I’ve posted photos before from the Alligator Zoo/Farm at St. Augustine. Maybe, ahem, more than twice (here, here, here, and here). So far.
This year I bought a photographer’s pass, giving me access an hour before the general public in the morning, and for a few hours after the park closes in the late afternoon. Because you need that extra time to get enough photos. Continue reading
Last week I wrote about Mom formally memorializing Dad every year on his birthday, rather than on the day he died. So, of course, the universe promptly offered me two related stories, and I looked up the third on the interweb. Continue reading
Squinting in the early morning light, I trudge from the hotel’s side door to the car’s side door: loading my overnight gear into the spot from which it came, about 12 hours earlier. We have miles to go before we sleep, as we will for several more days. Days dedicated to driving: no walking or birding or photographing.
Well, maybe just one moment of photographing.
I expect that the study of optics would improve my understanding of these oddball reflections, but I’m happy just to see them. And — since the camera is buried somewhere in the back of the car — to have a phone in my pocket.
Stop it.
Not surprisingly, it’s the Big Guy, ruining the impact of this stern warning by first having laughed.
But once seen, there’s no unseeing.
I left my heart on Easter Island . . .
Right after I posted a piece on kiwifruit and related matters, I stumbled across Universal Yums.
Yes, sometimes we are still friends after first contact. Especially if that contact involves sugar . . .
Are we still friends?
The questionee? Me, a lifelong Prairie girl living in Saskatoon.
The questioner? A dual-citizenship classmate from various points in the USA and Canada, all of them more cosmopolitan than anywhere I’ve lived.
The question provocation? My introduction to kiwi in the early 1980s. Continue reading
Don’t you wish everyone took this much pleasure in their work?
Do you remember Edward Scissorhands? Me neither, really: never saw it.
But that’s one of the cultural references that came to mind as I stumbled across these faces lurking in two kitchens this past week.
Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea (the giant squid attack, natch) or Pac-Man’s sharper brother?
Home Alone, The Scream, or Jaws from The Spy Who Loved Me?
I’d rather celebrate a beginning
than an ending.
As I write this post, it’s 21 April 2019: Easter Sunday this year and my father’s birthday every year. He died in December 2010; today he would have been 97. Continue reading
Posted: 2025 Jun 21
Thanks to John Whitman for this slightly dismayed face from downtown Ottawa.
This space is available for other submissions.
