl Grey Tea.

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All the illustrations shown here came from the book Hocus Pocus by Paul Kieve who is in no way related to anyone I know.  If Mr. Kieve finds this posting I hope he will leave me a message or drop in for some Earl Grey tea with me and my mom. I think that would be nice, don't you?

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invited to a mad tea party and the living is easy

There is to be a Mad Tea Party  {of the costume variety} over at A Fanciful Twist.

Everyone over here at my house is so happy to come up off the beach and get creative. Scissors are snipping and glitter is flying. That is all I can say.

You know me. I don't want to miss a thing!

We adore blog parties and have not been out to one in sometime. I cannot tell you what the costumes will be as that is Top Secret but let me say this:  There will be somepinkflowers involved! You can bet your bottom dollar on that!

Anyway, you are invited, too. Next Saturday, June 28. If you can make it. Lots of people are gonna be there with bells on. Go here and go here and see more.

Please come on back and visit here on Saturday, why don't cha?

a little summer job here in florida

 

I started to walk into this store on Saturday to see about obtaining a part-time, retail position selling brightly-colored beach towels and palm-tree covered T-shirts to the tourists from one of the  the O states.

I don't know what stopped me.

Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was some sort of bad vibe. Maybe it was just me. 

I could not  make myself go inside the air-conditioner-is-humming-along cool shop to inquire. Ended up at the beach in the sea with my amazingly lazy friend, Lethargy, instead. We floated around there in the warm surf and kept an eye peeled for lightening storms.

Summer must be right around the corner. I can feel it's steam on my neck, forcing me to purchase long, cool drinks, forcing me to slug-walk through jello-humidity with my flip-flops melting into asphalt at each street crossing.

I love this time of year and the expectation of accomplishing nothing. When I achieve the smallest goal I still have tons of daylight left to go out and brag about it.

Thank goodness.

this door

 

on one side i am wild and woolly
                                                               nature,
salt water smells with a hootchie-momma
yellow beaded anklet.
i am rain & all things sleeping outside
under the star rockets and pregnant moo-moo moon.
red tail-lights for eyes the gators smile on my rockin' rumba,
                                                                             on my silver seahorse flip-flops.
then i push my way on through
                                                                the door.
on the other side i am baptized, Republicanized
by the patient hummmmmmmm of A/C air
out of sight, out of mind, out of place
                                                       but there you have it
                                                       here you have it, have it both ways,
                                                                                                                  have it.
i am hymn-singing, angels-winging
{no sweat running down between my shoulder-blades now, sweetie}
covered-dish bringing
                                        good*girl.
momma be so proud, i am not too loud,  fit with the in-crowd.
amen to the door! brothers, sisters,
                                                                             amen
                                                                                          to
                                                                                               the door!

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This posting is my participation in Doors , a Bloglandia World-Wide-Happening. Photography. Drawings. Prose. Philosophy. Doors. Follow the links, pass through more portals,
be a little bit Alice-In-Wander-Around-Land, a little bit Walk-This-Way. Just go explore the Door.

Visit the Marrakesh Doors  and the  Mexican Doors and the Doors of Light and Shadow. We have Telluride Doors  and  Doors Open to Receive and A Door in Time. Step Through the Snow Doors, admire the  Harlem Doors, share Memories of English Doors. Oh, here are Viennese Doors!

More Doors from around the World added throughout the day. Do not miss a one as you might find your magic door, the one that transports you to your own place in time. Behind Door # 3 your dream awaits: a 60" plasma TV, a trip to Paris, matching luggage. Who can say?

thank you, thank you so much

Mr. Handson walked into the stacks  while I was attempting to bring order out of ciaos in the James Patterson section. Knee deep in the prolific writer's works,  I was a trapped audience. I worked here and could not slip out the back door. I provided new ears for Mr. Handson's exhaustive, yet amusing, tales. I didn't mind at all. This was the library after all, I had to take what I could get. What ever walked in the front door.

"I lost my cheek in the Korean War," Mr. Handson explained. Looking at his face, I could see both cheeks, present and accounted for, so I was confused. Which one was missing? Maybe Mr. Handson was  referring to a cheek he used for sitting.

