OK....I'm starting to "Get" it

I spent several hours poking around Twitter today, posting a few times, and reading more.  

I found some people to follow, checked to see if certain celebrities were there, changed my background colors.....it's starting to make sense to me.

I'm not 100% sure I'll use it much, until I get a SMART(er)  phone.....for now, it's just updates from the Mac at home and the PC at work.

Let me know when you're on it, so I can follow YOU!  

Double Happiness!

I've cracked a lot of eggs in my life.....and that's not a metaphor for anything but cooking.

NEVER have I found a double yolk.  But in one dozen organic eggs from the PCC, I have so far found TWO of them!

I've done a little resarch into the significance of this.  Most things I've read say it means good luck and good fortune.    There are some other sites that have darker predictions but I'm not even going to think about them.

So, good luck and good fortune it is!  

Young Mother Sewing

It's been a while since I posted a painting by my favorite Impressionist, Mary Cassatt.  She painted this one in 1900, and I just love the wise look on the child's face, as if she is upset the artist has interrupted the moment, and would rather study her mother's needlework than pose for a painting.

Mary Cassatt was a genius at setting a mood.   

I feel more peaceful just looking at her work.

HUGE Change is Coming

I don't mean to scare anybody, but often in my life, periods of change or stresse are forecast and marked by tornado dreams.

   Frequently, the size of the tornado and the outcome of the dream mirror the change and the end result of the situation.

I had the mother of all tornado dreams last night.

In fact, my mother was in the dream.  This is her first appearance in one of these dreams.  

Small puppies (including Dudley) and my sister Anne were also in the dream.

We were in a very nice little house (not mine) and I heard reports about a tornado coming.  I looked out the back window and saw, at a distance, storm clouds and an ENORMOUS tornado coming.

I remember looking around the house, trying to find a place to hunker down, to be safe, but I couldn't remember which corner of the house to be in to ride out the storm.  

It seemed to take a long time to get to the house, and the puppies and I left the place we were trying to be safe, to find another place.

I remember going outside, with my sister, and looking at the tornado, and praying out loud for the tornado to "move to the right".   And, all of a sudden, it DID!

There were train tracks beside the house, and the tornado seemed to follow the path of the tracks.  The noise and destruction were HUGE.

Anne and I got carried along in its' wake for awhile.  It was FUN!  It seemed as if I was being swept along at the speed of a jet about to climb into the sky, but with no walls......no seat.  

I wondered for a while how I would land.  Would I smash into something, would I be tossed and dropped haphazardly?  Turns out I wasn't.  I was gently placed down, as was Anne.

I don't remember seeing my mother.  Dudley was there though, and he was pretty happy.

Then I went into the house, which was messed up, but not destroyed by the destruction, and went about with my life.

Lots to think about here, but some big shift is coming.   And, it looks like I'll be OK, if I'm connected to God, and ask for what I want.

After Toast and Coffee...

All is right with the world.

Bring it on!

Good Day. And Good Bye.

There may not be much relevance in the blogosphere for a broadcaster like Paul Harvey.  He spent his mornings going through newspapers, reading his script from actual pieces of paper, collaborating with his colleagues in personal and telephone conversations.

And yet, there was no one more relevant.  

Paul Harvey understood the importance of telling a story, in a way that personalized it and turned his 15  minute daily broadcast, and his "The Rest of the Story" feature into the most significant information you could hear.  It was because he was committed to his story.  

Whether he was re-telling an anecdote from the life of Abraham Lincoln as President, or Abraham Wasserman in Upstate new York, it became a tale of the most interesting and remarkable human being you ever heard about.  

Paul Harvey understood how to use his voice.  Tone, pacing, word choice and ..............   the pause, were all perfected when he took the microphone.  And nobody understood the element of surprise more completely.  We knew we wouldn't know the subject of his "The Rest of the Story" feature until the very end.  And we were riveted to the radio.

Even as I became more moderate and then more liberal in my ideals, and he seemed to become more conservative, his storytelling was still compelling.  

Even as I disagreed with portions of his patriotism, I wholeheartedly supported his right to his story choice and commentary.

