loose string

"One-way streets and square one, The answers don't come from any one direction"

 

A Sunday Drive in the Country

In the next town over from us there is a large public garden called Cantigny Park.   It is set on the grounds of the country home/mansion of Robert McCormick former owner of the Chicago Tribune.  It is nice in that it is free except for a small fee to park but it is a strange place.  There is a museum dediacted to the First Division and adjacent to the museum building there are a number of tanks parked.  It seems a bit strange given the bucolic serenity of the setting.  There is a large but unspectacular garden adjacent.  I suppose I only find it unimpressive because there are so many other truly unusual and awe-inspiring gardens in the Chicago area.  It is primarily done in a very formal style with hedges and typical flowers.  The one area that was especially nice was the crab apple trees.  The aroma of apples is fabulous.

All of this means more pictures for you, of course.


Orange Cone Flower


Dahlia


Dahlia


Dahlia


Dahlia


Peppers


Hosta leaf


Pink Hibiscus


Dahlia

posted by: loosestring at 14:40 | link | comments |

Undemanding contact in your happy solitude

For some reason I am bone-tired this evening.  I came home and it washed over me like a huge wave.  I have no idea where it came from.

I had the strangest sensation in the car today.  I was flipping through the radio stations looking for something to listen to that did not make me want to scream.  I came to the local Rock station.  They play Classic Rock and newer Rock and you are always sure to hear a Van Halen or Guns & Roses song if you listen for long - therefore,  I never listen long.  Anyway, they were playing Rush "Spirit of the Radio" and all of the sudden I could remember vividly an afternoon when I was about sixteen.  I had skipped school and I was staying home to enjoy the late Spring day.  It was really warm and sunny and I was trying to lay out in the sun to get a tan.  This was a futile effort on my part because I was destined to be "The Whitest Woman In The Universe" but I was still trying back then.  Mostly I remember what a beautiful day it was.  I don't think I did more than listen to the radio and read some but it is a happy memory.  This Rush song was very popular at that time as was The Pretenders "Brass In Pocket" and The Police "Message in a Bottle"and David Bowie "Space Oddity".  I guess it is a small memory and not exciting or action-packed but the clarity with which it came back to me was startling.  I love that about music.  It is such a powerful memory stimulant for me. 

I could recall in great detail the living room of our old house.  The green shag carpet that was very chic in 1968 when we first got it but that was showing the wear and tear of twelve or thirteen years by that time.  All of our furniture was from the same era and it was very well worn and covered in afghans and throws to cover the wear.  The sun was coming through the sliding glass doors of our deck.  Through the glass the view over the tree tops of a sparkling lake glimmering in the sun.  The trees that grew so thickly and lushly right up to the edge of the deck.  The deck hung out over a steep incline that ended at the edge of the lake below.  The impression of being in a tree house in the middle of the woods with my own private view of the water.  The smell of suntan lotion -  the ubiquitous coconut.  The feel of the sun warm at first and then warmer yet as the sun rose higher.  The deck was sunny for the greater part of the day but when the sun moved lower in the sky the light was dappled through the branches of the trees.  The sound of silence so deep that the bird calls and the chatter of squirrels was startling sometimes.   The sound of the music through the crappy old stereo we had.  Just a stopped moment in time. 

I am never nostalgic for a time or a place in it's entirety.  Usually it is just a moment or an afternoon or an evening or a sunrise.  One perfect moment that stands out as the definition of the time and place in my memory.  When I think of New Hampshire I mostly think of these times.  The beautiful summers spent swimming in the lake, the evenings spent talking with my friends, the set of stairs that led down the steep slope as a shortcut to the water, riding in cars or on mopeds, the damp mornings that turned into humid days, the vivid colors or the air and the trees and being too young to know that it was an enchanted time and place.




Hibiscus


Another Hibiscus


Tiger Lilies


Phlox - David


Phlox - Bright Eyes


Phlox - Orange Perfection


Showy Primrose


Cornflower

posted by: loosestring at 00:35 | link | comments (1) |

They tire of the calm that know the storm

And now, another installment in dramatically overwrought teenage poetry.  For those of you not familiar with this program - I have recently unearthed a bunch of poems that I wrote when I was about eighteen or nineteen.  I was a very dramatic teenager and usually under the influence of some sort of substance.  For the most part these are kind of funny and a little pathetic but they make me laugh.  I offer them up for mockery and general amusement.

If You Can’t Decide, Try Suicide

If I die today I will not regret
I will not despair for the things undone
If I go tomorrow I am quite set
I tire rapidly of the setting sun

I will not think of the loves I might miss
Forget also the triumphs I shall not feel
Better by far that eternal bliss
I will be content with what I could steal

Best only to recall the times of pain
Death is the best of friends when I despair
A safe harbor revealed in a cut vein
For this protection there is a small fare

I seek only the easiest way out
Final freedom from a mind full of doubt

April 30, 1984

I think the title would have to place this firmly in my Suicide period but I am sensing a little tongue in cheek self-mockery.  This has the whole world-weary Dorothy Parker thing working for it.  I am actually not mortified by this poem.  It offers a glimpse of humor and self-deprecation that was still possible despite my maudlin tendencies.  Good to know that while I was given to weeping and wailing I could still see the comedic spectacle I was making of myself.  I think my sarcasm works well here.

