Nora: The Sequel - Better than the original!

From U-Tube - A really talented cat!

"Features all-new footage and more duets. Better than the original! This is not a trick taught to Nora. She began sitting at the piano at about one-year-old. She's almost four now. She plays only when the mood strikes her, which is usually several times a day for short periods. ......"

Museum by dumpr.net

Autumn in Tennessee

Setting up Variations

Setting up

Framing and set up for Oct 1 Show

Should've called this show "Chaos!"

New Show - Variations

Barbara and I have a show going up on October 1st - to October 30. Have been painting and painting and painting. Am on the last two and have changed from oil to acrylic, since oil won't have time now to get really dry.

Then have to get them in frames and take them to the gallery.

We call the show "Variations" and it's a good thing. Not only do Barbara and I paint different sorts of things, but my own part of it is varied this time. As soon as we get it set up and hung, I will post some pictures. Most of mine are abstract and all are oil or acrylic. No watercolor this time.

Edvard Munch

The Scream

I was surprised to learn that this famous painting was painted on ordinary cardboard and that is one reason it is so fragile. Even so, it has survived being stolen and eventually recovered. There are several versions of this painting.

Twisted German Cast On

This is the cast-on used for "Six-Socks" last sock - The Handsome Devil. I'm still working on it and havent started the current one (Autumn Lace). I Like the Handsome Devil pattern. It goes really quickly. (I got a late start) -- and can't work on it very much now, as I working on paintings for a show.

Maybe a Cicada?

He doesn't look exactly like the images I have found, but pretty close, and there are a lot of variations. (A friend emailed me and gave me this clue!)

Can you tell me this guy's name?

He's not very pretty. Definitely not a June bug. A little bigger, I think. He posed for several pictures and then took off almost straight up into the trees.

Look what they've done to our street!

This was once a natural woodsy area. When we bought houses here, on this one block long street, we were told that nothing would ever be built in the woodsy area at the end because of the sheer drop-off of the land. Then along came a developer who has packed in truckload after truckload of logs and dirt, tearing down all the trees there were there. They'll be putting in more than sixty condominiums in that space. The area will be gated but this street will be their only access out -- so there goes our quiet street.

The Art of Racing in the Rain, a novel

This is a good book - by Garth Stein. Especially good right now. It is about a dog. And his family. And the book is written as if by the dog -- Enzo. That may sound corny, but it really isn't. I'm so glad to have found the book and to share the thoughts of Enzo - a remarkable lab.

It was MacTavish who taught me that dogs really do think, and often work hard to get their thoughts across. And all without being able to voice words. However, that does NOT mean they do not understand words.

Enzo learned a lot from TV, while his family was away at work. He'd seen a documentary about Mongolia that explained a clear truth to him: that "when a dog is finished living his lifetimes as a dog, his next incarnation will be as a man." Enzo loved this idea.

There is a lot about racing in this book because Enzo's owner is a race car driver. Something I knew almost nothing about before I read this book -- There is a lot about child custody -- and a lot about life and love and death and hope.

The Art of Racing in the Rain Video Book Trailer

Enzo

Mystery Mushrooms? Toadstools?

Best crop of toadstools ever!

Went to the Catfish House tonight

From the top - Melissa and Austin - David and Lisa - Carol holding Samson

Farewell MacTavish

MacTavish Pugs

Oct. 31, 1993 - June 30, 2008

14 years, 8 months

Pug o' my Heart

Such a shaky photo! My fault. MacTavish doesn't feel well at all. We've been to the vet three times this week. He's not snapping out of it so far. He just won't eat anything.

Saturday, June 21 - MacTavish is in the hospital.
I took him back to the vet yesterday afternoon, and they said to leave him for the weekend. After some tests, the vet called me and said MacT is in liver failure. They are giving fluids and medicines and vitamins with IV. When I talked to the vet this morning (Dr. Crowe) he said MacT looks "pretty rough" -- not better, but not worse. He hopes to get him eating again, but can't promise, of course. We will just have to see how he does. and see how he is on Monday.
The vet said that this MAY not be the end. MacT is almost 15 years old.

Wednesday, June 25 - MacTavish came home Monday afternoon but he is still not eating. He did want to come home though and he was very glad to see me.
But he will not eat and will not take the medicine. Tried to bite me, and then grabbed the liquid med applicator and threw it out of my hand -- across the room, actually. I've tried again and again. I wrap him in a towel to try to get a firmer grip on him, but it doesn't work. Dr. Crowe says to bring him in tomorrow morning and he will inject the meds.

I don't know how long he can go without eating. It's been about 2 weeks already. He does drink water. He urinates less often though and it is really bright orange. He kept wanting to go out but then he would do nothing. Dr. C says he might have from one day to three months . . . but only if he begins to eat again.

