That's today's Photo a Day theme, and it's a stumper for me. See, I'm not much of a drinker, in the sense that drink is usually meant around here in borderline alcoholic Wisconsin. They make a lot of beer here (DS makes a bit of it at Titletown Brewing, and it's pretty darned good as far as beer goes) and there are a lot of brandy drinkers here too (Old-Fashioneds are popular at supper clubs). I can drink it all but it's not my fave. At the Titletown Beer & Food Pairing dinners I always have a "no, thank you" portion which is a bare inch of beer in a tasting glass. At Family Supper's I'll have about the same amount of wine. Maybe once a year I'll have an entire drink--and I'm always sorry later. I can act just as "drunk" or maybe just silly all on my own, I don't need chemical enhancement--and I don't have much tolerance for it, so two drinks and I'm dancing topless on the table. Nobody wants to see that, except maybe Durwood but he loves me and he loves boobs. Boobs I got, they're just looking at and sagging toward the floor these days (I think the left one's winning). So, drink. I took a picture of the fountain because all sorts of birds and the squirrels drink from it. Then I took views of all of the hummingbird and oriole feeders. Finally I heated up some coffee and brought it back here so I could start blogging. I set the mug (my new favorite Blue Horse mug from Lexington) down on my desk. It was in front of my bottle of water, both of my drinks were in the same frame, so I took that picture. I tucked the memory stick into the laptop and opened the photos to tidy them up and reduce their size so they don't turn out like billboard signs if you click on them and their files are a reasonable size not taking up too much memory. I didn't like the feeders ones at all, they're out. It was down to the coffee mug/water bottle shot and the fountain nestled in the honeysuckle. The fountain wins. It's pretty and interesting and I like it the best. (man, this photo stuff is hard, especially early in the morning) There wasn't a list of things-to-do for me when I got to work yesterday so I was really sorry that I hadn't taken my sewing machine and quilt block stuff with me. Today I think I'll take some fabric scraps and card stock to make the templates and cut the fabric for the April blocks (way to be behind, Barbara!) while I'm sitting there. I think I've been avoiding finishing the March ones because I don't really like the April ones; they're English paper pieced hexagons and they're hand stitched. I am not and never was a hand-stitcher and I suck at it, but I had an inspiration. There are 2, maybe 3 sizes of hexagons in the 2 April blocks so I'm going to make my blocks with the biggest one rather than the medium and small ones. Both of the blocks have too much white/background fabric for my taste so I'll just use bigger pieces and more of them to make it my way. Ha! Take that, Amy whatever-your-last-name-is. You can't make me follow your directions. So there. (oh, I feel much better) I figure by taking a different than knitting project along that'll bring Mrs. Boss to the store for most, if not all, of the day to find little projects for me to do and I'll have hauled the stuff there for nothing but she might not and I want to be prepared. (makes me feel all Boy Scout-y) I wanted to be a Boy Scout, didn't you? My initials were even BSA so I figured that meant I was in, but no, no girls allowed in those days. I had to be a Girl Scout and in the 50s and 60s all Girl Scouts did was cook and craft, no camping, no fires, no hatchets, only a pocket knife that I cut myself with while whittling at day camp and it got taken away. *sigh* And I didn't even need stitches. I must confess that I wasn't nearly as cool and adventurous then as I am now so maybe Boy Scouting would have been wasted on me. Ah well, too little too late. I should take up whittling again, there has to be a knife around here somewhere...
June 7--Frederic Edwin Church, The Parthenon. "How'd they get those stones up on the columns?" Riccia asked. The guide shrugged pretending not to understand and Gregory elbowed her. "Stop asking questions," he hissed. "Can't you just wander around dumbstruck like a normal tourist?" It had been Gregory's dream to visit Greece but he didn't like the heat and dust, and the food was "too ethnic" for his liking. Riccia was having the time of her life. She bought herself a big stray hat to keep the sun off her face, drank bottled water like she was in a competition, and ate whatever she could order with lamb and lemon, and she was in rapturous love with flaming cheese. She couldn't pronounce the name but she thought it was brilliant to douse a plate of cheese with liquor, light it on fire, and then slather the good results on slabs of crusty bread. She kept her guidebook handy and asked questions galore. Gregory hated to be noticed and tried to fade into the crowd but his wife made them a spectacle at every turn. He needed to put a stop to her antics, and right now.
Uh oh, I don't like the turn that took. Run, Riccia, run away! Have an awesome day. I plan to.