Thursday, August 17, 2017

Disco is dead, but long live the shag...


When Hancock Fabrics was going out of business, I shopped there regularly as the prices fell. I had my eye on this shaggy faux fur. Every week, I'd see it there on the faux fur table in all its shaggy glory.

Apparently, nobody wanted it. I imagine they had no clue what to do with it. It looks like something you'd make a pillow out of, for a college dorm. But me? As soon as I saw it, I wanted to make a coat out of it!

So, I did. I used Simplicity Easy to Sew 1108, which is basically a kimono pattern.





But, naturally, I had to change everything. First, this pattern, for some bizarre reason, has a center back seam. Why? I guess it might help the garment hang better, because that was certainly an issue for me when I took that seam out. But working with fur, the fewer the seams, the better.

Instead of using bias tape on all the raw seams, folding them over and hemming them, I trimmed the front seam with a black ribbon.




I serged the sleeve and bottom hems and was planning to turn them up and hem them. That worked fine for the bottom, but the sleeves somehow came out too short for my liking.

So, I created cuffs by folding a length of the fabric and sewing it to the edges of the sleeves. This also took care of the too-wide at the hem problem. Kimono sleeves are boxy and it didn't look right with this fabric. So I made the cuffs smaller and gathered up the back sides of each sleeve to fit. Worked like a charm.




Overall, I like it. But I'm not sure about the ribbon trim around the neck; it doesn't lay as nicely as I'd like. And it could really benefit from pockets. But what a pain that would be.



So, here it is. My Seventies shag coat. 




The main problem with working with this fabric was the shedding! Now that all the seams are serged up, the coat itself won't shed. But there are bits of this shaggy faux fur all over the house. Any time I worked on the project, I'd end up covered with it. I even found it floating about in the kitchen while I was trying to cook a meal!





I still have some left and I'd love to use it for something else--if for no other reason than to get it all sewn up and out of shedding commission. So, what to do with the remainder?





I don't think there's enough for a top, but I'll give it a look-see. I don't wear vests, so no on that. I suppose a big, shaggy bag could be interesting. I guess I'll just have to figure it out.

So, yeah, I grew up in the Seventies. I had some bell bottom pants that were so huge it was like wearing a ball gown on each of my calves. My parents had black shag carpet, just like that fabric!, in our family room. It was pretty amazing. Remember Pong? And Tang? And Tab? And Disco!? Remember DISCO??

I was a disco queen! I really was. Dang, I miss disco.

Did you know that disco, literally, died the year the I graduated from high school? That's right. And what killed it? This song killed disco:



That's right. "My Sharona" killed disco in 1979. This led to the Eighties! I enjoyed the Eighties, too. In the Eighties, I wore these button up shirts that were as long as coats, the shoulders heavily padded. And boots with those skinny stirrup pants. Frizzed hair. Enough makeup to smother my face.

I don't even know who that girl is anymore. Maybe she'll return a bit when I wear my shaggy coat. I'll let you know...






Thursday, August 10, 2017

My ancestry has no pizzazz...

Photo by travel oriented via Flickr


Trigger Alert!: This post is racist.

I'm really very American. I've got ancestors that came over before the Revolution. I have ancestors who fought in the Revolutionary War (we won!) and the Civil War (we are such losers). So, there's really nothing I can say or do that would make the ridiculous comment "go back to where you came from" mean anything to me. I came from Orlando.

But, I was brought up on the knowledge that I've got Cherokee in me. (Which, actually, would make me even more American than I am.) It was said that my father's mother was part Cherokee and farther up the line some Bolch or Bolick married a Cherokee woman. It was always pointed out how black Bolch hair was (racism) and my brother didn't have a hairy chest! (Egad, more racism! But I swear we discussed these things.) So, there you go. Cherokee.

I could sing that Indian Reservation song with some sense of belonging! They took the whole Chrokee Nation and put us on this reservation. (Well, not me. But still.) Took away our way of life! The tomahawk, the bow, the knife! Our native tongue! Taught their filthy English to our young! Damn those Western European white people!

I suppose it would help if I told you that both sides of my family come out of Buncombe County, North Carolina. And Cherokee is in North Carolina. Just a bit west of Asheville! And yes, I suppose the Cherokee tend toward lovely black hair. I know nothing of their chest hair other than what I see in the movies.

