Don't look

When did the crack of someone's ass, male or female, become a fashion statement? Weren't plumbers the butt (sorry) of a joke when they bent over and displayed the butt-crack? I volunteer at a wonderful museum in LA and I adore meeting our visitors from all parts of the world but I'm noticing a disturbing trend. Not only Americans are putting their "hineys" on display, the whole wide world seems to think this is appropriate.

Butts in the appropriate place are fine but "tushy" cleavage when you're tipping the scales at 200, male or female, is not. Wrong, very very wrong.

Ok, Indiana had some beauty after all

Everything has one redeeming quality and it seems Indiana has flowers. They have birds, too but I still have not seen a cardinal in the wild. For gods sakes, it's their state bird and I never saw one single red feather.

I have to admit there were some highlights to the Indiana trip. We did get to see some lovely flowers but I can't believe I didn't take any photos of the lilacs. They grew like weeds on the side of the road. I photographed this bromeliad at the White River Gardens in Indianapolis. It has tiny flowers growing in the center. Inside the conservatory they also had butterflies. I think sister Weed has a great photo of a huge butterfly, couldn't tell you the name but it was impressive.



We found tulips in Ft Wayne at Foster Park but we barely caught them. One more day or so and they'd be gone. The park is beautifully maintained and had a walkway lined with lilacs.

This is the about the only dogwood in bloom. The farther south we headed the less we saw. It was raining the last afternoon in Indy so we missed seeing the gardens at the Museum of Art. The highlight of IMA was seeing a piece by Bill Viola. He was a Getty Scholar a few years back with a great exhibit so that was a happy surprise.

Just so you know

We've had a house full of guests this past weekend and Sunday morning darling husband asks, "Who brought the Australian Coffee?" No one answered. "Yeah, there's a container in the kitchen marked 'coffee mate'." We threw him outside. Just thought you'd like to know what I live with.

You can never have too much serial

If anyone is interested in the food part of our Indiana trip you can read and eat the serial on Peanut Butter Étouffee.

I'm way to small to care about anything

This is from Cute Overload. Little bird talks about this site once in a while so I thought I'd have a look at some of their photos. Prepare yourself if you visit the site there are so many "awwwwws" that it will take you an hour.

Second hand Rose

There are lots of benefits of second hand furniture, clothes, or even relationships but second hand smoke, it's a killer. I learned about this first hand with my visit to Indiana. First let me say I'm sure everyone smokes in that state, they don't stay in school--three out of ten students don't finish high school--but they somehow learned to smoke. They smoke in every public place and I won't even deal with the private ones because those are populated with my relatives.

Listen, I've heard every rebuttal to second hand smoke and until I experienced it on a personal basis, I didn't really care. But this made me sick, really sick, doctor visit sick so now I'm mad.

I couldn't care less if the smoker gets cancer, that's their decision but if you work in a bar or restaurant that allows smoking and you need your job then you should have a right to a smoke-free environment. If you are a child that can't speak up for themselves then you need smarter parents and a smoke-free environment. If you are a friend or relative you need real friends and relatives that are aware of the poison they are spewing.

So you want to smoke? Go ahead, lock yourself in a little room and smoke until everything in it turns brown with the nicotine including you lungs but stay the hell away from me.

Whew, that made, me feel almost as good as the antibiotics I've had to take to clear up this second hand smoke infection.

A sweet and sour Mother's Day

While in Indiana we lost another part of our extended family, our dear little woman Grandma Sue. The memorial service was on Saturday and darling husband, little bird with husband, and myself attended. I'm still sick from my trip and felt I was contaminating the whole of Southern California but the relationship with this part of our extended family would not let me miss the service though I passed on the after gathering.

Sue was a sweet little Scottish-Canadian woman with a smile much bigger than her actual body. It was very reassuring to have so many people stand up and say a few words at the service. She had many friends and a loving family and she will not be forgotten.

Having a mother prepares you for life and loosing yours prepares you for what's after. We lost our own mother Lorna in '02. I'll add Sue to my list of angels.

Mother's Day

Little bird came back home after the gathering and spent the night getting up the next morning to make the "healing" Mother's Day brunch. I awoke to sausages, biscuits, and eggs and potatoes being cooked in my kitchen and loved every bite. They even cleaned the kitchen but I made a mental note to check the whereabouts of my iron skillet when she left later that day. It was my mom's skillet--more than forty-years-old--and is seasoned to perfection. I promised she wouldn't have to wait until I die just until I can't cook anymore.

So, a belated Happy Mother's Day to all and blessing on all our mothers no matter where they are.

Home again, home again ...

I miss odd things when I travel. I missed by darling husband, but he's not odd. I miss my pillow and my bed, though we had a lovely room in Edinburgh, Indiana one night, what I miss is the taste of my water. Silly, I know, but I do. When you're traveling all you get is bottled or their local water. Our's isn't spring water collected by the artesian elves nor is it particularly soft, it's just what I'm accustomed to after 33 years.

So Weed and I had a good time and in the weeks to come I'll have some photos up. We were lucky to be there for the last of the tulips and dogwood. The photo is from Foster Park in Ft. Wayne, Indiana.

Back home again in Indiana

Tuesday sister Weed and I are heading for Indiana. Not that we are big Indiana fans but the beloved aunt and uncle live there and we are making our annual trip. Both of us were born there but left mid-century to grow up in the Los Angeles area, thanks mom and dad good decision.

We'd planned this trip early in the year and now it's here I'm starting to get excited. We did have some bad news on Wednesday. Our beloved uncle passed away. Shocking, yes, in a way but he'd been in a state of fragile health for a while so not unexpected but it is always shocking. This doesn't change the trip because we will be with our aunt and it will be sad to miss Uncle Dave. Fine man he was and a snappy dresser even in his later years; he will be missed by family and friends.

Beloved aunt wanted to see the dogwoods in bloom in southern Indiana which is where her family originally lived. Our mother was born in Pee Wee Valley, Kentucky but that is another post. We located the family cemetery last year and promised to bring her back in the spring. It's not as morbid as it sounds, there is just so much family history in the cemetery it compels you to return and learn more. I'm not sure she has the same desire now that her love of fifty plus years is gone but we'll see. I'd be glad to honor any of her wishes.

Daughter calls our home state, Klan-diana and after our mother's funeral refused to ever cross the border again. It is more white-bread than I'd ever care for and without the beloved Aunt I'm sure we'd never make the trek either. They seem to be holding on to Plessy v. Ferguson with fervor.

Geographically it's not an ugly state, if you like farmland, but there is an undercurrent of something about to happen. Last year we toured a good deal of the state by car and noticed so many small towns boarded up. Sad, but with family farms being a thing of the past and no jobs, what are young people supposed to do; leaving is the only answer. Not unlike many other areas they need some industry or maybe if they found oil. Now there's a scary thought, Rumsfeld steaming into Terre Haute.

So Weed and I will head back to our Indiana home, though neither of us claim it, and I'm sure we'll have a good visit with darling aunt but then we take are fun with us.

If you feel like singing,

Back home again in Indiana,
And it seems that I can see
The gleaming candlelight, still burning bright,
Through the sycamores for me.
The new-mown hay sends all its fragrance
Through the fields I used to roam.
When I dream about the moonlight on the Wabash,
How I long for my Indiana home.