"Oh, they replaced it with pig skin in China," Mr. Handson went on, touching his left cheek tenderly, or was it his right? I cannot remember now.

" I was never the same," Mr. Handson went on, not the least bit winsome or sad or anything like that.

"Oh, dear," I replied "That must have been very unsettling for you!"

And so began our library relationship.

Mr. Handson had it in his heart to build an airplane in his back yard. I located book after book on airplane building. Tons of build-an-airplane-in-your-backyard books. Finally I sat him down at a public computer to download his final plans.

I taught Mr. Handson how to click, double click, drag and google. Took my entire lunch time plus more.

Then I left him alone. Before I made it back to the check-out counter bells and whistles sounded from Mr. Handson's  PC. Bells and whistles. Sounded like maybe the president or the pope was coming through. Then a yellow and red banner flashed angrily at the top  the screen: WARNING! WARNING! CLASSIFIED MATERIAL! CLASSIFIED MATERIAL!

Then an official looking FBI badge came onto the screen.

Man. I though the police were going to come running in. I had only left Mr. Handson alone for about 5 seconds.

"somepinkflowers, you put Mr. Handson on the computer?" each librarian asked me in turn when they showed up to check out the commotion, everyone of them rushing. "Mr. Handson? On a computer?? Mr. Handson???"

In February Mr. Handson brought me a gift. Hand-made. He was so proud. It was a small, table-top easel complete with adjustable and sliding this and that for holding a canvas.

I thought he had been working on his airplane.

"I made this for you, somepinkflowers," Mr. Handson said, pushing the wooden treasure into my hands. "It did not cost me a thing. I was going to put a drawer in the bottom but that would have made it too heavy for you to carry."

He would not let me give him any money, or even trade a drawing, as that would mean, if the easel became broken, then 'he would be obliged to fix it.'

I think this is going to be one of those pay it forward things. We shall see.

I have been so fortunate lately.

French Paul, one of my library volunteers, gave me a bottle of his homemade limoncello. We share a love for hiking in the Cinque Terre and like to outdo each other on the dangerousness of each leg of the public footpath overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.

"The famous Via del'Amore, between Riomaggiore and Manarole is easiest to walk but take care with  your heart, somepinkflowers," warns French Paul, wading through his accent as if it were limoncello itself, thick from the freezer.

Truth is, I left part of my heart in Vernazza under a bright yellow umbrella in a seaside piazza. Who knew anchovy pizza could taste so yummy? I ate the whole thing.

I put the new copy of the Sam Cook CD on Tom's request list at the library. So then Tom made me a mix for my Bose wave. That is how these things happen.

Creative Debbie awarded me with this last month because I made her day. That is such a nice thing to say, I think. Her roundy-headed art folks always make my day, too.

And nature photographer extraordinaire Janson honored me this way. I am embarrassed but honored by such thoughts of kindness, such demonstrations of appreciation. When people do things like this I am proud to be human.

No matter how hard you try, you cannot get away from the generosity of people who want to share.

You have to just let them.

Last month while biting down on a piece of dark chocolate-covered nuts I cracked a crown. Valentine candy cracked my old tooth. That crown had been in my mouth for years. We were old friends. That piece of dentistry had been preformed before my nephew was born and now he has a teenage daughter. Time sure can pass by, dentally speaking.

Plus, I nearly swallowed the hunk of enamel.

"Happy Valentine's Day to me! " I thought, savoring the chocolate still. A new crown would be, what, $1000? Airplane fare to Athen is what that is. Counting the taxi to the airport on this end.

Ha!

Little did I know.

Like cleaning one little spot on the wall in your living room can force you to paint your entire house and then buy new carpet, things tend to escalate. One thing leads to another. A tooth implant cannot be done until there is strong bone. All God's chil'ren gotta have strong bones.

I am sitting here now with a bone graft in my jaw. Bone from some person I don't even know.

I want to thank this person for his/her bone but I don't know how. The bone-donor is no longer around to enjoy Valentine chocolates, limoncello or anchovy pizzas. The bone-donor can no longer enjoy the feel of an honest and heart-felt 'thank you so much.'

So I am thanking everybody else.