I remember bits and pieces of this period.  I was still living with my father and my stepmom in Albuquerque.  I had a small room at the back of the house to call my own.  I had pictures and posters on the walls but the decor was a bit spartan.  I did have a goldfish as a pet because I was not allowed to get any other kind of pet.  His name was Aladdin Sane.  There may have been another fish that replaced this one after he inevitably passed into the great fishbowl in the sky.  His bowl was atop one of my stereo speakers and I was listening to many things but there was a lot of Kate Bush and David Bowie's "Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars".  The coolest thing about my room was that it was meant to be a sort of sun porch.  It had  windows all  along two of the walls.  The windows were some funky old design that I have never seen since.  They had sills that flipped up and the windows slid down inside the wall.  The sills flipped back down so that you could keep plants or whatever on them.  I remember sitting up late in that room after everyone else was asleep with the windows open and a breeze blowing through, the incense burning and my headphones cranking and spinning out these words and long letters to my sister and friends. 

If there was one moment in my past which I could choose to visit  from this future and have a few words with myself, this would probably be the one. I think I could have used a little advice but I probably would have wondered why this incredibly old lady was harshing my buzz.   There was so much energy being wasted in this time and a whole heaping load of potential.  I am not given to regretting my past.  I have made peace with all the wrong choices and bad decisions but I do see something sometimes that I wish I had looked harder at in that moment.  The most regret I have is for the perfect moments that I was too busy or too otherwise distracted  to enjoy properly.  The moments I missed only because I was not paying attention. 

posted by: loosestring at 00:30 | link | comments |

Kato, my little yellow friend, I am home!

I seem to be very much focused on the cats this week

Recently we brought one of the cats that had remained with Ex Husband #2 after the divorce to live with us.  I guess we figured that four cats and two dogs was not enough.  Actually, Petie had lived with me after the divorce and then a couple of years ago he went to stay with Ex-Husband #2 again.  It was meant to be temporary but shortly after I moved into my new apartment I found a kitten wandering down the street at two in the morning.  No one ever claimed the kitten and I did not have the heart to send her to the pound so she became part of the family.  Because the apartment was small I never got around to bringing Petie to the new place. When I moved in with T he already had two cats and I had two cats so it seemed a bit much to bring in another cat.  But I have always missed having Petie around. 

Petie has the knack of getting into difficult situations.  He has always been one of those sweet, affectionate but quite dumb cats.  He followed Hobie and Elmo around and tried to be just like them but he never quite got the hang of being cool.  His most annoying trait is his need to sound the alert over impending food shortages.  He looks at the food bowl – or the one-gallon gravity feeder – and if it is one morsel shy of full he comes and meows very loudly at you.  Naturally you fear that there is something horribly wrong.  So, you follow as he leads you to the almost-completely-full bowl and stare in wonder as he looks anxiously from the bowl to you and pointedly back to the bowl.  This act can grow tiresome after awhile.  But, we being the idiots that we are would encourage his act.

Ex-husband #2:  What’s that Petie?

Petie:   Meoooooowwwww!

Ex-Husband #2:  What are you trying to tell me?

Petie:  Meoooooowwww!

Ex-Husband #2: Come on boy, show me what’s wrong.

Petie:  Meoooooowwwww!  Meoooooowwwww!

Ex-Husband #2:  What’s that boy?  What are you trying to tell me?

Petie:  Meoooooowwwww!

Ex-Husband #2:  Oh no!  Timmy fell down the well?

Petie:  Meoowwwww!

Ex-Husband #2: And the mountain lion has him cornered?

Petie:  Meoooowwwww!!!!

Ex-Husband #2: Show me where boy, but first we better call the park rangers.

Me:  Stop encouraging him!

Petie’s flair for the dramatic began at an early age.  Once he managed to get a plastic grocery bag trapped around his waist.  Of course the rustle of the plastic frightened him.  So, he took off running.  At very high speed.  All around the house.  Over furniture and under beds and into walls.  The high speed chase only served to make the bag rustle even louder.  He was running as fast as he could and he could not get away from the evil plastic, rustling monster that was after him.  He looked like one of those drag racing cars with the parachute that comes out to slow them down.  I finally managed to corral him when I stopped laughing.  I was trying to sooth him and remove the offending bag and he was struggling to get far, far away.  It turns out the bag chase frightened him so much that he peed himself.  Thankfully the plastic bag/parachute was there to catch the mess.

Another time I was lying down for a nap on a quiet summer afternoon.  Every one was out of the house and I was going to take full advantage of the peace.  I was just drowsing off when I thought I heard a cat crying.  I dismissed it and tried to drift off but the cries got louder and kept coming.  I went to investigate.  We lived on the third floor of a building that had balconies overlooking a pond.  The downstairs stoner boys had left a kitten out on their patio the week before and I had had to rescue it.  It was crying for a long time and when I looked it had no water or food and it was a really hot day.  I was getting a little irritated because I figured the stoner losers had left their kitten out again and I would be forced to scale the balconies like Spider Man to the rescue.  But I looked over the railing and I couldn’t see any kitten.  The cries seemed to be coming from a little farther away than just one balcony down. But I couldn’t see any cat.   I went downstairs and outside to get a better look and discovered Petie sitting on the railing of the first floor patio meowing and looking pathetic and frightened. I almost had a heart attack.  The damned idiot cat had managed to fall off our third floor balcony.  I suppose a bug must have flown by and he followed it over the edge. I picked him up and brought him upstairs where I checked him out thoroughly to make sure he had not injured himself.  He was fine but shaken and wanted to be as far from the door as possible for the rest of the day.  He never went out on that balcony again as long as we lived there.