"Paul Harvey's News and Commentary" represented 15 minutes every day, where an increasingly older audience paused.  Many workers were known to take a smoke break, a coffee break or their lunch break alone, in their cars, so they could turn on the AM radio and listen to what he had to say every day.

And when his local broadcasts were moved from KOMO to KVI, I understood the reasoning, but silently mourned the loss of his daily contribution.  

And nobody could sell a Bose radio better.   ABC said last year that Paul Harvey made up 10-percent of its' network revenue stream.  

I selected the photo above because Paul Harvey's beloved wife Angel died last year at the age of 92.

Yesterday, when he passed, at the age of 90, he was once again reunited with his mate, professional collaborator and best friend.

And God is about to get an earful.

Good Day.

Hello, Central? Give Me The President!

I was leaving work the other day and saw Eric Johnson excitedly talking into two phones in two different places.

Now THAT's a news man!  

(He seemed a little upset that I took his photo.   Now I guess he'll be REALLY upset!)

BAD BOY!!!

This is what greeted me when I arrived home tonight.

I still have a headache.

Garden Show Glory

I spent a few hours at the Seattle Flower and Garden Show over the weekend, and made several contacts regarding a new fence for the front of my house. I was surprised how few fence building companies were in attendance, and how many crappy craft show venders showed up.

 They must have been selling the stalls pretty cheap if that many tacky venders were there.

Anyway, the garden exhibits were lovely, as always:

The theme this year was "Sustainable Gardens", and the country garden above, and the Indonesian garden below used green techniques (although I couldn't tell what they were) to showcase their glory.

I was especially impressed by the one that included a vertical wall of grass. Pretty amazing. They told me the grass is grown horizontally for about 4 months, then it can live on its' own vertically, attached to a wall.

The only thing I purchased was a wall hanging with 32 real butterflies, arranged on a piece of glass to look as if they were soaring upward.  It was covered with another piece of glass and framed in light-colored wood.   

It looks very nice in my dining room.

 

Just Another Night Out

I thought Anne and I were just going out for Greek food at Yanni's Restaurant on Greenwood Avenue North.

Then, THIS happened. It got pretty crazy for a while, but it was all in good fun.

After the dance the dancer changed into her regular clothes.  She wore the black matronly dress and sensible shoes of a Greek grandmother.  You'd never believe she was the same woman.   

And didn't Anne look cute in her headdress?  The dancer accosted her with it earlier in the show. 

Oscar Night Preview

I always look forward to the Oscars. It's my Superbowl, you know? And i try to see every film nominated for Best Picture.
This year, I was successful, seeing Slumdog Millionaire, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, Milk, The Reader, and my favorite, Frost/Nixon.

In case you missed any of them, here's a unique recap:

Oh Happy Day!

The Kid is coming home, and I couldn't be happier!!!

Ken Griffey Junior made his decision to play for Seattle once again, although I understand he had a difficult time choosing between being close to home in Orlando or playing someplace where he is regarded as a hero and a franchise player.

Seattle needs a year of Ken Griffey Junior.  Seattle sports teams need a little shot in the arm and the return of "The Kid"   Seattle needs a pleasant distraction from tales of woe about jobs and houses.  Baseball fans here need something to believe in again.   

I saw Ken Griffey Junior hit his first home run at his first at bat, on the first pitch thrown when he played his first minor league game for the Bellingham Mariners against the Everett Giants one summer night long ago.

I was there when Ken Griffey Junior hit his first home run at his first at bat, on the first pitch thrown when he played his first major league game as a Seattle Mariner.

I was there when Ken Griffey Senior played his first game as a Seattle Mariner alongside his son at the Kingdome and they had back-to-back hits.  I covered the game for the Voice of America.

I want to be there when Ken Griffey Junior makes a triumphant return, this time at Safeco Field, the stadium built for his left-handed hitting.   And I want to enjoy every minute.

WHERE IS MY BLOG?????

I logged in a few minutes ago and it's GONE!   I'm hopeful this is a technical glitch and will be repaired shortly. 

Abbey Update

This was Abbey last night.  

Her huge smile was the best Valentine's Day gift I could imagine.

She hasn't looked this happy in a very long time.