Of course, my brother's chest is kind of hairy now. But he has a look to him that you could, in the right light, see as reminiscent of Native American. (I'm not sure if that is racist or not.)

My mother, on the other hand, has lately taken it into her head that she's Scottish. She asked me the other day to get on my genealogy research and find out just where her Scottish roots are. After all, there are a lot of Scottish roots in the Smokey Mountains, from whence her people hail. And she's been peppering her language with "ye," as if that's a Scottish sort of thing to say. (My family is full of racists.)

Wouldn't you know it? I was able to tell her something without much research at all. I'd just had my Ancestry DNA results in! Here I am:





Look at that! I'm...a Western European white girl. Basically. Boh-ring. I mean, sure, there's a slim bit of Irish there, but not enough to break out the whiskey (OMG, so racist).  What's worse, though, is that there is not a drop of Native American in me. None at all.

I am not a descendant of the Cherokee.

It was all a lie! A lie. Indian Reservation is not the mourning song of my people. Just the opposite. I am the filthy white English forced upon the Native Americans!

I'm just a drab, ordinary white girl. Not even any African ancestry to speak of (beyond that which we all have). My slave-owning Confederate ancestors were more racist than I thought. Except, oh, yeah, that's right. I come from dirt poor Confederate racists so there would have been little opportunity for me to get at least some African American DNA in me. (That statement is, no doubt, insensitive as well as racist.)

I feel so...dull.

But, I suppose there is a bright side. I've got Great Britain in me. And I have always been partial to Great Britain. Love Downton Abbey! And Jane Austen! There are all sorts of great Brits I could be related to. The Queen, of course. (Why the hell not?) Julie Andrews. (Love, love The Sound of Music!) Mick Jagger. (Egad, let's hope not.)

I'm ready to embrace my heritage fully now. In fact, I wouldn't mind searching for some Loyalist ancestors that I could champion, seeing as the U.S. is going fascist. Do you suppose Jolly Ole' England will take me back once the book burnings over here start? 

Last time I was there, though, they didn't tend to serve Diet Coke over ice...or even cold. Maybe things have changed since then. (It was quite a long time ago.) If not, I guess that's something I'll just have to learn to live with. Stiff upper lip and all, you know.

All hail the Queen!


Photo by 00Ucci via Flickr




Monday, July 24, 2017

The painted rock craze has gone too far...

Painted rock I found on the roadside at the Viera Wetlands, a wildlife preserve

Some idiots vandalized Mesa Verde National Park in Colorado. I'm sure the people who did it didn't think they were vandalizing anything. They probably imagine vandalism as an act of violence...like throwing rocks through store windows or keying someone's car.

These vandals wrote their names on rocks and stole charcoal from an archaeological site to do it. I'm sure they thought they were being cute. And frankly, I'm surprised they didn't draw penises.

Unfortunately, as reported in a post on the Mesa Verde park's Facebook page, park officials have seen an increase in graffiti, vandalization, and intentional littering.

Intentional littering, you say?

The pictures attached to the post show a rock painted with #918Rocks and the Facebook logo. (There is also a picture of rock stacking, but that's for another post.)

918Rocks appears to be where the whole painted rock craze started and it's spread across the US if not the world. People are painting rocks and leaving them lying around for others to find.

Oh, what fun! How creative! Right?


Another rock found at the Viera Wetlands. At least this one was at the entrance.


Wrong.

I didn't mind it so much when I found a painted rock at the mall. But when I started finding painted rocks along the roads at the Viera Wetlands, I became peeved. Now I'm rather pissed.

What is it about humans that they can't leave any spot free of their persistent self-absorption? How can a person stand in the quiet of nature, marvel (or probably not) at its beauty, find joy in the wild (apparently not enough) and think to himself, "What this place needs is a painted rock!"

You aren't supposed to take rocks from public parks and preserves. (Do people even know this?) What makes you think you can bring one in and leave it? Much less one you've defaced. (That's right. You've taken a perfectly nice rock and ruined it!)

Why can't humans leave nature natural? Why do you have to put your mark all over it? Why do you always have to be saying, "I was here! Look! See? There's my footprint!" You might as well pee on it.

Is there no place where we can let the earth be free of the human scourge?

So, paint rocks, if you must. Leave them lying around at the mall, bus stops, or by the dumpsters if you must. But stop and think about what you're doing and where you're doing it.