A couple of years later, after he had gone to live with Ex-Husband #2, I was acting as cat sitter.  Ex-Husband #2 traveled a lot for business so I would go and check up on the cats and feed them. Several of the cats were in the habit of hiding.  Sometimes they would not come out even when I was there due to various kitty-feuds.  I would go and make sure that I could locate any one that was not readily visible.  I knew most of the hiding spots and it was not too hard to locate them.  One day I came to check up on them as usual.  I did all of the feeding and litter box duties and then went to locate the hiding cats.  I found everyone except Petie.  I looked in all of his usual spots and no Petie.  I called his name and shook the box of treats – usually a sure-fire method of rounding him up – but still no Petie.  I was concerned but I had to get to work so I figured I would look for him the next time I was there.  I did call Ex-Husband #2 to let him know Petie was AWOL.  He assumed, as I did, that he had discovered some new spot in which to hide.  But, the next time I went, still no Petie.  I was getting concerned.  Ex-Husband #2 was due home the next day so I let him know that Petie was still AWOL and he assured me that he would find him.  The next day I get a phone call from Ex-Husband #2.  After several hours of searching, he had managed to find the cat.  He had heard a little meow and followed it until he figured out where it was coming from: behind the refrigerator.  Somehow Petie had managed to fall into the three-inch space between the refrigerator and the wall.  He had been unable to maneuver because of the tight quarters coupled with the position of the fridge between a counter and a wall.  I do not know how long he was stuck there.  I only went every couple of days to check on the cats so it could have been as much as six days.  He was a little dehydrated and freaked out but he was okay.  He still regards the refrigerator with a certain amount of suspicion.

This is a cat you have to have around if only for the entertainment value.

For the record I decided long ago that Petie did not need a “story” because he has so many real adventures of his own.  I do, however, think he bears a striking resemblance to Inspector Clouseau.  In my mind he is sort of bumbling, well-meaning detective with a flair for the clutzy.  He struggles to maintain his dignity in the whirlwind of chaos that follows him around.  He is slightly clueless but loveable none the less.

posted by: loosestring at 17:12 | link | comments |

Bonus Flower Post

New shots from the garden.

 
Blanket Flower


 The Tiger Lilies are in bloom!!!

 
Red Zinnia


Orange Gerbera Daisy

 
We found a dead butterfly. Gross but cool.

 
My little Buddha

 
Sweetheart Rose

posted by: loosestring at 22:32 | link | comments (3) |

Grounds For A Cavity Search

After clicking on the Internet Explorer button for the 78^th time this morning and having the same “cannot find server” error message come up you would think I would begin to catch on to the fact that the DSL is not working.  It has not been working for lo these three days.  But I am a creature of habit.  Much as smokers reach unconsciously for the cigarette I open the browser.  Hello, my name is Loose String and I am powerless over the Internet.

The good news is that I finished the Harry Potter.  It comes as no surprise that the ending is a little sad.  One of the major characters is killed.  I am a very emotional person and I cry during the sad parts of movies and books.  So, yesterday I was sitting at my desk and tearing up and hoping that no one would come to ask me for anything.  I really liked the book although like many people I am sorry to note that this is much less of a children’s book and much more adult than any of the previous books.  I suppose it was to be expected as the characters are maturing the themes naturally would.  I am already jonesing for the next one.  It is a sickness.  I may go back and read the rest of the books over again in time for the movie.

Next up on the Summer Reading List is “Assassination Vacation” by Sarah Vowell.  I am a very short way into the book and I already love it.  I think Sarah Vowell is very funny and she makes the most obscure subjects interesting.  The premise for this book – a visit to the sites dedicated to the memories of three assassinated presidents – is sort of odd.  I think it could be very boring in the wrong hands and yet I look forward to this book.  After only about ten pages, I would already give it two enthusiastic thumbs up.

My sister called me yesterday from her cell phone.  She was on her way to a nursery in her area and she was planning on buying me a very useful hand tool that she had made good use of this year.  She was really enthusiastic about it and wanted to get one for me but she wanted to make sure that I was not going to think it too weird to be receiving a gardening tool.

Me: No. That would be cool.  I am sure it is something I could use.

Sister #2:  It’s really neat and I have gotten a lot of use out of mine.  I have even used it when I was planting small shrubs instead of a shovel.

Me: Now, what is it again?

Sister #2: Sort of like a hoe but with a pointy head.

Me:  Okay, well it sounds like we might have to ship it home. I don’t think I will be able to get that through security on the plane.  They don’t even allow cuticle scissors.

Sister #2: Oh yeah, this definitely looks dangerous.  You could do some damage.  Maybe they would gate-check it for you.

Me:  Is this a hand tool?

Sister #2: Yes.  Like a short hoe with a pointy head.

Me:  Okay, I just did not want to be walking through the airport with a pitchfork in my hand like I just stepped out of American Gothic.

Sister #2: Not at all.  It is short.  It would fit in a suitcase.

Me:  Sounds like something they wouldn’t want you to have on a plane though.

Sister #2:  Yeah, it’s kind of scary.  Maybe you could bring it with you when you go to the craft store.

Me:  Oh God, yes, that’s what I need: a weapon.  Then I could brandish it and scream, “Back, back all of you freaks!  Let me buy in peace.”

Sister #2: This would definitely send them running.

Me:  Okay so, I’m thinking I should not try to bring this on a plane.

Sister #2: Maybe we could put it in a box.

Me:  I don’t think that would help because when they x-rayed it they would definitely wonder what it was. I don’t want a cavity search because I am trying to bring home a garden tool.  I think maybe we should just mail it.

Sister #2: Yeah. Probably so.

posted by: loosestring at 16:43 | link | comments |

Emily Dickinson Uses Our Litterbox

When I was married to Ex-Husband #2 we came to own five cats.  At one point it was six because we took temporary custody of my Mother’s unpleasant Himalayan for about a year and a half.  But the quota stayed at five cats for almost the entirety of our relationship.  Five seems excessive.  Just saying five cats sounds as though we should be living in the house at the end of the block with cat food cans all over the front porch and the pungent odor of cat urine wafting down the sidewalk to greet passers by.  But it really did not seem like a lot of cats at the time.