The Lion King

There's a lot to say about the stage production of "The Lion King", but let's face it, the musical was about the staging.

I attended the opening night performance last night at The Paramount Theater in Seattle, and came away, like the rest of the crowd, dazzled at the staging.

The performances, primarily the dancing, were wonderful.  Beautiful bodies frozen in space and time in unbelievably sinuous tableau.  Classic Japanese Kabuki theater mixed with African music, Indonesian puppetry, even a little ragtime thrown in for good measure.   A few memorable songs, and some great acting kept things moving.

All that was great.  But for me, it was all about the staging.

And these simple costumes were my favorites.  Cast members dressed with square high-grass headdresses, and stripped hoop skirts, portraying the undulating grasslands of the African plains.  They were so beautiful. 

All the staging was phenomenal.  Curtains pulled back at an angle to highlight the angle of a rock where a lion was reclining.  

Every scene was a work of art.  

Much has been written about the animal costumes.  And they were wonderful.  There were incredible giraffes, the elephants were engineering marvels as was the "wheel-o-the-gazelles", a multi-wheeled contraption rolled on stage with leaping gazelles to give the image of  far-away herds.  

I also especially liked the birds.  sometimes they were waved high atop  poles, swooping over the crowd.  Other times, they spun in pairs around a single pole.  And sometimes they were in puppet form, complete with moving eyes, mouth and a very expressive neck.

But the representation of the plains was, to me, the most ingenious part.  What production designer collaborated to turn the land itself into a star of the show?  

That part will stay with me.  

On the Mend...I Hope.

Abbey looks like she's picking up KXLY in Spokane with her satellite dish.  

But, it's the "Buster Collar", designed to keep her from digging at her stitches.  She's pretty miserable right now, some 20 hours out of surgery.

And I hope she will heal.  The vet says the mass she removed from Abbey's colon was not firm, like a benign tumor.  Instead, it was kind of gelatinous and filled with bumpy cyst-like things.

That leads the vet to think it may be malignant.

And here is my dilemma.  Do I pay the $200 for the pathology to find out, or do I let it be?  I told them yesterday that I wasn't ready to know.  I don't want to think of Abbey as a dog with cancer. I want to think of her as my girl, who is getting better.

If I found out it was malignant, there would be so many things to weigh.  She is 13 years old.  How will prolonging her suffering help her?  I might keep her around longer, but will SHE be happy?

If I do nothing, and it doesn't grow back, then we go on as usual, and we both feel better that she is more comfortable now.

If I do nothing and it DOES grow back, then I can decide at that time what to do.

Is it selfish of me to not want to know?  Is it a disservice to Abbey?  Is it a disservice to myself?

Or, am I content in my ignorance as she heals from her surgery?

And therein lies my conundrum.  

Why I Take So Long to Upgrade ANYTHING

....ALERT: There's LOTS of swearing involved. If you have sensitive ears, please don't watch.

The Curious Case of Robert Redford

I saw "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" this afternoon. It's my goal on my vacation to see all the films nominated for Best Picture at the Academy Awards.

Two down, Three to go.

While I enjoyed Benjamin Button, I thought the story was a little flat to get the golden statue.

And, I couldn't get this out of my mind. When he was made up as an older man, Brad Pitt was the striking image of Robert Redford now.

Here's an example:


Which looks surprisingly like this:



Frost-Nixon starts in about 30 minutes, so I'd better go. Wonder if Frank Langella will remind me of anyone?
:)

Livin' the Life!

My vacation has just started, and I'll be mostly staying at home, and, as it turns out, dealing with Abbey's surgery and care.

But for one night, and one night only, I'm taking advantage of the "Mental Health Mondays" special at Willow's Lodge in Woodinville.

They're owned by the same people who own Alderbrook on the Hood Canal.  I seriously considered going there, but this deal was too good to pass up.

For $169, you get an overnight stay in a premium room complete with fireplace, giant bathtub,, huge-screen TV over the fireplace, late check-out, Continental breakfast (I'm having mine as room service) and 15% off spa services (massage and facial, here I come!)

And...special treatment for DOGS!!!

