Known as The Nose.

Dear Bottles on the Dresser Bureau,

I will hate myself in the morning for suggesting a place for you to fritter more time away, and spend your hard earned duckets, but here I go again anyway, sending you places.  Scroll down on this page a little ways, and play the delightful little clip of the Nose in action.

Please, though, to spare my karma & my conscience, set a kitchen timer for 10 minutes, and promise me you'll only buy the samples, ok?  If little Jimmy has to go without shoes because I sent you to the perfume counter, I won't be able to live with myself!

The residents we've been waiting for!

Dear Waiting Patiently,

Good news!  The California Quail that we have hoped for have finally arrived.  We planted the Saltbrush shrubs (atriplex) that they like 6 years ago, and we have tended and mounded brush piles, hoping to attract them.  This Spring we noticed a pair of California Quail now and then, here and there, and last week, lo and behold!  The nest:



 

 

 

 

 

PS

The saltbushes have been evolving for 14 million years, and they are named for their ability to live on water with a high salinity content. There is a tiny bladder in each leaf, that collects the salt, which isolates the salt from the rest of the plant's cells.

Heap Praise On.

Dear World,

I read someplace* that E. B. White said that his wife wore her Ferragamos even when she gardened, because she "would not dress down to a flower."  Isn't this the kind of thing we long to be known for?  To be spoken of as special in some way, by a person who wields the words with that kind of love and dimension?

We can never know how we are, who we are, to others, and we wait patiently to catch a glimpse of ourselves through their descriptions.  It is very lovely to be the complimented, but, it is unreliable as a vocation.  The job of the complimentor, on the other hand, is wide open to us.  Why wait for compliments?  Take the other role----it is easy as pie to be the complimentor.  Make your appreciation grand, lavish, and memorable in the role of the praisor. 

Comme ça:  Reader, without you, whomever you are, wherever you are, these lit up letters, these tiny impulses, are electronically manifested dust-  I write only, and as ever, to try to tell you how I feel about you.  You are the reason I've been waiting so long.  You.








*  I know, what I mean is 'somewhere,' but it felt like someplace.  I read it somewhere, on a page, in a place, at a time that I cannot recall.  These little rules were made for breaking, don 't you think?

Sea Cruise.

Sea chanty.

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

Sea ballad.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Stormy Weather.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stormy Weather.

Wonders Will Never Cease.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another Day, Another Song.

Dear Ready,

Another lovely song, that my DJ played for me, and I will now play for you.  Won't you join my all-girl band?  You don't have to be a girl, even, if you don't want to.  This is the song we are practicing this week:  I Still Miss Someone.  We still need more people for backing vocals, cowbells, and maracas. 




I Still Miss Someone
Recorded by Johnny Cash
written by Johnny Cash and Ray Cash Jr.



C              F          G7
At my door the leaves are falling
    F         G7        C
The cold wild wind will come
                 F    G7
Sweethearts walk by together
    F       G7       C
And I still miss someone

         F    G7
I go out on a party
    F          G7     C
And look for a little fun
             F        G7
But I find a darkened corner
        F       G7       C
Because I still miss someone

  F         G7         C
I never got over those blues eyes
  F        G7    C
I see them everywhere
  F          G7        C
I miss those arms that held me
     F       G7       C
When all the love was there

         F        G7
I wonder if she's sorry
    F            G7    C
For leaving what we'd begun
                F      G7
There's someone for me somewhere
    F       G7       C
And I still miss someone




PS
Bring a tuxedo for the performances.  We'll want to look sharp, too. 

Near & Dear.

Dear Everyone,

You know, some of you, that I love to send you a postcard, now and then, and a very few of you know, that I have felt rather old, dusty and antiquated for my efforts.  Why, I wonder, do the things we love to do become, sometimes, resented, useless, empty burdens?  Well, this is the kind of rhetorical question that might be perfect for a postcard, but, who shall receive it?

I got the horse right here, his name is Paul Revere.  By that, I mean, can do, can do.  Cast your eyes this way, folks:  Postcrossing!  Yes, this was made for you and me, sans doute!

I am running to my pen, cards, and stamps!  You will be hearing from me, and soon!

PS
The Fugue for Tinhorns is a lodestar for me, a constant inspiration, so let's hear it just once more.

Song of the Day!

Dear Sister-Listeners,

Listen to this song today, and sing it as your anthem all week!  Yes, you can sing it, please do sing it!  It isn't about how it sounds to anyone- you want to sing this for how it will make you feel:  Like the wind blowing hard up the face of the bluff, and you stand on its edge, looking out over half the world.

Summer Monsoon.

Dear Sky-Watchers,

The word monsoon is as lovely to say as it is to see in the dramatic, dark and wide skies associated with our own ersatz monsoon weather.  I say ersatz, because the weather science folks are divided as to whether our regional incomplete wind reversal truly counts as a monsoon.  See some of the details of the debate here, and here.  I offer the word, then, and this image, for pure enjoyment, and we will leave precision out of it for today.