For the most part they each had their own hangouts – a little piece of territory they had staked out and claimed as their own.  The youngest of the cats – Emily – laid claim to anywhere that I happened to be.  She was very attached.

When we got her she was a little on the young side.  The guy assured me that she was eight weeks but she seemed more like six.  She developed a respiratory infection during the first week she was with us.  This required twice-daily dosages of antibiotic.  Anyone who has ever administered medication to an unwilling patient can attest to the wrestling involved.  I was fearful of crushing her because she was so very tiny and it became a battle of wills to get her to hold still for the meds.  The Vet had also recommended feeding her a supplement of baby food pureed meats.  This was meant to give her some bulk.  She loved the baby food.  Whenever she would hear the lid pop on the jar she would come running.  I hit upon the idea of following the medicine with the food that I spoon-fed to her.  We came to the point where I could tap the spoon on the side of the jar  and she appeared as if by magic.  She quickly got used to the medicine and would slurp it up in order to get to the treat.  She would then scarf down a couple of teaspoons of food and curl up in my lap for a good long nap.

I am kind of goofy about the animals.  I talk to them and give them goofy nicknames based on my current mood.  I am just this side of “crazy cat lady”.  I have whole stories about the lives of each of them that I have created for my amusement.  Depending upon my mood at the moment, the details of their life stories are subject to change.

Sometimes Emily was a young woman in love with the boy next door.  They became engaged.  He was called up to fight in the War and was killed in action.  Emily drew upon her inner strength during her time of grief and joined the Resistance.  She ran messages between headquarters and the operatives in the field.  She came close to being caught many times but she was charming and beautiful and managed to talk her way out of danger.  After many years of undercover work, Emily retired.  She was honored in a small ceremony that could only be attended by a select few.  Her skill and bravery could not be revealed even in retirement because she would become a target for retribution.  She came to live in a country home surrounded by gardens.  Every day she pruned and weeded and cultivated.  Every one in the nearby town believed her story of the time before she arrived.  Rumors abounded that she was a widow and her husband had been the great love of her life.  She could not bring herself to remain in the home they had made together and chose to live out the rest of her years alone.

Other times she is a retired librarian spinster lady who writes florid poetry with a quill pen.  She dresses quite primly and behaves quite properly.  She takes afternoon tea with her mother and enjoys quiet pastimes like needlework or reading.  She affects a slight European accent and is given to speaking in a subdued voice.  She is dainty and fastidious.  She crochets doilies for the arms of her furniture.  It would be impossible for any man to live up to her ideal.  She is content with the smaller niceties of clean linens and fresh air.  Despite her love of Nature she rarely ventures out of doors, preferring to learn about the world second hand.  She has precise habits and sets strict standards on her behavior.  Her bedtime and mealtimes are set in stone. Her circle of friends is limited to a small group of family and acquaintances.  She is overwhelmed in large groups and prefers an afternoon alone to the festivity of a party.  She lives her entire life looking in on the lives of others and living vicariously through their adventures.

That sounds crazy.  Just typing out the short synopsis of the stories makes it sound as though I have too much time on my hands.  I probably do.  But the truth is that I make up stories about everybody.  If I am in the airport or a doctor’s office waiting I watch the people around me and make up stories about them.  I am aware of doing this when I was as young as four.  If I cannot have the true story of someone I create one for my amusement.

posted by: loosestring at 20:51 | link | comments (5) |

You know, the quite-contrary thing, as usual

I am Internet-deprived at work this week until Thursday when my boss returns from his vacation and undoes whatever the hell he did to my computer.  I want to preface the following rant by saying that for the most part I like my job.  It is boring but I knew it was boring going into it.  I knew that there was very little actual work to be performed and that my primary function was to show up every day and do a little paperwork and answer the phones.  For this fairly minimal requirement I am compensated more than fairly.  My understanding was that my reward for performing said tasks with dependability and capability I was granted the permission to use the computer and the Internet for my entertainment.  (Oh yeah, and the paycheck)  I have always been able to surf the Internet and do whatever I needed to do online openly as long as my work was done. 

Every now and again my boss gets a bug up his butt about something.  Usually this something is only peripherally related to me.  On those occasions he makes alterations to the accessability of my computer.  I understand that he feels the need to limit the sites I can visit.  God knows we don't want to come in and find me surfing for kiddie porn or reading up on the Church of Scientology.  But I really don't go anywhere on the Internet that could be construed as controversial.  About as controversial as I get is Salon or the occasional political blog.  I suppose I should not complain but the fact is that my job is so simple that I require some entertainment to make the time pass.  I have come to depend on the Internet for that distraction.  I guess I will have to bring a book or some knitting to pass the next couple of days.

Boo hoo.  Poor me.  If this is not the most blatant case of a rampant sense of entitlement I do not know what else you would call it.  Okay yeah, I hear you, kids are starving in Africa, women are having their genitals mutilated in the Third World, bombs are exploding all over the place, we have idiots in the White House but damnit I have no Internet at work.

Okay.

I have to say that the new Coke One commercial is irritating the hell out of me.  For those of you who are not familiar they have taken the old "I'd like to teach the world to sing...." hippy-dippy commercial from the 70's and updated it to the 00's.  They have some weird guy that bothers me an inordinate amount sitting on an urban rooftop singing about teaching the world to "chill" and buying the world a coke to "chill with it awhile".  I am not a Coke customer.  I do not drink any Coke products.  I am firmly in the clutches of the Diet Pepsi cult.  But, if I were so inclined to think about trying this new Coke product, this commercial would nix the idea.  It is so smarmy and pseudo-hip and just creepy and wrong.  Part of the repulsion comes from the singer's resemblance to an unpleasant guy I used to know.  He was not a major character in my life, just a walk-on role, but he was creepy and smarmy and pseudo-hip.  Plus, I liked thold hippy-dippy, flower power Coke commercial.  The world was going to join hands, light candles, wear headbands and bell bottoms and we were all gonna get along.  I don't even want to know the people in this new commercial.