I was going to bring both of the dogs, but Abbey is in pretty bad shape, awaiting surgery this week.  So, it's just Dudley and me, and he's loving his super-soft dog beds, complimentary cookies, free copy of "City Dog" magazine, convenient dog walking path outside our patio door, beautiful dog bowls, and visits from Ruthie Ann, the house Basset hound-beagle mix who lives in the lobby. 

But let's be serious. Dudley is spending most of his time HERE:

Back to Normal

Meet my new Black & Decker coffee maker.  Mine is much more simple, with only one button to turn it on and off.

What more do I need?  

And at $29.99 it was a real value on Amazon.com.

I have rejoined the world.

19 MILLION DOLLARS

This is Degas' famous sculpture, "Petite danseuse de quatorze ans'' or "Little 14-year-old dancer'' .

You may be familiar with it. Degas was fascinated with images of ballet. He painted dancers, sculpted dancers, was obsessed with them.

This particular sculpture is one of his most famous works. It's been at the Muse d'Orsay in Paris for years.

And today, it was sold.

Sotheby's held an auction of Impressionist and Modern works (I am particlularly enchanted by a Marc Chegall painting--pastel, goat, violins, etherial...) in NYC today.

The high bidder was from Japan.

The Little 14 Year Old Dancer is going to be making quite a significant jump.

Art. Is. For. Sale.

Six More Weeks

Love that little pesky groundhog.  

Sure enough, he turns away from the sun and sees his shadow, and is frightened by it.  So he goes back into that warm, dark lil' hole of his and refuses to come out again until it warms up.  

What if he just turned into the light and saw the glory that was before him instead of being afraid of a little shadow?  

Would he realize at that point that when one is facing shadows they need only shift their focus  to shift their perspective?

I took the above photo yesterday, trying to get the profile of a crow perched on the branch, with his beak poised to munch the railing off the Space Needle.

Sure enough, the little crow flew off the instant I hit the shutter.  

So I shift, and instead see the great photo of the Space Needle through naked branches.  This photo won't be available to me in 6 weeks or so.  

I relish in the now.

And he was hauling WHAT???

This guy was parked outside the Grecian Corner restaurant at Fisher Plaza around noon today.  (thus the urn)

I don't know what to make of it!  

Do you?

Coffee Ingenuity

It all started after I got home from work Monday night.  

Abbey was eating her supper, with her back to the dishwasher door.   I needed to open that door to pull out the cookie sheet from the dishwasher, so that I could roast the head of cauliflower I cut up for dinner.  I was too impatient to wait for Abbey to finish, and she does NOT like to be asked to move when she is eating.

So, I did the logical thing.  I opened the door of the dishwasher, letting it rest on Abbey's back.  (she was heavily engrossed in her kernels and didn't seem to mind).  Since the big cookie sheet was wedged on the side of the dishwasher, I had to slide the rack up a bit, to pull it out.

And that's when it all went terribly wrong.

As that rack angled up the door, I heard one of my big stoneware dinner plates rolling downhill.  The next sound I heard was "SMASH....tinkle tinkle tinkle.."  

The dish had rolled right into the coffee maker carafe, smashing it to bits.

RATS!

After picking out all the tiny shards of glass from the dishwasher, I rinsed off the cookie sheet and continued roasting my cauliflower.

I then went on-line to see if I could find a replacement DeLonghi carafe.  No such luck.  The one that broke is the 2nd one I've had.  Anne found it at a Goodwill store for $5.  Bless her.  How would I tell her what happened to it?

So, I ordered a whole new coffee maker from Amazon.  I know.  A little extreme.  But, I'm from SEATTLE.   Got free shipping too!  But it won't be here until February 2nd.

I can wait until then!  What's a few cups of tea between friends?

And then,  Tuesday morning came around.

No coffee.  The hot tea I substituted only upset my stomach.  I was useless until I got a grande double mocha around 11:00.

But I know myself. I couldn't buy my coffee late in the day.  I need it EARLY.

So, I decided today would be different, so I devised the home-drip system in the photo above.

A glass beer stein substituted for the coffee maker carafe.  The tea kettle heated the water.  The filter from the coffee maker was balanced in the beer stein.  Coffee was ground.  Hot water was poured in the filter as I held it over the stein.  And it S-L-O-W-L-Y dripped into the stein. 