Our local and national parks and preserves aren't your art or social media project. If I find your rocks where they don't belong, I'm going to remove them and soak them in turpentine. (I feel like quite the curmudgeon just thinking about it.)

But seriously. Just stop.








Sunday, July 16, 2017

Why Spider-Man: Homecoming was not a great movie

Photo by tsackett via Flickr

Spider-Man: Homecoming was just okay. Two reasons.*

1. It didn't make sense from the start.

I'm supposed to believe that Iron Man gave this kid a suit and let him fight in this big battle at the end of the last Avengers movie and then blew him off for a few months. For no reason. Later, he even tells him he's just not ready to be an Avenger. More later, he takes the suit back. I'm just not buying it. This was just a plot device meant to get Spider-Man on his own. It could have been handled so much better and wouldn't have had me disappointed at the outset.

Stark could have told the kid that in a few months he'd be able to spend a lot of time with him training him on all the cool stuff the suit could do. He just can't at the moment. "For now," he'd say, "could you just be a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man? But be careful." He'd put that Happy dude on him, but Peter would keep bugging the guy about silly stuff like a teen girl swooning over the Avengers. "What's Thor really like? Does that archer guy have anything else going for him? Is Captain America mad at me?" Etc. Happy would get so peeved, he'd stop taking Peter's calls.

And there you'd have it. Spider-Man, on his own for a while. This, of course, would mean that Iron Man couldn't come to the rescue and say "screwed the pooch" over and over again. Oh, no! Spider-Man would have to learn to battle the bad guys on his own. Yeah. That's how hero stories work.

And sure, they tried to lead into the next film having Spidey blow off the Avengers at the end thus leaving him on his own once more. But it won't work. It can't work.

Spider. Nom nom nom.
Photo by Vicki S via flickr

Because of 2. The Avengers.

I get that the Avengers are a good thing for that woman played by Scarlett Johansson and that archer dude. They're never going to be able to carry their own films. Hulk should never get another solo deal either, so good for him. Even Captain America is played, if you ask me.

But the Avengers suck for the major players--Iron Man, Thor, Spider-Man--because now, when they're fighting off some epic bad guy, everyone is wondering...where are the Avengers? Why aren't they helping?

And we'll be asked to believe that Tony Stark is in London or something, even though we already know he could at least send a suit or two. Or Thor is...what...on some other planet? It's not going to work. For two reasons.

A. As stated, where they heck are the Avengers? And
B. Spider-Man (Iron Man, Captain America, etc.) can't get through a film without some other Avenger showing up to try to explain to the audience why the Avengers aren't there when they need to be, but are there at just the right spots to remind us that they exist as a unit...except during solo films.

Nope. Not going to work.

The Avengers have ruined solo films and there are too many of them to make Avengers films any good. So, we're done here.

Unless we ruin the Avengers. Send Thor back to wherever he came from and close whatever portal brought him here. (This would mean, thank the gods, that the Guardians of the Galaxy won't have to be mixed up in the mess either.)

Just kill off Natasha and that archer guy. Keep the Black Panther in Africa for the most part. (Black Panther looks like it's going to be really good. If they can just pretend the Avengers never happened to him, it will be.) Have Tony Stark's ego make him go off on his own. Drop Captain America (he's so...wholesome. Keep the videos, though. Yeah, he can do videos for the real super heroes.) And let Spider-Man be Spider-Man again.

Remember when the super heroes had their own cities? Batman was in Gotham and Superman was in...the Emerald City? I don't know or care; Superman is cheap. I know, I know they're two completely different universes, but that's the point. Give them territories or something. If you have to bring them together once in a while, fine. Fine. Just effin fine. But make it clear that it's a very unusual thing and it's not gong to happen often. And it's only really happening to give that archer guy something to do.

And then they shake hands and return to where they belong to fight evil in their own neighborhoods.

Everything will be so much simpler. And before you call me a curmudgeon bemoaning the good ole days, know this: simple stores are the best stories.

So, that's it. That's why Spider-Man is ruined.





*No. I'm not going to say "spoiler alert." If you're idiotic enough read a blog post that says it's going to tell you why a movie sucked thinking it won't contain spoilers, you don't deserve spoilers.

PS. Here's another big spoiler. I knew Michelle was going to turn out to be M.J.


Thursday, July 6, 2017

Sure, but can you snort a s'more?