And a few more pictures to wrap up this very photographic weekend.  At least if I am going to subject you to my whining I treat you to something pretty to look at for distraction.

I am totally obsessed with these Chinese Lanterns.  My sister has assured me that they are invasive weeds and should not be encouraged but I like them.  I have a few plants that come up in one corner of the yard and if they spread I am going to be fine with it.





Another equally aggressive grower is this Cornflower.  I keep digging them up from where they have self-sown and moving them around or giving them away.  I really love the way they look so I am going to be happy and live with it.





And, last but not least, one of my favorites:  Morning Glory

 

One of my goals for this Summer was to shoot a lot of photos in my garden.  The hope was that my skills at this close-up outdoor photography would progress.  So far, I am pleased with the pictures I have managed to get.  I know I post a lot of photos here and that they seem to be mostly of my garden but I will be making a couple of field trips to non-garden locations so there should be some different photos.  Be forewarned that I am going to visit my sister in two weeks and her garden puts mine very much to shame.  I am hoping to get some good New Hampshire woodsy type shots while I am there as well.

posted by: loosestring at 00:50 | link | comments |

More pictures

This weekend was lazy and warm and everything a weekend in late July should be. 

On Saturday we threw an impromptu birthday party for Ex Husband #2.  I called to wish him a happy birthday thinking I would set up a dinner for later in the week.  Then I realized that he had no plans for the actual day.  So, we fried chicken and T got a really good cake from the local grocery store and we called it a party.  The entire rest of the day was occupied with reading of the new Harry Potter.  Progress has been slow due to constant interruptions.  I am enjoying it so far.

Today (Sunday) I went to the Chicago Botanic Gardens with my son.  We have been planning a trip so he could work on some close-up photography and when I found out it was going to be 100 degrees I decided it was a perfect plan.  The Gardens can tend to be crowded and crowds make me unhappy but I figured that most people would stay in and enjoy the air-conditioning.  I figured right.  There were hardly any people to be seen.  I actually kept thinking that the place was closed and we were going to be asked to leave.

This made for ideal photographic conditions.  We were able to take our time and take up lots of space.  Plus we never had anyone walking in front of the camera.  I thought it was a beautiful day.  It was hot as hell but we were carrying lots of water and we took breaks in the shady spots.  The best part is that I actually got to enjoy the Japanese Garden for the serene place that it is.

One of my favorite shots of the day is of the pool at the top of the Waterfall Garden:
                                                                


So, of course I have photos.  Here are some of the highlights.

    
Cockscomb                                                               Dahlia

       
Dahlia                                                                        Dahlia

    
Evening Primrose                                                   Clematis

       
Hydrangea                                                                 Hollyhock    

    
Mexican Sunflower                                                    Some sort of Lily

      
Pink Flowers                                                              Roses

    
Rose                                                                         Dahlia           

     
Dahlia                                                                              Dahlia

    
Rose                                                                         Some kind of lily

(Sorry for the sketchy deatils on some of these things, it was toward the end of the day and my memory was shot)

As you can tell, the Dahlias are some of my favorites.  There is a huge Rose Garden  as well.   No matter how often you go the gardens are always in a different state of growth.  They plant for interest all season long.  One of the things that I love is that they combine flowers and herbs and vegetables and really unusual mixtures of plants.  The have an extensive kitchen garden that is easily as beautiful and visually interesting as the Dahlias. 

My favorite of all of the gardens is the Japanese Garden.

                                                                      

                                                                         

I cannot recommend this place more highly.  It is a short trip from anywhere in Chicago.  The only charge is for parking ($12) and they have activities or you can just wander.  It is the perfect trip for a relaxing day.

posted by: loosestring at 01:39 | link | comments (2) |

Mistress Mary Quite Contrary

I have a backlog of garden photos.  These are recent.  The garden seems to have something new in bloom every day so I just wander around and look for something interesting.

     
Rose of Sharon                                                         Phlox

     
Zinnia                                                                        Pincushion Flower

     
Day Lily                                                                        Chinese Lantern

     
Hibiscus                                                                     Mallow

    
Petunia                                                                     Stargazer Lily

             
                Zinnias

    
Cornflower                                                               Black-eyed Susan

               
                  Coneflower w/ Bee
     
Delphinium                                                               Lobelia

     
Another Zinnia                                                         Another Stargazer Lily

That is the happy thought for the weekend.

posted by: loosestring at 01:29 | link | comments (1) |

Buy me some peanuts and cracker jacks

Last night we made our annual trek to US Cellular Field (formerly Comiskey Park) to see the White Sox play my beloved Red Sox.  This is the only way I am ever going to get to see the Red Sox play short of going to Boston.  I am always happy to see the Red Sox play but I am usually unhappy with the White Sox fans.  I have seen at least one group of drunken obnoxious fans removed by security for heckling the players at every game we have attended.  The stereotypical Southside, mullet-wearing fans are in great abundance.  I usually quietly cheer for the Red Sox and try to keep the peace.  I am not looking for a beat down administered by the lovely young ladies who manage to scream "Damon you f***ing suck" and never let the Marlboro Red fall from their lips.  They might have the advantage on me in the beating department.  I suspect they could do me great bodily harm without spilling a drop of their Old Style or having to adjust their tube tops.

Last night's game was a pleasant surprise.  We were seated amongst a large group of Red Sox fans.  They were all there on a package deal whereby they got to see Chicago and a couple of games.  It was fabulous. I was surrounded by a sea of Red Sox red.  I did not have to worry about cheering.  I could yell my lungs out.  I was quite happy.  The game was a good one also.  The score was close right up until the end.  I like the games that are not blow outs or have no action.