I am thanking Jenny for sending me the beads and charms you see up there in the three green dishes. She found out I was into beading and sent those my way. I have been making bits of jewelry like they were Johnny Depp dripping with bobs and trinkets.

I am thanking Steph for the copy of Mondays with Maxine  she sent my way. Pulled from her blog, Steph's book is about nature's  marriage to hope.  A gigantic pumpkin named Maxine grows a personality along with her bulk. I KNEW it would make a great book and I so love when I can say, "I told you so!" about something that turns out cool.

I am thanking Glenn for the ship-on-a-bottle painting he did for me in honor of my favorite beach. I am his library go-to person when he needs reference photos for his sign business. Last week we were all about photos of shrimp. Before that it was locomotives. I just never know.

I am thanking my sister for the silver hoop bracelet and the little  herb pots from here. My cat and I both  love the the little pots filled with rosemary, basil and more. I am thanking Janet for the  magazines on beading. I am thanking Carol for the flat of pink petunias which I will be planting tomorrow.

I am thanking Debbie, Janson, Paul, Tom, and Mr. Hanson. Thank you all for thinking of me and sharing.

No offense, Mr. Hanson, but I am glad my bone graft did not come from a pig. Your cheek turned out fine but I don't eat pork and would rather not be wearing  any either.

I think I am the same, Mr. Handson, even with this otherness inside me taking root.

Maybe I am more thankful these days for people who share.
Thank you, thank you all so much.

petal, a passport and a polar party, please

Come visit petal and somepinkflowers at The Bloglandia Polar Festival.
You do not even need a passport.
Just click here  for party venues.
Click  here and  here and here and here  and here and so on ...

 

bloglandia polar festival

In my heart I know there will never, ever be enough parties. Never, ever.

Other people feel the same way. That is why you are invited to the Bloglandia Polar Festival  because, after all, spring will be here before you know it. I have seen signs.

Who had the big idea? Guess! And that is her polar baby up there telling you to come on over. Turn yourself into a Snow Queen or a Party Animal or Both. Write a poem or sketch a picture of your favorite polar thingy. Whatever. Details here.

That eb, she is one party animal I am thinking!

Follow the links on Saturday to the Bloglandia Polar Festival  as we say, " So long, Mr. Winter. It has been nice knowin' you. Now move on over, why don't cha?"

I plan on going as I don't want to miss a thing. But, just so you'll know, I am looking ahead.
 

tagged by a mermaid

I have been hanging out here at home a bit under the weather. I have not felt like my usually spunky self due to:

1. a dry, scratchy throat;
2. a cotton-candy feeling in my noggin;
3. an out-of-sorts, overly-pink from too much blowing, nose;
4. and an achy body vacillating between chills and fever.

All in all, not a pretty sight but other than that, I feel OK. I do, however, think it is strange that even my hair can hurt. Who knew?

Mostly I have missed doing tons of fun stuff while staying in bed feeling stuffy.

I was tagged by a mermaid a few days ago for a meme. I have been tagged before to share things about myself but have never played along as:

1. my life seems rather plain and only-just-slightly-above-ordinary to me;
2. so who would want to read about it?
3. Plus, you have to come up with a certain amount of things to list
4. and I am not so good at that.

But when I read Shin's meme I liked learning more about her which was kind of cool. Her list helped to flesh her out more into an live person, no longer just a blogger there on the computer screen. 

Finally, I said to myself,  "somepinkflowers, just do it this one time and have some fun with it. Not likely you are going to get up out of bed and go to the zoo today. Go with the flow, missy. Get those feet out of bed, why don't cha?"

If you aren't into this kind of meme thing just skip over this one. Who is going to know anyway? I might have subliminal goodies hidden in here but probably not. Although, I might:

1. mention your blog here;
2. or here
3. or here
4. or maybe here or not at all.

That is the thing with me. You never know. And, I AM on OTC drugs. Whoopee.

I was also tagged by Trisha to do The List 4 Things tag so I am combining all these tags into one because:

1. I like to do things my own way;
2. I lost Tricia's The List 4 Things instructions;
3. I have always like the number 4;
4. and, I just learned how to do the automatic indent and number button here on the Typepad edit post page.

As you can see, it actually takes very little to entertain me.