Photo by GlitterandFrills via Flickr

I feel a little sick. It's July 6, so I'm not surprised. July 4, in case you weren't aware, is S'mores Day. I look forward to S'mores Day all year. It's the only day on which I can eat s'mores without feeling like I'm being ridiculous. Seriously. It would be like baking a cake for no reason. You can't just bake a cake in the middle of the week and eat it! You bake cakes for special occasions. And you light the grill (or let's admit it, turn on the broiler in the oven because you're too lazy and it's too hot to go outside) to toast marshmallows and slide them onto graham crackers and Hershey's chocolate bars on special occasions, too. Actually, only one special occasion: Independence Day.

That's right. Americans celebrate fireworks, bbqs, s'mores, and rebellion on July 4.

Before I get into the meat of the thing, an aside. Did you know that there are people who only use 1/4 of a Hershey bar on their s'mores? That's just not right. It even says on the 6-pack of Hershey bars that you are supposed to use an entire half of a bar per s'more. And I am nothing if not a rule follower.


The proper cracker to chocolate ratio

And even worse, some people don't like chocolate at all! I know, I know, it's unfathomable. So much so that dear Hubs believes that anyone who says she doesn't like chocolate is lying, trying to get attention...like a hipster.

So, one such person asked on her Facebook page if it would be okay to have s'mores without the chocolate. Most responses were what you'd expect--of the 'are you out of your mind?' variety. But I said that I often have s'mores without the marshmallow. It's true, on July 5 and 6, when you've got a few Hershey bars and a pack of graham crackers leftover and you really don't want to heat up the broiler (it's not July 4 anymore, after all) why not just make a chocolate sandwich? Am I right?

Not only that, most days, when you think about it, I have s'mores without the marshmallow and the graham crackers! So, who's to say you can't have them without the chocolate?

This, unfortunately, put ideas into my head.

On July 4 I had two s'mores. (That's one whole Hershey bar.) Then, on July 5, yesterday, I had two s'mores again because...leftovers. And later in the day...I saw the big bag of marshmallows on the table, just going to waste. Marshmallows don't last long in Florida. They were already starting to stick together. Something had to be done. (Not that I'm afraid to throw food out. I do it all the time. Even the faintest hint of it being old and it's in the trash.) And there were leftover graham crackers there, too.

So, well, I didn't want to turn on the broiler...again. So, I just grabbed some grahams and some marshmallows and went to town.

Oh. My. Gawd.

So good. But why wouldn't it be? I basically sat down and ate sugar.

And now I feel sick.

What's my point? It's this: somebody has invented snortable chocolate.

That's right. You snort it. Like cocaine. Like the frickin' drug that it is.

So, you could get your chocolate without the nausea, right? But what's the point? Why would you want to do that? Smelling chocolate is great, sure, when you're about to eat it. But snorting it? Where's the ooey gooey part? Where's the part where your mouth is full of chocolate and you close your eyes and smile and know that if you eat that entire pint of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream* you'll wake up in the morning with a headache and upset stomach?

What's the point of chocolate if you can't make yourself sick with it? That's what I want to know.




*There are a laughable 4 servings in a pint of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream. Ridiculous. It's at best 1 and 1/4 servings. I know, because I usually eat 3/4 of it, leaving the last 1/4 for the next day over which I have to scoop some extra ice cream to make another full serving. Anyway, there are 1,040 calories in a pint of B&JCFB ice cream.Snort that!





Thursday, June 29, 2017

Beware the schemes of politicians and preachers...


photo by admiller via Flickr

Just need a lure of some kind...


Hi Jeff.

I got this weird email from you yesterday and thought I'd drop you a note. Subject line: "Hey"

Your email creeped me out. It had used-car salesman all over it. First, you called me "Friend" and I don't even know you. "Hey, Friend." Or maybe, you think my name is Friend?

Then it was all chatty and intimate. You hope I enjoyed my weekend. Was I having a great day, today? You seemed to think it was Monday, but it was Wednesday. I was all, like, wtf?

Worse, it had quite a stalker vibe to it. You know, the "Hey, you aren't opening my emails, wha's up?" I felt spied on. How do you know I'm not opening your emails and why do you care? Just how many emails have you sent to me? Were they creepy, too?

And lastly, there was this ultimatum thing going on.

I had this dentist once who insisted I visit him at least once every two years and when I missed this deadline (a deadline previously unknown to me, I might add), he sent me a fancy letter on purple paper and told me to make a damn appointment or he was going to drop me. Did I make an appointment? Nope. It was my opinion that he worked for me, not the other way around. I'll see a dentist when I please and not before.