Last night I had a serious talk with MacT. I told him that if he didn't start eating he would have to go back to the hospital. He got right up, looking a bit alarmed, and walked to his food bowl, and stood -- staring down at it for the longest time -- but then turned away and wouldn't touch it.

He rests and sleeps a lot, preferably right by (or on) my feet.

Dr. C said MacT has a lot of turmoil going on inside him now. It's not going to be a question of getting better at this point. Just of "keeping him comfortable," he said.


Friday, June 27, 2008 - MacTavish came home for two days - Tuesday and Wednesday. Took him in Thursday morning for a shot since he hadn't eaten at all and I couldn't get the medicine down him. Dr. Crowe wanted to keep him for the day -- to hydrate him and force feed him and give shots of penicillin, vitamins and cortizone. His blood work numbers are worse.

When I went to get him, MacT looked worn out. The force-feeding had not worked even when experts tried it. He just seemed so very tired. Had trouble stading up til he got on the rug, and then he just followed me from room to room. I kept offering food (of various kinds) and he wouldn't touch it, but would drink water. I tried soup, but he stuck with water. Dr. Crowe says he probably has just a few days and has asked me to call in every morning and let him know how MacT is doing.

Saturday, June 28 - Aunt Nancy stopped by. She came in holding a milkshake from Arby's. Said she'd been there for lunch and liked their milkshakes so much that she drove back and bought another one - for MacTavish.

MacTavish has always greeted her with much joy. He used to run and get a toy and bring it to her. He couldn't do that today but he did get up and wag his tail a bit. He really wanted to let her know he was glad she had come. We poured some of the shake into a saucer and he did taste it. Just a very little, but he did taste it. He was really trying.

Sunday, June 29
This morning he voided something that looked like black motor oil. He feels worse today.

Monday, June 30, 2008. -- I didn't think MacTavish would make it through the night. but he did. I called Dr. Crowe who agreed that it is now time to let MacT go. He had such a hard time last night. Dr. C thinks it is liver cancer. His breathing is very difficult now.

I'd asked how long this might go on, since all night, every breath seemed to be his last. The vet said it could go on several more days.

It's just really hard. But last night I could see that it will be best for MacTavish. I'm to take him in at 2 p.m. because it is likely to be not as crowded then and they will take us right into a room.
It is such a sad thing. It's just very very sad. He couldn't stand up last night. He has gotten up this morning and tried to drink water but immediately threw it up.

3 p.m. Dr. Crowe was very considerate. He had Susan hold MacTavish's head and had me stand and talk to Mactavish while he gave the shot -- and then offered to give me time with him. Then he wrapped him in his towel and took him away.

He's been a dear little friend. He never thought of himself as a dog. He didn't even like other dogs.

It's going to take some time now. It was the right thing to do, best for him, and best for me too since I could not ease his struggle. But it will take time now for me to know that he is gone. to stop hearing him. I'm not going to discard his bed and things just now. I will wait a little while.
He's been part of my life for nearly 15 years - a steady part. Reliable in his presence, his habits, and curiosities. How he loved certain routines and would remind me if I forgot them. But how he gave them all up as unimportant in the last 3 weeks -- just too sick to think of such things.

Thinking of the last three weeks is important in turning my loss now into his liberation.

Newest Turtle

My newest turtle -- created by my Granddaughter Magda. She is a wizard with a crochet hook! Actually, this one is a hand puppet -- that's why you can't see the tail. The colors are gorgeous and he has wonderful texture.

I'm so happy that she was willing to part with him! A Gift for my birthday!

The Ringwood Socks So Far

The socks are growing slowly. Now past the heel.

Poem - The Source by Mark Doty

Just looked at the Poem of the Week Blog and they have posted The Blessing, a poem by James Wright. It reminded me of a favorite one by Mark Doty. But now The Blessing is going on my list, too as a top favorite. Here is The Source:

Source - by Mark Doty

I'd been traveling all day, driving north
—smaller and smaller roads, clapboard houses
startled awake by the new green around them—

when I saw three horses in a fenced field
by the narrow highway's edge: white horses,

two uniformly snowy, the other speckled
as though he'd been rolling in flakes of rust.
They were of graduated sizes—small, medium,

large—and two stood to watch while the smallest
waded up to his knees in a shallow pond,

tossing his head and taking
—it seemed unmistakable—
delight in the cool water

around his hooves and ankles.
I kept on driving, I went into town

to visit the bookstores and the coffee bar
and looked at the new novels
and the volumes of poetry, but all the time

it was horses I was thinking of,
and when I drove back to find them,

the three companions left off
whatever it was they were playing at
and came nearer the wire fence—

I'd pulled over onto the grassy shoulder
of the highway—to see what I'd brought them.