Here are 4 jobs I have had:

1. I painted cells for an animation company. Now I think they do it on a computer but a few years ago, no, it was done by hand. I had to paint the backside of the acetate sheets of cartoon characters. This got old extremely fast as I was only allowed to paint the white and the yellow areas. Other people painted the other colors.  If I had been in charge of the pink areas, or even the blue areas, I might still be working there.
2. I did photo research for a Greek textbook company. I was in charge of locating photographs to use inside the textbooks and also had to obtain reproduction rights for the legal use there of. I worked closely with the Library of Congress and the New York Public Library. If the staff meetings had not been held mostly in Greek, which I do not speak, I might still be there.
3. I measured food for the state school lunch program. I traveled to different schools and  weighed each item placed on the tray of school lunches before the trays were served to the children. I had to put on little plastic gloves and pick up the food in my hand and weigh it on this cute little food scale. Then I marked the weight on a form. No matter what happened, I would not have done this job for very long as I also had to, at the end of each lunch period, put on those little gloves and weigh what WAS LEFT ON THE TRAY after the kids were finished eating.
4. I managed a video lab where I spent most of the day rewinding videos. If  I had enjoyed this job more, I might now be working at Blockbuster Video.

I learned that easy things can quickly become boring.

OK, these were not true career choices for me but a sampling of a few things I did to put myself through graduate school. Graduate students have no pride what-so-ever. Amen.

Here are my 4 REAL careers thus far:

1. Elementary school teacher;
2. Designer for a state water management agency;
3. Public relations coordinator for Barnes & Noble;
4. and Library Assistant.

It would seem that working my way through graduate school might be more entertaining than actually working my way through real life. Who is to say?

The 4 tall things I  like to climb:

1. up to the second level of the Eiffel Tower;
2. the mountain trails around Vernassa;
3. the top of  St. Pete's Basilica;
4. the hills on the Marin County side overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge.

I also like to climb trees if the chances look good that I can make my way down again. This has not always been the case.

I have also been thinking of doing this.

My 4 favorite shades of nail polish.

1. Boris & Natasha OPI Nail Color;
2. Wine With Everything by Revlon;
3. Extrovert by Lancome;
4. and Maybelline's Crimson 170 Express Finish.

If you think I have the kind of life where I can sit around polishing my fingernails everyday, you are on the wrong blog, missy. I buy nail polish because I like to collect jars of pigment sometimes, if I like the names. 

You might say, I am a kind of Boris & Natasha, wine with everything, extrovert, crimson express finish kind of person.

Here are 4 places I go to play on the internet:

1. Rive Gauche;
2. for Colour Lovers;
3. the Scribbler;
4. and Dream Land.

I know. You think I don't have enough to do in my life. Well, maybe I just like inexpensive entertainment.

Here are 4 things I like to see in writing:

1. a sly similie;
2. a juicy mixed metaphor;
3. a sentence SLAMMED with onomatopoeia;
4. and air abounding with atomic alliteration.

Oh, yeah. The photos.

When I met up with Ladybug Circus this past August in Portland, she took me to Cargo where all these shots were taken. I loved that day because:

1. I made a new friend
2. who likes to talk and adores colorful places like me.
3. Also, I found a new city to call my own
4. while having a grand adventure.

You cannot ask for more out of a vacation.

So this is my meme. I won't tag anyone else:

1. but sometime,
2. when you are feeling less that your best and still want to blog post,
3. go back and think about what makes you YOU.
4. Have a bit of fun
5. then go back to bed
6. and take some medicine.
7. Maybe go to sleep
8. and, if you are lucky, your cat will curl up behind your knees
9. and you will feel somewhat better.
10. That is what I am hoping for myself.

halloween party or else

Warning, warning, warning!

Do not be a stay-at-home! Put on your costume! We will be sharing all manner of important tips!

Plus, invited to the Blog Halloween Party, you will be the source of spells if you do not attend.

I am just saying ...

RSVP by clicking HERE,  if your dare.

blame it on the full moon

Well, I danced for over 24 hours straight so do not expect to see me in the gym today.