I poured the brew into my coffee cup, added my skim milk (sorry Travis) and Splenda and...MORNING COFFEE!

You know what, it was pretty good!  

Fear of Decorating

I'm not sure if the title of this blog clearly states my point today, but I think it all boils down to my profound fear of decorating!  

Some people have a gene that allows them to shift their environment, I think.  But I don't think I was born with that one.  I think I was born with the one that sets things up when they move into a place, and keeps it that way. 

 I also have a tough time envisioning window treatments, stuff on the walls, little knick-knacks on the tables and other decorative touches.

I think it stems from a fear of getting it wrong.  My friend Terry LOVES to paint.  And she loves trying new colors on the walls.  If she doesn't like it, she just paints over it.  And feels no remorse.

Not me, baby.  I can make mistakes on the air, and just move on.  If I mispronounce a word, I can shrug it off.  But God forbid if I paint something wrong on the wall, or make a bad decorating decision.  There's NO undo for me.  I live with it.  It's like I'm punishing myself or something!

So, I need to repaint the doors inside my house where my dog Dudley has scratched little lines.  That's just about every door.  But they're all WHITE.  But my paint is a different shade of WHITE.  How the heck do you match WHITE?  There's like 45 different shades!

You see my problem.

My OTHER Heroes

There's a point in life when you get just as big a thrill living the high points of other's lives, as you do your own.

This posting is about just such an experience.

The two people in the photo are Sheryl and Jeremy Grater. Jeremy and I are colleagues at work, and I've had the extreme pleasure of getting to know his beautful wife as well.

The photo was taken at the Youth Ball, celebrating Barak Obama's Inauguration last night.

And what I admire most about these guys is the way they got there, their hope, determination and sheer energy. It took so much for them to be there and they deserved every minute!

Jeremy and Sheryl knew they had to be at the Inauguration from the beginning. They got to D.C. by way of NYC, and since they couldn't find a hotel room, they ended up renting an RV in Virginia, and driving around to Maryland, where they found a space at a campground.

Jeremy used every contact he could think of and finally scored tickets to the Inauguration AND the Youth Ball. But even if they hadn't been lucky, they were going to go anyway.

They took public transportation to many places, walked when they couldn't find any, and stood in a crushing crowd to watch Mr. Obama take the oath of office.

It's history, and I get to live it vicariously through these beautiful souls.

And now, so do YOU!

A Day for the Ages

So much pride.  So many times today my heart soared as I watched and listened to the events this Inaugural Day 2009.  

I woke at 4:00 this morning, had the radio on KUOW, which was running nonstop live coverage of the pre-inaugural events.  I moved to the TV around 5:30, and tuned around for constant coverage.

Such pride.  Not only for Barak Obama.  My heart also swelled as Congresswoman Nancy Pelosi and Senator Diane Feinstein led President-elect Obama through the halls of the Capital to the dais where he would be inaugurated.  Two women leading an African American man.  20 years ago, even the thought of this would be impossible.

I was surprised at the somber tone of the Inaugural Address.   It seemed as if President Obama was saying "OK, America, stop this hero-worship thing.  We've got WORK to do".  There was no sugar-coating or false hopes.  There was reality laced with respect.

I especially appreciated it as he offered a hand to those in the Muslim world and urged them to unclench their fist.  It was a very poignant moment.

There are many observations, but since this blog is entitled "Dancing Again", I have one last thought.

Somebody has to give this guy dancing lessons.   Those slow dances with First Lady Michelle Obama were kind of embarrassing.  They verged on "awkward white guy" at times.

'Nuf said.  

Now let's get down to business and HEAL this country.

Incredibly Delicious

The dish pictured above is called "Palek Paneer".  

I have to admit it's one of the most unattractive foods I've ever seen, but I ate it last night at a dinner party and it was INCREDIBLE!!!

The dinner party was hosted by my sister's friend Arijit, a man she met while studying Ethno-Musicology at the University of Washington.  He is a master in Indian Drupat singing, which is ancient Indian classical music.  And he invited Anne, and some other good friends at the UW over for a dinner of homemade Indian cuisine.  I was lucky enough to be invited to tag along.