Experience is an intact fruit,
core and flesh and rind of it; once cut open,
entered, it can't be the same, can it?

Though that is the dream of the poem:
as if we could look out

through that moment's blushed skin.
They wandered toward the fence.

The tallest turned toward me;

I was moved by the verticality of her face,
elongated reach from the tips of her ears

down to white eyelids and lashes,
the pink articulation
of nostrils, wind stirring the strands

of her mane a little to frame the gaze
in which she fixed me. She was the bold one;

the others stood at a slight distance
while she held me in her attention.
Put your tongue to the green-flecked peel

of it, reader, and taste it
from the inside: would you believe me
if I said that beneath them a clear channel

ran from the three horses to the place
they'd come from, the cool womb

of nothing, cave at the heart
of the world, deep and resilient and firmly set
at the core of things? Not emptiness,

not negation, but a generous, cold nothing:
the breathing space out of which new shoots

are propelled to the grazing mouths,
out of which the horses themselves are tendered
into the new light. The poem wants the impossible;

the poem wants a name for the kind nothing
at the core of time, out of which the foals

come tumbling: curled, fetal, dreaming,
and into which the old crumple, fetlock
and skull breaking like waves of foaming milk....

Cold, bracing nothing that mothers forth
mud and mint, hoof and clover, root hair

and horsehair and the accordion bones
of the rust-spotted little one unfolding itself

into the afternoon. You too: you flare

and fall back into the necessary
open space. What could be better than that?

It was the beginning of May,
the black earth nearly steaming,
and a scatter of petals decked the mud

like pearls, everything warm with setting out,
and you could see beneath their hooves
the path they'd traveled up, the horse road

on which they trot into the world, eager for pleasure
and sunlight, and down which they descend,

in good time, into the source of spring.

Originally published in The Gettysburg Review 13.3 (Autumn 2000). Copyright © 2000 by The Gettysburg Review. All rights reserved. Online Source

http://www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/poets/a_f/doty/onlinepoems.htm

Poem by James Wright - The Blessing

The Blessing

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.

Two socks on two circulars

Yarn: "Essential" from Knit-Picks - color: Ash

Needles: 2 size 1 circulars - 24"

Pattern: Ringwood Pattern from Nancy Bush's Knitting Vintage Socks

Another lost piano poem (Justice)

This is the poem that caused me to begin collecting piano poems in the first place -- and then I couldn't find it again. I couldn't remember the name of it! --- Imagine!

I'll copy it here so it won't get lost again. It's by Donald Justice, and is called:

VARIATIONS FOR TWO PIANOS
(For Thomas Higgins, pianist)

There is no music now in all Arkansas.
Higgins is gone, taking both his pianos.

Movers dismantled the instruments, away
Sped the vans. The first detour untuned the strings.

There is no music now in all Arkansas.

Up Main Street, past the cold shopfronts of Conway,
the brash, self important brick of the college,

Higgins is gone, taking both his pianos.

Warm evenings, the windows open, he would play
Something of Mozart's for his pupils, the birds.

There is no music now in all Arkansas.

How shall the mockingbird mend her trill, the jay
His eccentric attack, lacking a teacher?

Higgins is gone, taking both his pianos.
There is no music now in all Arkansas.

-- by Donald Justice

Bio from Wikipedia:
Donald Justice (born in Miami, Florida, August 12, 1925 - died in Iowa City, Iowa, August 6, 2004) was an American poet and teacher of writing. He graduated from the University of Miami and went on to teach for many years at Iowa Writers' Workshop, the nation's first graduate program in creative writing. Some of his students there included Mark Strand, Charles Wright, Will Schmitz and Jorie Graham. He also taught at Syracuse University, the University of California at Irvine, Princeton University, the University of Virginia, and the University of Florida in Gainesville.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donald_Justice

Knitting Group Baby Shower

California Girl and Opry Mills

My sweet daughter came to visit this month and we had a wonderful time. We shopped at Opry Mills (and almost got lost in the place but this nice fellow gave us directions.

Went to a luncheon the next day, and the next to my knitting group's luncheon and baby shower for Sarah.

The next day, we met Aunt Nan, Carol and Melissa at Cracker Barrel for an early lunch and shopped again at the mall here -- (which seemed tiny after Opry Mills.) When we got home, I was ready to take a NAP, but CG decided to clean out a closet (BIG project) Then we watched a Netflix movie (Georgia Rules) and the next day she had to fly away again.

What a good visit. She is fun to be with.