I am dreaming of all the new blogs I visited and wondering how the world can be so small!  Now I get how Santa and the Easter Bunny do it all in one night. Thank you eb,  full moon and all!

the bloglandia ball and the full moon

Yes! The Bloglandia Ball is in full swing and you are invited as it is never too late to dance and have tons of fun.

Come meet our charming hostess and learn all about the ball by clicking here .  See our Grand Ballroom by clicking here. Become amazingly inspired by clicking here. Taste some of the yummy food by clicking here and enjoy the colorful and abundant flowers by clicking here.

Take your shoes off and dance around a bit. Stay and enjoy the full moon. Click here for some Harvest Cider but be warned. As the night goes on, the drinks just might get a bit stronger. Who is to say, what with the full moon and all.

Be a good guest and get mingling. Wall-flowers--unless they are pink--are not invited!

Please visit others attending the ball by clicking here and here and here  and here and here  and here and here and here and here . See their imaginative Bloglandia Ball creations. Leave a comment or two. Follow a comment home. Explore and find new places to visit.

Then come back here and dance with me! The band will play your favorite song. Trust me. There is nothing those boys can't play!

Oh, and don't forget to tell me what you think. Should I kiss the frog or not? What would you do under the power of the full moon?

falling all over ourselves

If you popped over here to see my snaps of  The First Official Day of Autumn in Florida, well, hold on for the tour but do not be disappointed.

There is no last dance  of summer going on over here in my neighborhood. No first dance of winter, either. I am not a big fan of fall.

Do not tell the the Chamber of Commerce but I know for a fact that it has rained every day for the past 25 days. Not complaining, I am just saying...

My creek overflows but not one single leaf has changed color in my yard. Not one.

What we have are fewer tourists so it is easier to find a handy parking place. Unfortunately this also means less money is being spent here by visitors and that isn't good in the long run.

The beach, normally a place hopping with tourists and locals alike, is rather calm and understated. Sometimes I like the beach when it is near empty like this, but sometimes it is like the calm before a hurricane. Too quiet.

The shadows are long even in the middle of the day. The sun is sliding lower in the sky to the south trying to get away from what, I do not know.

I do prefer my sun summertime high overhead where I can keep an eye on him. A low lurking sun makes me feel a bit uneasy, like something sneaky is going on.

I am a summer girl, barefoot and beach sandy. I want to wear shorts and ride my bike after supper. I want to dig in my garden while friendly birds sing all around.

I want some laughter mixed with my sunshine, a day at the beach cocktail with a bit of coconut.

Here, in the fall, there are too many dark birds, waiting. They look at me with strange eyes and make me nervous. Where do they live normally? Who let them in?

They are everywhere and do not make a sound. Not one chirpy song.

To me Autumn is waiting for Alfred Hitchcock to show up.

Any minute now I will look over my shoulder and see him strolling by, looking all the while like some tourist from Canada. But he isn't. He is here to eat up my sunshine a little bit each day.

I am not fooled one bit.

tourist tuesday and the most perfect ballroom of all time

My dearest, ever-busy eb,

I know that you have every thing all worked out for the Bloglandia Ball, the highlight of the autumn season, possibly the most posh event of all time...

Personally, I have been so busy what with Portland and parents, sinkholes and spinach, beach and books, that I have not finished making my gown. I am actually quite handy with a stapler so I feel confident I can whip something up over the week-end.

Nevertheless, I would certainly be remiss if I did not offer up for your enjoyment the use of my ballroom for the upcoming Bloglandia Ball.

Yes, I know I should have offered it sooner but I was not positive that I could arrange its use.

Ha! Who am I fooling? I have been off kayaking when I should have been doing More Adult Activities. You know me, I do not want to miss a thing...

I know your social calendar has been filled to the tiptop with your colorful Art Hop and all the artists who are hopping over to see your pink and blue sky. I can hardly blame you for wanting to have outside adventures, too, before The Cold Gets There.

But, anyway, I digress.

Here is my ballroom .

Well, it is not totally mine but I DO pay my taxes regularly and that should count for something around here, don't you think? Clearly I have paid my fair share and most of the time when I visit the ballroom after church services on Sunday, I am the Only One Here.

I know! I could just live in this museum!

Plus, this is the south, and I KNOW people, darling...

If you want to use this glorious space for this ball or the next one, all you have to do is let me know. Give me a bit of a heads up so I can make a phone call or two.