I meant to take my camera with me to get some pictures but I forgot.  I did have the camera phone which is serviceable but low-quality.  I liked that I could get pictures of the creepy fans in a fairly sureptitious manner though.  So, here for your enjoyment are my favorite fans of the evening.

This is drunk-cheering-guy.  He stood and led the cheers for the crowd.

     

My favorite fan of the evening was the one we called "Bad Naked".

     

I am somewhat bothered by the low quality of these photos but that may serve as a protection for you.  I can assure you that it was not pretty.

All-in-all it was a good night.  The Red Sox won.  The fans near me were friendly.  I did not personally witness one incident of violence.   That is about the highest expectation I have for a White Sox game.

Tomorrow we will have lovely pictures of flowers.

posted by: loosestring at 12:18 | link | comments |

A return to brooding and obsessing

When ever I am cranky and uncomfortable in my skin I am usually bewildered by the feeling for a couple of days.  I know that I am over-reacting and lashing out.  Saying things that I want to take back the minute they leave my lips. Failing to take pleasure in the life that I have.  Failing to appreciate the people around me.  But I am usually not sure of the source of my discomfort.  I am somewhat dim-witted that way.  Usually before I am at the point of complete mental meltdown a light comes on in my little brain and I start to see what the source of my discomfort is.  I take comfort in the fact that these insights come a little faster these days - usually days instead of months or years.

So: the current feelings of anger and general crabbitude.  As I have mentioned previously in far too much detail, I have been cleaning and sorting.  There were boxes and boxes of junk and memories and things I need and things I don't need.  I felt as though the only way to do this properly was to go through absolutely everything.  Old letters, pictures, bills, etc.  I needed to make decisions about what I needed to keep either for the sentimental value or for the actual important-document value.  In sorting I came across a stack of letters from my Father.  For those of you who have been reading this for awhile you are aware that he recently passed away.  For those of you who have not - he recently passed away from cancer.  I had been somewhat estranged from him in that he lived in another state and we did not see each other or talk to each other very frequently.  I guess that qualifies as estranged.

There were a lot of unresolved feelings and miscommunications that stood between us for the last years of his life.  I am glad that I put the resentment and hurt aside and went to see him before he died.  I am glad that he had the opportunity to see my son.  To talk to him and make a memory with him.  I am unhappy that it took something as momentous as impending death to make that happen. 

So, the letters.  Many of them are filled with news of the weather and the garden and the completely common news of the day.  There are a couple that are not.  As follows:

Undated but based on content I am going to guess Fall of 1995:

"The ***** family was never much on showing emotion and so it is sometimes hard for me to understand that most people need an occasional boost from their loved ones openly showing how they feel.  I love you and have always done so since I first held you at the Key West hospital those many years ago.

As a parent you never want to interfere when you are not wanted so I stayed silent when I should have helped more.  In my life as in all lives there are things we regret and this shall be one of the greatest regrets in failing you.  But somehow, sometime I will learn to forgive myself for this and other regrets.  If I have learned anything over the years it is the necessity for self- forgiveness.  Those who love you will always forgive and forget and you must learn to do this also.  Life is too short and too precious to waste time in regrets.

I know that over the years you seem to have gotten the impression that I wasn’t proud of you.  I regret that you came to feel that way.  I was always so very proud of you.  Like I drove myself I occasionally drove you wanting you to succeed where I had failed.  We do have enough in common for me to appreciate the feeling of failure that comes over us when we have not lived up to what we expect.

I have no idea if anything in this letter will help you.  Just remember that we are always behind you and love you.  Please tell us what we might do to help. Make peace with yourself and those around you."

December 1999

"I am pleased that you are learning to deal with our sometimes not so pleasant relationship.  Mainly I’m pleased for you.  I had a similar situation with your Grandmother and I really felt better about many things when I chose to forgive and forget.  The one constant that you can always be sure of: I will always love you and be proud that you are my daughter."

I am angry that I thought that these words were unspoken.  I am angry that I had them right there under my nose for all of these years and forgot about them.  I am sure that he felt that we had clarified this stuff and did not understand the continued distance.  I am angry that I chose to hold onto all of the crap memories instead of letting it go.  I am angry that these words that I know were so very hard for him were not enough for me.

So, I am putting these words here so that if I ever forget them someone can direct me to them. 

posted by: loosestring at 10:57 | link | comments |

Make it so

I have now been at work for slightly more than one hour.  From the looks of things this is going to be one of those days.  Lucky, lucky me.  Actually, the problem seems to be more tied to my pissy attitude and lack of tolerance for idiots.  I should have called in grumpy.  But, my Midwestern work ethic handed down from my steel-worker-Grandpa and my farmer-Grandpa makes it damned near impossible for me to do so.  I think it is a curse.  The only circumstances under which I will call in are uncontrolled vomiting or severed limbs.  I will say though that I went to work when I was pregnant and morning-sick.  I had to excuse myself to go vomit in the washroom frequently but I was present.

Oh, that bodes well for this entry.  I have begun with tales of vomit.  Hopefully we can include feces, snot and farts in the remainder of the entry.  I do love a literary challenge of this sort.

I have just read the news that Scotty from Star Trek died.  In honor of his passing I will share a Star Trek story with you all.

I was never a fan of the old Star Trek show.  It just seemed too dry and a little bit hokey for my taste.  I remember knowing people that were into it but I don't remember ever watching it at home.  Maybe for a laugh on occasion but we were not die hard fans.

