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Annie is peculiar. At any other given moment during the day she is fur in motion, but at night, Annie becomes hypnotized by the Doggie in the Skylight. Seriously, she sees her reflection in the glass and stares, sometimes for up to an hour. Occasionally, she will growl or move around to see if the other dog is real, and then soon sits and stares some more.
I often drive White Oak Rd. between the Hwy 105 By-Pass and Laurel Fork Rd just to shake up my routine and also because this crooked little farm makes for a good memory.
You see, long ago when I worked at the newspaper I passed by this homestead and out front bloomed hundreds of the most striking tulips all backlit against the spring sky. I pulled over and intended to grab a couple of shots but noticed an old man sitting on the front porch staring at me with a big smile on his face. I asked if he minded if I took some photos. He didn't care, in fact, he got all jabber jawed and shared many tales with me that afternoon. When I was ready to leave, I thanked him for letting me stop and told him how much I appreciated his flowers.
He grinned and said," I never really thought much about them myself until this year. I've decided I really love them now."
That's when I asked him if I could make his photo with the flowers. Without hesitating he reached into his pocket for a knife, stooped down and cut several stalks, and posed himself with the tulips held over his heart. It was my favorite image of the bunch and was published.
The next day when the photo came out in the newspaper, one of the gentleman's neighbor called to give me a little backstory:
You see, the gentleman's wife loved the tulips but each year the couple bickered over what kind of flowers should be planted in the front beds. The husband's complaint was that the tulips required more maintenance than shrubs and besides, he grew weary of fighting the pine vols which constantly damaged the bulbs. Still, year in and year out, his wife won the perennial argument.
Her account of the man and his tulips was the polar opposite to the behavior and attitude in which I had observed so I had to ask her if we were talking about the same fellow.
Indeed it was, she explained and then shared, "That's why I am calling you. His wife passed away only a month ago. She did not get to see her flowers bloom this year."
This scene always makes me remember the story of how this man came to love his wife's tulips. It is love story...
And along that same vein, my husband and I drove home from Raleigh this weekend listening to Outlaw Country on the satellite radio when "In Spite of Ourselves," a duet by John Prine and Iris DeMent, played. We laughed at the lyrics and decided it was going to be the new song to describe our marriage. We'll never let each other go...in spite of ourselves.
Note: Don't click on link if you are easily offended and/or play this at work with the volumn turned way up. There are a few sketchy phrases.
It is cold and blustery. Again. I could not conjure a February image blue enough to go with this post but I did summon the energy to rise a bit earlier and catch the sun poke through snow studded clouds.
I'm thinking this month should move along on the coattails of the cruel winter winds which ushered it in a couple of weeks ago..
And It's not just me. One co-worker occasionally bursts out in song: "All the leaves are brown and the sky is bluish gray. February winter. I wish it'd go away."
Enough whining. Especially now that I remembered next Tuesday is Mardi Gras so there is a good reason for the month of February afterall. I called Stickboy and they're selling the traditional King Cakes for $12.99.
King Cakes and medallions for all!
Last week Diane Sawyer pretended to be one of us as she bravely donned a pair of skinny jeans, plastered her hair in a ponytail and tiptoed her Jimmy Choos into the poverty stricken hills of Appalachia. The documentary was nothing but a sorry parade of hillbilly cliches questioning why anyone would live in this region. The complete lack of balance in the footage remains stuck in my crawl. I may not have much power to counter Ms. Sawyer's irresponsible reporting but I will point you in the direction of sites which prove this region is filled with something more than toothless meth addicts.
Marie's handful of links asking " Why would you live any where but Appalachia?" :
**Update**
So here ya go. Help is on it's way. I'm delighted the Kentucky football kid gets another chance.
I'm keeping my mouth closed because my momma said I needed to be more discreet. And yes, she is right.
On our way home from a walk at Valle Crucis park, Annie and I followed this fox up our road. At first, I thought it might be a lost dog, but it took only a few moments for me to realize it was a wild animal. Annie wasn't as quick. Her window was down and her tail wagged up until the time the fox made a sort of hhhrrggrag noise. That's when Annie got vocal and the fox headed for the hills. I wish this composition was somewhat better, but wild animals don't follow direction so well, especially with Annie voicing her opinion on the matter.
It was dusk and using the Canon 5D I was pushing the iso to 1000 and find the digital noise horrible.