As you can see from my snaps the space is very roomy, and has wonderfully flattering lights everywhere.

I am especially fond of a rosy pink glow. How about you?

There seems to be adequate seating, although we might have to move a few signs. Not to worry!

I do it all the time. You just take the Please Do Not Touch card and gently place it under the chair until you are ready to be on your way. (No one has ever said a WORD to me about this, sweetie, not One Word.)

We will mostly be dancing anyway, I would imagine, and looking in the mirrors.

So, let me know if this would suit your purpose, eb, or if I am too tardy in my offering.

Several of my friends are standing around waiting for the party to begin even as I type this, September being a somewhat slow season around here unless you are into football or early holiday shopping which I Am Not.

Please do not worry about the rather *casual dress* of some of my friends shown here as this IS Florida and it gets a bit hot even in the fall, what with the humidity and all.

I have urged them all to cover up a bit and they are scouting the local boutiques for appropriate shawls and such. I told them, bikini tops at the very least...

So, dear eb, tell me what you think. I love my ballroom and would like to share it with everyone...

Oh, did I mention that the roof rolls back for full moon gazing? How cool is that?

Your blogging buddy and Mail Art Student,
somepinkflowers

tourist tuesday and the animals of portland, or

Traveling is more than eating yummy treats in exotic restaurants and visiting Great Art in fine museums. Traveling sports a plethora of benefits such as having someone else change the bed sheets and bring offerings of fresh white towels. Traveling gives one that special rush you get the moment you unlock the hotel door to your new-to-you, home-away-from-home, that rush you get when you peek in and find that sweet cluster of  petite toiletries sitting pristine and proper by your spotless bathroom sink.

All this just for me! Why am I always surprised to find little wrapped soaps? Those wrapped soaps are everywhere and an indication of nothing.

Ahhh, but that tiny bottle of rosemary scented pink hand-lotion makes me sigh...

And free shampoo can set the tone for a visit to any city, don't you think? If the shampoo lacks quality, this does not speak well for the entire stay. If there is no shampoo at all waiting, a traveler might as well turn around and go home. Do not bother to unpack.

Traveling is ever so much more than being out of touch with personal responsibilities like taking the Jeep in to have the tires rotated, like sweeping  the cat food off the kitchen floor and like writing the check to pay the American Express bill that helped one leave town in the first place. Traveling is more than all this.

Just for the record, all those things I just mentioned above are reasons enough to get me on a Boeing 737.  Leaving my own house and going on vacation is like using a Get Out Of Jail Free Card .

Not that my home is a jail by any means. I ADORE my home-sweet-home with its cock-eyed front porch swing, but time apart is good for us both. We come to appreciate one another more, my home and me.

When I arrived home from this holiday, before I even step out of the car, as I am driving by the front yard I hear my house calling, "somepinkflowers! Am I glad to see you! You better get your traveling self in here and do something about our Maytag washer. Wet towels have been waiting for days and days. You put them in there the night before you hopped a plane for Portland and you forgot all about them, didn't you, girlfriend? Well, they are not going to jump into the drier by themselves, are they? You are going to need to start all over. Get a move on..."

 Even if I lived in a palace and had the most wonderful queen-size sleigh-bed piled high with the softest down pillows and swaddled with sheets made of the the smoothest Egyptian cotton, even if I had all that, which, except for the palace part, I do have, even THEN I still  need to travel around a bit to scope out the different types of people and wildlife living in other locations.

I just do not want to miss a single thing. I do not.

Sometimes, here in Florida, if I want a completely change of pace, I can head south to Daytona Beach where in less than an hour, I can see some of the strangest sights I have ever seen. Using a passport is not mandatory for viewing the different wild and woolly beasts of the world, those with 2 legs, those with 4.  You know what I am saying is true.

Go to any all night diner and BAM! you will find some place to lay you searching eyes, something different screaming out in an unspoken but undeniable way, "Hey there! Look at me! Aren't I just so special?".

I bet within one hour from your comfortable and snuggly bed this very day you could venture out and spot animals you normally would not find sitting right there by your back door or crawling into your own back porch.

