I walked the Eastside Beltline today. I couldn’t face returning to Piedmont Park. You see…as I walked past a woman leaning on the railing looking at the lake, I thought, gee interesting pattern on her exercise tights. Then, I realized the pattern was tattoos visible through the tight-stretched material. I sped up, very glad she was facing the opposite direction.
Black cat curled up sleeping in lower left culvert; mailbox upper center (squint; look for orange).
Lots of animal evidence along the Beltline. I saw big horseshoe prints. I saw the black cat that lives at the hard-rain-overflow well (he’s got a new teensy mailbox—name on it: Piper). I saw lots of dog tracks, some muddy. I saw lots of robins and some other small birds. I saw skateboarders and skaters. No oxen or tigers. I smelled pigs. Well, pig excrement—the Trees Atlanta people were busy.
Rumor has it, they were preparing to plant a sea of oats. (Refer to twitter feed.)
I discovered on my perambulation this afternoon that Lake Clara Meer is full, slopping over, actually (after years of low-water)*. This means that the Piedmont Park managers have a good stash of water for the summer drought. And the Canada geese and Muscovy ducks have fewer nesting options.
Lake Lanier is also up, way up, and it’s a much larger reservoir. I think part of it is of course the rainfall, but also the dam controllers must not be pulling that much out….
A rainy overnight and morning transitioned into sun and fluffily clouds by late afternoon. I loved the light I found during a late-day walk, like this on a crepe myrtle.
I jes wanna say: the Guru rocks!
So, I’m distracted (Book Club, and I’m the hostess), and The Guru catches the images. And I beg/borrow/steal. Thanks babe.
We did watch, distractedly, the evening’s award ceremonies. Did not like the host; thought his commentary and jokes, well, not very classy, and too frequently crude.
Thought the nominees too insular/limited/unsurprising. Or, since I don’t watch many movies, perhaps most of them produced each year are of poor quality.
Yeah, this photo is from Val-Day. Thought these mousie-cakes too exceptional to be consigned to the photo-archive without a teensy public airing.
Long ago I promised The Guru a homemade pizza based on King Arthur’s dough. The flour company Arthur, that is, not the leader of the ancients.
Tonight we finally got around to it. The dough was semolina and a bit strange, yet tasty.
The toppings: three kinds of mushrooms, one “real” dried sausage (had to peel the white cloth off it to slice it), goat cheese, parmesan.
Yeah, we’re living large, Friday-night large….
Way back in the mists of time, I learned to call this a three-cornered tear*. And garments with one went in the mending basket.
Now, I think I’ll have to unfavorite this skirt, because I really haven’t a mending basket and I also don’t have the right fabric scraps and de-commissioned garments to create a patch—whether I add it by hand or machine….
I knew why it was named a three-cornered tear, but my eyes always focused on the flap, which I saw as having one corner. For well over a decade, I found adult language…mysterious and confusing….
Wondering what the rain the meteorologists say is headed our way will do to this almost-open spring harbinger.
Last weekend at the Bot Garden, we stumbled onto the camellia show. What are the odds?—we’ve done that before….
I found the blooms gorgeous and the lack of greenery…unsettling. Not a single leaf.