Anyway, I didn't know who you were, Jeff, or why you were emailing me, so I looked you up and I'm still not sure. I do know that you've got quite the go-get-'em attitude. Every time I go to a different page (or back to the one I was just looking at) at your website, little boxes pop up wanting me to give you my email address. Frankly, I'm surprised your website can't see that I already gave it to you, seeing as your such a spy and all.

You are a salesman, no doubt. You want to tell me how to sell a lot of books. And you use yourself as an example. You've got a few bestsellers! But the thing is...your books are about how people can sell books. So...I'm not sure your techniques are going to work for everybody.

This makes me think of the whole "writers selling to writers" thing. Writers spend a lot of energy, it seems, seeking out other writers on social media. Let's like each other's Facebook pages. Follow each other on Twitter. And I'm all for that sort of--what do they call it?--I can't think of the word...something tawdry I bet. But I'm all for it!

I just don't think that writers are my target audience. But they're yours. Well...all creators, I think, judging by the wide net it looks like you're casting. That being said, I'm sure you have some great insights and information that would be helpful. I guess I just haven't paid much attention to your emails. I can't even find any, other than the one I got yesterday. I must have deleted them in that last purge of the trash. They couldn't have been that interesting.

But I wanted to say that a lot of people use Outlook for their email. (I'm not all that computer savvy, so I hope this doesn't make me sound expert-y.) We can read your emails without actually opening them up. But, yeah, I confess, I've probably been ignoring you. I think you're selling something and I just don't have time.

Judging by your picture at your website, you're a nice enough guy. (Though, to be honest, you've got a tad resemblance to Paul Ryan and that can't be good.)


Would this face lie to you?


I think I got a free ebook for signing up to let you email me. I'll try to find it and look at it. So little time for all the things we want to do; am I right?

But you see, there's the problem, right there, if you ask me. You offered me something, in exchange for my email address. That's pretty typical, I think, when it comes to advice on how to get people's email addresses. But as you see, it doesn't always work. I got the freebie, haven't looked at it, didn't find your subsequent emails of interest or of value, and thus, you got no follow-through. What happened?

I think I know what happened. And, as I'm working right now to launch my own email newsletter for readers and book lovers, I would like to thank you for the lesson in what not to do.

Don't try to trick people into giving you their email addresses.
Don't use a lure, as if people are fish to catch and toss into your bucket.

photo by James Palinsad via Flickr

Is this what I am to you?


Don't send people subsequent emails that bore them or have no relevance to them.
Don't try to guilt them into continuing to receive your emails after your spy metrics show they're not engaging.
Don't threaten to dump them from your list.
Don't call people "Friend." Ever. Even if they are your friends.
And don't bug people too often with your emails.

I haven't decided yet if I want to keep receiving your emails. I do appreciate that you gave me a date by which I had to make my choice.

I just wanted to let you know that I found your approach sketchy and I am wondering if it works. (Not really. I'm not going to emulate it whether it works or not.) It must work because the worst politicians and preachers use it. And they're definitely selling some pretty unappealing stuff, aren't they?

The "Hey, friend" pricks my skeptic sense every time. I think I'm going to blog about this phenomenon. Don't worry, I won't mention your name.*


That's all. Thanks,
Dianna



*Oops.


PS. Dude, what the hell. I just got another one. Subject line: "Is everything ok?" Your neediness is creeping me out.

PPS. That's right. I'm getting ready to launch an email newsletter about books! And maybe cats and chocolate. But mostly books! Maybe other creative stuff, but only incidentally. Seriously, mostly books! So, if you're into reading, and you want a monthly newsletter about books! drop me a line and tell me you want to subscribe. I promise I won't get all creepy and needy if you ignore me.




Tuesday, June 13, 2017

Textures on a road trip...

As promised, textures.

pine bark









mohawk tree






bamboo






through the table at the Biltmore Estate



cloth covered chair in hotel room



barbed wire atop fence



brick wall



cloth covered chair in hotel room



moss covered stone table






lights in ceiling of elevator at hotel



vase at hotel



vase at hotel



stairs at hotel



cloth covered chair in hotel lobby



stump



up close of water bottle in car



colorful tubes on back of truck I95 south


That's all for now.





Monday, June 12, 2017

All the metaphors of Asheville remain blurred...