Living in north Florida I have an opportunity to gaze upon a widely diverse range of critters on a daily basis if I walk quietly and look around. I don't know about you but in my neck of the woods creatures even fall out of the trees to get my attention.

But, maybe that is just me...

Earlier this summer when a blog-buddy made the move from central Florida to his new place in Alaska, I watched with eagerness as he placed photo after photo of amazing wildlife sightings on his blog. As Janson journeyed northwest across our grand and animal-filled country by car, he snapped away with his camera and I became extremely envious. I did.

At least I am honest about it.

I said to myself, "OK, somepinkflowers, skinny snakes and albino alligators  are all fine and good but you need a change of pace, honey. Take the bus, a train, a plane but go find new animal faces to photograph. Go get some of that!"

So I did.

I flew to Portland, Oregon, armed with my aging but ever-willing digital and my small but ever-trusty Razr cell-camera--a handy stand-by, loyal and true--and I safaried out.

I was not disappointed.

That Portland!

She has an eye-opening variety of wildlife. I cannot even begin to tell you! Every where I went, there were  wild and crazy anti-mules. The people of Portland are so understanding and appreciative of their creatures.

I saw loved and loving animal riding the streetcars and colorful animals inside and on buildings. Some were sitting in pools of water in downtown Portland and visiting with other travelers like me. Not one animal ran away.

Every single one was friendly and welcoming. Only a few were wearing a leash.  Portland seems to have tons of penguins and elephants and bears everywhere but that might just have been a coincidence as I traveled to all the best places for animal spotting.

While I was there I took this lion photo for a couple of blog folks I know who have their own lions. You know who you are. I know he looks rather plain and serious but he let me get really close and never growled once.

This particular Portland lion was standing guard just a few blocks from where I roomed with my free rosemary scented hand-lotion.

If you are thinking about visiting Portland, Oregon, let me know. I will be more than pleased to share my animal spotting secrets with you. 

In fact, I had such a lovely time, I might go there again.

Travel slut that I am, I might just show up anywhere.

tourist tuesday and florence

My name is somepinkflowers and I am a travel-slut.

I admit it.

I do not mean to make this sound like I am bragging, or even complaining, but I will go just about anywhere. I have no pride when it comes to travel. As long as I can make my next connection I don't even mind waiting between flights.

Airport food has gotten a touch fresher in the last few years and the trendier airports now feature day-spas where for the price of a small car you can enjoy a quick shoulder massage .

My only enemy at airports these days is the rampant spread of loud cell phone talkers.  There is some information about strangers I plain do not want to know. I personally would like to see cell-free zones at airports. Give me a crying baby any day.

Normally I can entertain myself for hours waiting in an airport. A bottle of water, a good book and I settle in to people-watch.  I watch and listen to those loving older couples shuffle through memories of trips  from long ago.

"Remember that time we got stuck at O'Hare for days? " the  wife goes on and on with every teeny-weeny detail. She has forgotten nothing. The husband just nods and keeps watching CNN.

"Remember eating that cold pizza for breakfast, lunch and dinner?" The gentle man nods on and on in agreement while his sweet wife reminisces. He reads the football scores of major universities as they crawl across the bottom of the TV screen. 7-28. 14-0. They both seem content after years and years of travel practice.

I always hope I'll end up sitting next to some naughty boy like Sawyer  on the TV show Lost. I know, I know, he will take all my jewelry but those dimples! Sigh! I do enjoy sitting next to a  sexy scoundrel of a man on a long flight. I love so to hear flattering lies at a high altitude. It goes right to my head.

"No way you are over 35!" my sexy scoundrel with the long eyelashes says as he leans over to breathe in my freshly shampooed hair. "You don't look a day over 32!"

In truth I am old enough to be his  mother older sister.

Who usually ends up sitting next to me on extremely long flights? Why, the nice 5o-ish man from Atlanta, GA, with the sinus problem who sells roofing shingles to Home Depot and wants to explain to me the difference between 2-stroke and 4-stroke engines.

"You see, you have your intake, compression, power, exhaust on your 4-stroke, " he wheezes, gives me a knowledgeable wink, then continues on, "but with a 2-stroke..."