Passing the window on my way to the coffee pot seemed to set the tone for my day. A fog in the Valle usually is a sign of any season except winter. My north facing view means I didn't see the rising moon, but I'll trade that for the pastel pink sky which fades into the fog laden Blue Ridge. I stepped outside to take this image, overstepping the ever curious Annie who was excited to think I was there to play. And I heard a turkey gobble in a nearby hollow.
At work I heard a few birds sing over the din of the copier. In lieu of Spin class, I opted for a 4 mile run/walk around the Boone Loop. I wasn't the only person poking my head out, testing the waking waters. Running around Boone on a near Spring day has a special feel. At first I noticed the Rainbow clad students leaving class with a cell phone dangling from their left ear. I climbed up Church Hill and chuckled at the dude with a "Coexist" bumper sticker on his Jeep Cherokee give the finger to an errant pedestrian. Hippie Hill was cluttered with flamingo pink plastic lawn chairs. My favorite loiterers gathered on the sidewalk near the Mayor's office and several of them high-fived me as I ran by. It was a small town thaw and buddy, I'll take it.
P.S. A special shout out to Kathy who reads my blog and has a 10 week old Golden
Here is but a few of the hundreds of images I have taken over the last several days. Despite ridiculous wind chills, the latest snow was picture perfect and ripe with marketing brochure possibilities.
Each morning I woke up, put on long johns then added several more layers of clothing to protect myself from the elements. When I entered the office I was greeted by student interns who were less enthusiastic than me about venturing outdoors to learn to capture such moments.
"I left my camera at home," one kid whined.
"I stayed up late last night and don't feel good," was the excuse of another.
My response to them was to ask the question:
"How badly do you desire to be a working photographer? Or are you content being a wanna be?"
Ahhh, I enjoy teachable moments. As I explained to them: Possessing a $2,000 camera and all the photo knowledge in the world, doesn't make a memorable moments alone.
Great photos rarely come knockin' on the doorstep....You must seek them.
This one among the first batch of photos I took today at approximately 8 a.m. on my way to work. A snow day this perfect comes but once or twice a winter. The only way it might have been better would have been if it was 30 degrees instead of 4 and with much less of a breeze. A testament to my day is seen (and felt) on my blistered red face tonight. No complaints though because my boss and I killed a ton of our winter do-list today. Tomorrow is suppose to be much warmer and with bluer skies and if'n that is the case, you won't hear from me until late again in the evening. My philosophy is to shoot now and blog later. The sweet light suffers no photo fools.
And those tracks in the snow aren't mind or any human's...
On the home front:
I babysat for Pookie tonight! Though it was a long, physical day at work, I managed to care for the delightful 18 month old. She was the one who entertained me...and, "The wheels on the bus," still go round and round, ad infinitum. I couldn't find her parent's cd music in the nursery so I sat in the rocker and sung her to sleep with the off-key version of "All the Fishies are swimming in the water." She didn't quite like the position I initially had her in, but after a few grunts, we adjusted to the way her mom holds her and within a minute or two, she was fast asleep.
And, I love the Pooks, even if she spread banana slime all over my iPhone...
BTW, I think I am already asleep as I post this...
I feel bad because the other day I wrote a post about how frustrated I had become with Annie.
On Saturday she had wandered two miles away into roadkill country. She had chewed the ends off one of my rockers and had gnawed through the lattice of my expensive deck davenport. It did not help my mood that I also cleaned up a month's worth of her poop from the front lawn.
She's a big girl.
And I often forget that at just a year old, she is a mere pup.
But yesterday morning I did something rare for me. I deleted that post.
I woke up feeling horrible. It was like I was complaining about an infant cutting teeth or not coming out of the womb potty trained. I suppose her size confuses me and I tend to expect way too much from her. And that is not fair.
Fortunately, Annie doesn't pay me and my moodiness any mind. Later, when I got over my little problem, Annie and I had a swell time together. Though she still slurps turkey doo like little Tootsie Rolls treasures, I've learned to chill.
"No licking me," I insist.
Still, I marvel on our hikes how she has become proficient in mole hunting. And I am thrilled at her willingness to chase a Kong and tennis ball for almost as long as I can throw one. Her favorite toy is a squeaky stuffed animal. She will not stop until the toy is gutted and the noise is shushed. It is her mission. But know this: Annie is a thief. My husband will not leave the door to his pick-up truck open since he became wise to her ways of helping herself to his tools. She is nosy, too. Anything carried in arms is subject to her approval. She insists on jumping up and smelling, biting, investigating. And fair warning: Keep your mouth closed. She likes to french kiss. She is a goober.
But she is my goober and after a long day at work there is nothing better than to come home, open the car door, and receive a hug by the dog I call Happiness.
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