We took a respite from the muggy Florida heat last week and spent some time in and around Asheville, NC. It was rather cold for a native Floridian up there, even in June. And it was wonderful!



We ate at The Moose Cafe on our first morning there. It's become a tradition to eat breakfast there whenever we visit. They have huge, buttery biscuits with their homemade apple butter. Excellent stuff. And I like to get scrapple, aka liver mush. A rare treat.


We rode the Blue Ridge Parkway southwest of Asheville that first day. 


Mountain Laurel


I saw a snail.




The next day we went north on the parkway. We hiked a trail at the visitor's center where we came across this vine wrapped around a tree branch. The branch had broken off, but the vine still held on.


That's got to mean something, right? It's a metaphor. But, of what?

We explored a popular park where all the stone picnic tables were covered with moss.



Another metaphor? A sign?

Later, we stopped for lunch in Little Switzerland. I had a chicken salad sandwich and kettle chips. Hubs deemed the chicken salad frou frou, because it had apples and other stuff in it.



Then we went to Linville Falls. Just through the entrance, at the beginning of the trail, I saw what I thought was a big red berry on a tree at the river's edge. It turned out to be a fishing lure.


Here's a picture of some of the falls. It makes no sense not to show a picture even though it's not a very good one.





The next day, we visited Beaver Lake in north Asheville to look at birds. It was lovely. There were water lilies blooming on the lake.



Cute turtles on logs.



And plenty of birds.


Then it was off to the Biltmore Estate.



We explored the grounds and gardens, mostly. On our way to the Bass Pond, we saw a couple coming down a road clearly marked "no guests beyond this point." We gloated over our superior rule abiding skills. At one point, we took a trail into a meadow, then back down and around the lake and up a road. We got a wonderful view of the house from up there.



As we continued on that road, we came to a spot that made us think we weren't supposed to be there, so we wandered back down, searching for the proper trail. And what do you know? We ended up coming down the very road on which we saw that other couple breaking the rules.

Had to get a picture.


But I'm glad we did that because I got to take a very cool picture of the bamboo.


We didn't get pictures of us hanging on it like the other people did, so we're still better at rule abiding than they are. And that's what really counts.

There was a chipmunk.


On our way back to the house, we heard singing, and when we took the steps up out of the garden area, we saw a large group of young people all wearing the same shirt. I figured they were part of a school chorus.

On our last day, we visited Chimney Rock and Lake Lure. Naturally, at Chimney Rock, the elevator is not working. To get to the level where the actual rock is, you have to climb a bazillion stairs. But I managed. I am happy to say I was also able to climb the Exclamation Point Trail even though I haven't been exercising and am way out of shape. It wasn't easy, but I did it. And then we took the Hickory Nut Falls trail to the falls.

When we climbed up onto the actual rock itself, there was a group of young people there, all wearing the same shirt. And they sang The Star Spangled Banner for us. Right there on the rock under the huge American flag. It was wonderful. Too bad Donald Trump is our friggin' president. Kind of ruined the whole patriotic thing, frankly. But anyway, I tried to read their shirts and I think they were members of the American Heritage Youth Chorus. I asked them if they were at the Biltmore Estate the day before and it was them! I can't say what they think of Donald Trump.



That's the rock, there. Very American, isn't it? A huge rock penis with a flag on it. Don't believe me? Try this view:


Okay, then, moving on. I saw a caterpillar.



I don't know what kind it is. But it doesn't matter. In the gift shop there were some frighteningly weird...pots?




You have to wonder what the artist is trying to convey.

Down the mountain, in Chimney Rock Village and saw Big Foot. He's covered with craw fish. I can't imagine why. Is this another deep and poignant message?



Lake Lure was very nice. 


I saw a bunny rabbit.




Any day you see a bunny is a good day, don't you think?

Before we left, I took some pictures at the hotel. Out back, there was a fence with barbed wire on it. It was hard to see what it was protecting... Cars, I think. But I really liked the way the barbed wire looked.


This is definitely a metaphor. A symbol. A warning. Sharp. Poignant.




I'll post an album of textures and other cool shots that I found on this trip as soon as I can, hopefully right after this post. An example of textures is the picture of the bamboo above. I love stuff like that.

We had a really good time and got some great pictures of birds. You can view Our Big Year blog by clicking on it.

That was our trip to Asheville. I wonder what it all means. And will I ever know for sure?