I've been exposed to Indian food several times, always in restaurants, and usually involving one or two dishes at a time.  Usually it's been a chicken or vegetable dish looking pretty Western, or at least familiar to my eyes.

Last night, almost nothing was familiar, and it was all spectacular.  Palek Paneer is a spinach-based sauce prepared with onions, ghee (clarified butter), cumin, onions and other spices, pureed in a food processor.  The white chunks are Paneer, a mild, slightly firm cheese.  

Wow.  I had seconds.  It was amazing.

Other dishes were a rice dish made with golden raisins and vegetables, "Sour Fish Curry", which had chunks of a white fish in a wonderful sauce, some turkey meatballs which looked very nice,  homemade vegetable samosas, which are a mashed potato fritter kind of thing, and the most wonderful homemade chai.

Arijit and his mother were wonderful hosts, and there was a lot of laughter last night.

Milk, please!

Just can't do it.  

I'm out of milk.

I'm not awake.

How do people drink black coffee??

The grocery store isn't open yet.

Need.  Milk.  Now.

help......

My Sister and Barry Manilow

This is a story I'm hoping my sister Anne blogs about at some point, but I wanted to share my memories on my blog, just in case she never gets around to it.

The photo above is of Anne in 1978, the year she was invited and flown to New York City, put up in the St. Regis Hotel and attended a "welcome home to NY" party for Barry Manilow.  A year later, that photo made it into our High School yearbook.   She (and my Father as chaperone) were given limos everywhere they wanted to go, and were treated like real celebrities.   

Anne became a big Barry Manilow fan about the time his 3rd album came out.  That's the one with "I Write the Songs", "Copacabana" and "Tryin' to Get the Feeling Again" (my favorite).

I'm not sure when the letter writing began, but she eventually wrote many, many letters, always in red envelopes, and would send them to his record label.  She wasn't pouring out her love for him, but was, instead, providing insightful critiques of his music, from her teenaged perspective.   She was also sharing moments of her life.  In fact, she hated the word "fan" and wanted nothing to do with fan clubs or activities.

Eventually, he started writing back.  They were hand-written, usually about a page long, and were very nice.   They were encouraging and thankful, and helped Anne, I'm sure, get through those angst-filled teenage years.

The record company started sending Anne all of Barry's albums for free.  Also, we were given free concert tickets whenever Barry was performing near or in Harrisburg.  We even got to go backstage to meet him afterwards.

Once, when he performed at the Hersheypark Arena, Anne got herself in with the Lebanon Valley College Choir, which was performing "One Voice" and "It's A Miracle" with Barry.  (They recruited a college choir from each city to perform these songs).  When Barry walked on stage to rehearse with the choir, he reportedly said "OK, Where's Anne?" before the rehearsal began. 

During the Three-Mile-Island Nuclear Accident in 1979, Barry sent a telegram to our house, asking if everything was OK, and if he could do anything.  (we lived within the 10-mile radius of the plant).

He sent her flowers that were presented during our high-school graduation, much to Anne's embarrassment and chagrin.  She would have much rather been given these in private, instead of pulled up to the stage with all the students receiving academic awards.  The card read: "Looks Like You Made It".  

Anyway, I was looking through Google Images, and came across a couple of photos from that big party all those years ago in New York City.  They are below:

This is of Barry and Ron Dante, one of his favorite lyricists.  

And this one must have been shot through the limo window as he was arriving or departing the party.  The woman is "Reparata", one of the members of "Lady Flash", his back-up group at the time.  One of the members, Deborah Byrd, is now the featured vocal coach on "American Idol".

The last time I met Barry was with Anne after a concert around 1990, I think.  We actually bought the tickets, since she hadn't heard from him in years.

He was performing at the Opera House.  I told Anne to bring a letter to him in a red envelope. We got the letter in the hands of his personal assistant, who searched the crowd for us after the show, and brought us backstage to chat with Barry. 

It was a nice reunion, but I must say, each time I met him, I was kind of tongue-tied.   Anne had no such problem.

Hope it's OK that I shared this, Anne.  There's much more to tell here, and I hope you do it sometime.  It's a great story.