Husband #2 was a huge science fiction fan and loved all things Star Trek.  When we first began dating Star Trek: The Next Generation was in it's early days and it was easily one of his favorite programs.  He would not miss an episode and usually planned around the showings.  He taped every episode.  I was slowly worn down over time until I became fairly tolerant of the show.   I started to know the characters and could follow the story lines from episode to episode.  It was not at the top of my list of favorites but I could watch with an open mind.  I even made all of Husband #2's friends jealous when I got him a book that summarized the plots of every episode of the first five seasons.  It had all of the details and trivia about each episode.  Enough to make a geek's heart go all aflutter.

Several years later, they released the first Star Trek: The Next Generation movie called Star Trek: Generations.  It featured cast from the old Star Trek and the new Star Trek. At last Captain Kirk was going to be working alongside Captain Picard.  All over the geek world hearts rejoiced.

When the movie was released I accompanied Husband #2 to a showing at our local theater.  I was okay with action/adventure movies by this point in the relationship.  I had developed a tolerance for them.  So, I felt as though I could safely view this movie with out too much mental anguish.  We made our way into the theater through the throngs of festive Trekkies.  There was a palpable excitement in the air.  The crowd resembled the steroetypical Trek fan gathering.  I noted very few women in the huddled groups that were excitedly discussing the possibilites of plot and character interaction in the great cinematic feature upon which we were all about to feast.  I was not alarmed.  I had already noted that most rabid Trekkies are men.  I am used to these men.  The geeks are my people.   I think there were some envious looks directed toward Husband #2.  He may have been the only man there with a woman who was not a blood relative.  He may also have been the only man there who might have a chance of acting out a Trek fantasy later that evening with a real live girl. 

"Counselor Troi, I need you in my office immediately!" 

"Yes, Captain PIcard, right away you big, sexy, balding hunk of man."

Anyway, we made our way to our seats and were happy to find fairly decent ones still available.  We sat down and prepared ourselves for the Trek experience.  All around us, there was a hum of voices.  Debate was raging over the merits of the previous Trek movies.  There were discussions of the qualifications and leadership abilities of Picard vs. Kirk.  It was a carnival but the freaks were in the audience.  The lights went down and the audience clapped.  This was followed by a quick reverent hush as we prepared for cinematic greatness.

The movie began in typical Trek fashion.  There is a stand off underway between a Klingon Bird of Prey warship and The Enterprise.  There are tense negotiations taking place between the ships.  Neither side wishes to concede defeat.  The Enterprise is getting pummeled but the Klingons are holding up pretty well.  There is some elaborate plot device whereby the Klingons are tricked into lowering their shields for a brief  moment whereupon the Enterprise blows them to bits.  (For a more accurate explanation of the ruse I advise watching the movie - I cannot remember everything people)  There is a loud and spectacular Hollywood-style explosion.  From the row behind us we hear, "You know, if it was truly happening in space there would be no sound."  I turn to Husband #2 and smirk and we both get the giggles.  This is going to be entertaining on so many levels.

Things proceed fairly normally.  There is minimal comment from the Aerospace Engineers in the row behind us until a bit later in the movie.  There comes a scene in which The Enterprise must be crash landed and the Warp Core (or something nuclear that makes the ship go very very fast) has to be ejected because it is overloaded and going to blow up and kill everyone on board.  There is another spectacular, Hollywood-style scene in which the saucer portion of the ship crashes and skids along the surface of a planet.  The crew is thrown about willy nilly.  But eventually the ship comes to a stop and they are safe.  Stranded but safe.  They begin to pick themselves up and dust themselves off.  From behind us we hear, "In the event of a crash landing of that magnitude the crew would have been unable to control the trajectory of the ship with such precision.  The momentum of a ship that size would be unbelievable."  Again I smirk at Husband #2 and we are fighting to supress our laughter.

The rest of the movie goes pretty much according to formula.  There is conflict.  There is drama.  There is near death.  There is fighting.  There is over-acting.  The good guys prevail.   The end.  The audience applauds.  (What is this clapping in movies all about?) I consider myself lucky that the movie was relatively short and silently note the relationship points I have amassed for sitting through this movie.  We make our way to the door and I decide I have to visit the bathroom before we leave.  The area around the bathroom in the actual theater is crowded and I need to get far, far away from this crowd so we go to the washrooms in the main part of the mall.  As we are leaving those facilities I note a crowd of Trekkies standing around discussing the movie.  In passing I hear, "The crash was pretty cool.  You know, the separating saucer was only theoretical until star date 2536...." 

We silently join hands and run to our car where we burst into laughter that continues for the entire ride home.

posted by: loosestring at 12:08 | link | comments |

Fortune Cookie

This morning, on my drive in to work, I was enjoying a Pop Tart and some Diet Pepsi for breakfast when I was over come by the urge to sneeze.  I tried to swallow and hold in the sneeze but, alas, it was impossible.  So, I sneezed partially-chewed Pop Tart all over the steering wheel and dashboard of my car.

I did not turn my car around and go back home to bed for the day as was my first impulse.  I chose to proceed with the hopeful belief that this is not an omen of things to come today.

posted by: loosestring at 09:50 | link | comments |

You've gone all sad so I feel sad too

By popular request,  I present for your entertainment, another excursion into the poetic stylings of a young Loose String:

Two Birds of Paradise

When I felt as though I could trust no more
You touched me with your true understanding
Your heart was with me although on different shore
Guiding my emotions to safe landing

Far too many false friends had come and gone
Friendships never bearing the test of time
Unfaithful blue jays flown hither and yon
Seasons spent without rhythm or rhyme

My emotions raced without heeding truth:
“Calm yourself and put things in perspective”
These words of wisdom you spoke from your youth,
“Of your trust become more protective”

Through these sorrows you shone, the truth I sought
A bird of paradise, tainted by naught

There is no date on this but I suspect it is from 1984.  I know it was written for my sister.  We were both big fans of  the Pretenders and this is the title of a song on their second album.  I guess I could not leave well enough alone.  I love the "hither and yon" and "tainted by naught".  I was channeling my inner 18th Century poet.  The background on this would probably have something to do with the fact that one of my best friends from high school had chosen a guy over our friendship.  He actually gave her a "me or her" ultimatum and she chose him.  I always hated girls that did that kind of thing.  Or the ones who were all buddies and pals until a guy came along and then you had to be worked in around the guy's schedule.  In the long run it did not matter.  I got over it.  I think it is always a good thing to have some idea of the boundaries and limits of your friendships.  Again, I was dramatic and wounded and nursing the hurt.  I was very good at that in those days.