After using my first passport for a much anticipated trip to England, I placed it in the glove compartment of my car. I wanted it nearby. Just in case. You never know.

US passports were valid for only five years at that time and I had used mine only once before I needed a new one. I was actually embarrassed to send it off to be renewed with so many blank pages. I LONGED to have it stamped with exotic locations .

When I moved through my second passport with the blurry stamp marks from France and Scotland, I was beyond ready for Extensive World Travel.

The passport, when not in use, was still housed in the back of my car's glove compartment but by this time I was keeping American Express traveler's checks tucked inside the pages. I would be available to go anywhere at the drop of an invitation. I was so hopeless, really. Like people were throwing international travel invitations my way on a daily basis.

"Hi, there, somepinkflowers! We can tell by looking at your worn-out flip-flops and faded T-shirt that you are on your way over to the beach," armies of friendly but safe international travelers would say to me as I stopped mere blocks from my home to add gas in my car. Don't even ask me the price per gallon at the time.

"Why don't you just grab that passport you have snuggled away in your glove compartment and pop off to the Mediterranean with us for the weekend?" they would plead. "Do. Come!"

Even though this spontaneous  invitation to the Mediterranean never came, I began keeping a small overnight bag tucked inside the trunk of my car. Toothbrush, clean underwear and a fresh T-shirt. That type of thing. Looking back now, I see I was reading way too much James Bond, watching way too many action films. I did not actually want to save the world. I simply wanted to see it.

Plus, I was born with the I'm-ever-so-hopeful spoon in my mouth. Good things happen to those who are prepared.

No, I am not a jet setter. Never have been and never will be BUT you never know. Things happen. Not to you? Well, they happen to me. Things happen all the time around here.

Before you think I am too loopy or that drugs were involved here, please let me explain. I  had friends with small airplanes, those 4-seater ones, and this IS Florida. I have popped over to the Bahamas at the last minute a few times. It isn't a big deal, really. 

Look on a map and you can see the Bahamas are only THAT far away. From my house you can fly over to the islands after work on Friday, have umbrella drinks until you are mildly sloshed on Saturday, pick up a bit of a sunburn on Sunday and still make it in to work on Monday with sugar sand still hiding inside your ear creases.

In the Bahamas I have flashed my passport when all I really needed to do at that time was show an American driver's license. OK, showing a passport might seem like overkill but where is the fun in flashing a driver's license? Where?

Oh, there was that one time we landed in a Small Nearby Island Country where we were not suppose to be. But that was an accident, mostly.

And there was that one little time in Belize...

I seldom actually used my passport for last minute trips [2 times, total] but it made me feel so prepared to know that I COULD do it if I wanted to. When I did use my passport for trips to Europe the edges were frayed in a friendly Hey! I get around sort of way.

From a distance the poor thing was rather impressively tattered. Up close it smelled of suntan lotion.

The passport in the glove compartment gave me the same feeling I get when I know I have on sexy underwear under my favorite Rolling Stones T-shirt and honestly torn jeans. I walk differently because I have a secret. By the time I moved on to my third passport, I was walking differently all the time. I had the ever-ready passport secret. Maybe I could SAVE the world while I was seeing it.

I still walk differently. I travel. I fly. I have frequent-flier points from Delta, USAir, Alaska Air and few that have gone belly-up. I have used my passport many times and I am not putting it away yet. When this one expires I want another and another until the end of time. Amen.

There is a confidence that comes from knowing where toilets are located in major cities around the world. There is a confidence that comes from feeling secure even when surrounded by a language I cannot fully understand. There is confidence that comes from pulling my wheeled carry-on through foreign airports as I shop duty-free.

I cannot even remember a time when I complained about the lack off ice-cubes in a tall glass drink or the presence of waxy toilet paper in a difficult to locate ladies room, either here in the states or elsewhere. Thank God for any drink, for any paper. Thank God for my passport.

I no longer house my passport in my car. I need a bit more notice these days. My friends no longer fly willy-nilly to the Bahamas, gas priced beyond reason. My passport, my flat ticket to the world, waits patiently in my bedroom tucked away with the odd bits of leftover foreign currency inside my Rick Steves' money belt. You never know.

My name is somepinkflowers and I am a travel-slut.

And I might be coming to your town.