Let me sum up

I was outside for an extended period of time today in the glorious Indian summer sun. At a local festival I ran into several friends from my former workplace. It was good to stop and catch up and see how everyone is doing. I also had fun explaining what it is I do for money these days. While wandering over towards the direction of some fine live music, I ran into a guy whose t-shirt pretty much tells it all.
I wonder where I can get an application to join?

It's a Bird! It's a Plane! Wait, It Really is a Plane!

These guys are outside practicing for Saturday's Midsouth Airshow. It's really wild to see multi-million dollar speed demons streaking over the skies of the base and the small town next door. It's a beautiful day for flying!

A Day Poems Might be Borne

Widower means
someone was there,
someone who loved her
once
at least.
Widower means
someone knew
how her hair curled loosely against her neck
as she slumbered deep;
how her soul could be touched
by lapis lazuli,
and how the scent of ginger made her dance.
He knew and remembers
what songs made her weep
and why,
the books she loved,
where she came from
and why she couldn't stay.

The Sunne in Splendour

It's beautiful here, despite the rain. In the past week, our drought has ended with several days of rainfall that has ranged from the torrential to the pattering, and all of it a wonderful balm on the our parched fields, as well as our souls. Living in the south we expect July and August to be hot, but this particular year has been worse than usual. Fortunately, the humidity was lower than usual, but still, any day with a temperature over 95 (and we had several consecutive WEEKS of days that hot) is a drain on the water table and on the psychological well-being of everyone.

I love fall. I love the gradual changes that sneak up on us. I'm always so impressed when I suddenly see a bank of trees bronzed and gilded with afternoon light and changing leaves. We're not there quite yet, and given the 17" deficit in our rainfall this year, I doubt if we'll have much autumnal color. Still, the season is definitely starting to turn and for that, dear reader, I am exceedingly glad.

Yesterday afternoon about 6:30 I was driving Dear Daughter and Best Friend of Dear Daughter from the home of The Friend-Boy when I chanced to look at the western sky at precisely the right moment. The sun was tangled in a skein of cirrus-y cloud with long tendrils stretching out to the north. At the curled tips of the wispy cloud hovered a sun dog, brilliant in hues of green and bronze and yellow. I'd never seen one before and it's intense and surprising beauty fairly took my breath away.

For those who, like me, are largely ignorant of such things, the proper name for a sun dog is parhelion, but they are also called mock suns. They appear at a precise 22 degree angle on either side of the sun and are caused by light refracting on ice crystals in the atmosphere. We were treated to a lengthy show of color that waxed and waned as, presumably, the crystals rotated in the air. The show was truly breath-taking.

Edward Plantagenet, who ruled 15th century England as Edward IV, took the sun dog as his personal emblem. Called "the sunne in splendour," he was inspired by the appearance of parhelia on the morning of February 2, 1461, just prior to the battle at Mortimer's Cross against the Lancastrians under the command of Margaret of Anjou, Queen to the sad and devout Henry VI of England. Edward won the battle, and shortly thereafter, the crown of England, briefly putting to an end to the Wars of the Roses. His youngest brother Richard, succeeded him in a short reign that has been one of the most researched, maligned and dramatized in world history. I'm currently reading Anthony Cheetham's excellent The Life and Times of Richard III, and hope to follow it up by watching this, which takes a rather dim view of the youngest sun of York, but is cinematic excellence, nonetheless.

Neon Memphis

Louis is a much better photographer than I will ever be (and I would make that link work, except the toolbar isn't showing up just now and I don't feel up to attempting to write the link out the long way).

More later. My bones are on fire today.

The Eve of Everything

It's raining tonight--a soft gentle rain that not only heals the thirsty world, but is a balm on our frayed psyches. Dear Daughter finishes homework while I try and think of a way to put into words all of the emotions that are swirling around us.

Tomorrow is Mom's surgery. She's in a good place. We're as safe as we can be.

On the way home from dinner Dear Daughter started crying and telling me about how worried she is about her grandmother. She said she was sorry for crying, so we talked about how love for the people around us sometimes fills us up so much that it leaks out of our faces in the form of tears. We're both a little leaky tonight.

I doubt if I'll be able to blog much in the next couple of days. Check Mom's Caring Bridge website (www.caringbridge.org, then enter her name) for updates on her condition. I'll work on that site as soon as I can.

Oh, a special shout-out to Fine Old Famly, the Produce Man, e, Ry-Guy, Kim the Book Fairy, the Lunch Bunch and Master Chief BA for knowing what to say and how to say it. Thanks ever so much.

Mambocat on the Second Anniversary of Hurricane Katrina

If you don't read anything else today, read this. The post is titled Knit 2, Post K. If it doesn't piss you off and make you want to get some people one the phone, you might want to check your pulse.

I know what it means to miss New Orleans.