At the bottom of the page there is a quote:

Forgive, O Lord, my little jokes on Thee
And I’ll forgive Thy great big one on me
            -Robert Frost

I don't have a clue why it is there.  I am sure it was written on the nearest thing at hand and has no bearing on this great work of literature.  Although, maybe I just meant for it to keep it company.

As always, feel free to mock.

posted by: loosestring at 00:37 | link | comments (4) |

Breaking up is hard to do

Dear Nicolas Cage:

It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you that my infatuation with you has come to an end.  I think if we were honest we would admit that we have both seen this coming for some time now.  The final straw was my weekend viewing of "National Treasure".  The fact that I waited to see this movie on DVD rental rather than shelling out the money to see it in the theatre is the most telling sign of all.  While this was not the most horrible movie in which you have ever appeared , it was most disappointing.  I am sorry to say that I now realize we have very different goals in life and they are not a negotiable matter.  We may, however, remain friends.

I first fell in love with you - as did  many women my age - when I saw you in Valley Girl.  You were misunderstood and quirky and genuine.  That girl was a fool to jerk you around.  If I was given the chance I would love you in a way she never could.  I would appreciate you.  You continued to show your deeper more sensitive side in Birdy.  That movie only fanned the flames of my love.  You were slightly brooding but filled with wounded sensitivity that was oh so very appealing.

You followed this up with a quirky performance in Peggy Sue Got Married. Some people - lesser fans - were put of by your self-concious vocal affectations but I knew you were searching for a way to make this cartoonish character more real to the audience.  You were a true actor and you would put everything into making your portrayals three-dimensional.  You followed this with the unforgettable Raising Arizona.  I knew this was truly who you were.  You were a principled, independent actor not afraid of taking a chance. Even the character from Moonstruck was tortured and romantic and yet touched with a certain humor and nuance that shone through clearly.

There was very little to see of you for another couple of years.  Then there was the lovely David Lynch film Wild At Heart.  Truly Sailor Ripley was based on your experiences.  You loved deeply, madly.  You were a refugee from the traditional movie roles.  You were looking for a challenge.  You were so good you made the dreadful Laura Dern seem good.

I eagerly awaited your next movie.  I faithfully attended all of them as they were released.  With the exception of the rollickingly funny Honeymoon In Vegas, you were unable to find a vehicle that truly showcased your talents.  I was so very happy to see you, but you deserved so much more than what you were doing.  Oh sure, every movie had it's moments, but none of them shone with the fire of Birdy.

Then there was Leaving Las Vegas.  I felt every wrenching moment of that movie in the pit of my stomach.  I was so happy to see you finally return to the thing you do best.  I loved every moment of that dark, twisted movie.  You followed this up with three action/adventure movies in a row: The Rock, Con Air and Face/Off.  I understood.  You needed to pay the bills.  You needed to gain some box office power so that you could choose the roles that you took.  Maybe even get some things made that might not otherwise get done.  Plus these were movies filled with great actors.  Many of my favorites like Steve Buscemi, John Cusack, Sean Connery, Ed Harris, John Malkovich, John Travolta.

You proved my theory with your appearance in City of Angels.  I know some people think it is a pale comparison to the original, but I loved it.  You were so haunted and lovely.  That classical, Roman face of yours was full of longing.  Lucky, lucky Meg Ryan.

The next several years saw the release of a string of so-so movies.  Snake Eyes, 8mm, Gone In Sixty Seconds, The Family Man, Captain Correlli's Mandolin and Windtalkers.  None horrible and most quite watchable. But none smoked with the depth of emotion of which I know you are capable.  None of them showed any risk or innovation with the happy exception of Bringing Out the Dead.  There was a truly interesting character at work here.  I was hopeful that this was a direction you would continue to explore.

During this time you made another grievous error.  You divorced the lovely Patricia Arquette and began dating Lisa Marie Presley.  Shortly thereafter you married Ms. Presley.  She is all kinds of crazy and I was concerned for you.  Couldn't you see that anyone disturbed enough to marry Michael Jackson was not a good choice? There is not enough cool in the Elvis connection to ever completely rid her of the Michael Jackson stench.  How could you?

Unfortunately, I would have to wait until Adaptation for you to impress me again.  This was a return to the quirky, unsophisticated, loveable characters that you do so well.  You were the leading man with none of the glamour.  I saw glimpses of true genius here.  My hopes were high once again.

You followed this up with Matchstick Men.  A not wholly unenjoyable movie this was another subdued character.  One filled with nuance but still lacking in the fullness of which I have grown so fond.  I thought you were taking a rest.  Taking it a little easy.  Adaptation must have been draining.

This brings us to the dreck that is National Treasure.  The story was plodding.  The characters were so flat that they could have been stick figures drawn in a flip book by a six-year-old child.  I expect you to misstep.  I expect you to fail on occasion.  But better to fail at something truly different and challenging than to just phone in another role as the conquering hero.  Please leave something for Bruce Willis and Tom Cruise.  You are b