Ornery Cats
View allAll Photos Tagged Irritable
They only become irritations if you supply the irritability :-)
Robert Brault
HGGT! Character Matters!
daylily, our yard, cary, north carolina
The irritable Mrs. Rembrandt was totally fed up with the art thing....
www.youtube.com/watch?v=X2zcG3bcuMI
DRD GROUP GIFT - DUTCH SNACK TABLE
@ DRD MAINSTORE
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Death%20Row/117/140/21
(Shown)
DRD - GG - Snack Table
DRD - GG - Bitterballen (meatballs)
DRD - GG - Gouda Kaasjes (cheese chunks)
DRD - GG - Hollandse Maatjes (soused herring)
(not shown - small Dutch flags on toothpicks)
Stuff
Apple Fall Nardyas' Tulips
FLECHA fish pack
hive // magnolia branch
ZIBSKA Noir Pack #19 Eyemakeup
Snowy Egrets have attitude. They strike me as irritable grumpy characters. While quite capable of catching their own fish, they spend more time seeing what the ibis are catching and trying to steal it that just fishing on their own. Photographers just love it when they get into a scrap with one another. Usually it's all for show and they go right back to feeding before the next little altercation. These guys rose up for a split second and gave me this image. (Egretta thula)
From an old shot in my little jungle garden. This always makes me laugh cuz the plant seems to flipping the bird:-))))) Maybe just my twisted sense of humour idk:-)))
Birds:pd png.
An 'L' rider exits his train at the LaSalle/Van Buren Station in Chicago. Normally, when I do street photography, I try to avoid being seen by my subjects. It didn't work out that way this time but, as it turns out, I rather liked the effect of the eye contact.
Nikon D7500, Sigma 18-300, ISO 280, f/6.3, 300mm, 1/500s
snappy
adj
(=clever and quick)
[dialogue] enlevé (e)
[slogan] qui a du punch
(=smart)
[clothes, look] élégant (e)
to be a snappy dresser être élégant (e)
(=irritable) brusque
→ He was very snappy with me this morning.
make it snappy! (=hurry up) * grouille-toi!, magne-toi!
Eigentlich sieht man bei uns Silberreiher und Graureiher oft nebeneinander auf den Wiesen und Äckern. Alle halten etwas Abstand voneinander scheinen sich ansonsten aber nicht um die anderen zu kümmern. Jetzt beginnt jedoch die Zeit der Paarung bzw. des Nestbaus und die Stimmung scheint auf einmal deutlich gereizter zu sein. Ich hatte den Silberreiher im Sucher und sah den von links tief einfliegenden Graureiher leider zu spät. Direkt hinter dem Silberreiher flog er eine scharfe Rechtskurve und griff ihn hinterrücks an. Wegen des Überraschungseffekts habe ich leider die Flügelspitze des Graureihers nicht vollständig mit drauf aber weil ich diese Aggression zwischen den großen Vögeln so noch nicht gesehen habe stelle ich das Bild trotzdem hier in meinen Fotostream.
Um das Bild besonders detailreich sehen zu können, drückt die Tasten l (kleines L) und F11. Beim vergrößern nur durch Anklicken gehen viele Details verloren.
Actually, you can often see great white egrets and gray herons next to each other on the meadows and fields in our area. Everyone keeps a little distance from each other but otherwise doesn't seem to care about the others. But now the time for mating or nest building begins and the mood suddenly seems to be much more irritable. I had the great egret in the viewfinder and unfortunately saw the gray heron flying in low from the left too late. Immediately behind the egret he made a sharp right turn and attacked it from behind. Unfortunately, because of the surprise effect, I don't have the wing tip of the gray heron in the image completely, but because I haven't seen that aggression between the big birds before, I'm putting the picture here in my photo stream anyway.
To view this picture with the best resolution in full screen press the "l" (small L) and F11 keys. When enlarging the pic by just mouse clicking you lose quality. Enjoy!
A very irritable pukeko in the midst of a territorial dispute at Matata Lagoon, on the Bay of Plenty coast, New Zealand
which the West calls “cabin fever.” True, it parades under different names, according to circumstances and caste. You may be afflicted in a palace and call it ennui, and it may drive you to commit peccadillos and indiscretions of various sorts…
Be sure that it will make you abnormally sensitive to little things; irritable where once you were amiable; glum where once you went whistling about your work and your play… It will betray your little, hidden weaknesses, cut and polish your undiscovered virtues, reveal you in all your glory or your vileness to your companions in exile — if so be you have any.
Cabin fever has driven men crazy. It has warped and distorted character out of all semblance to its former self. It has sweetened love and killed love…:-)
Bertha Muzzy Bower, “The Fever Manifests Itself,” Cabin Fever, 1918
been there, done that apparently ;-) HPPS!! take care friends:-)
allium, our yard, cary, north carolina
Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.
Thanks for the visits folks. Thank you for the inspiration many of your streams bring me.
Green-veined White - Pieris napi on Great willow herb.
Great willow herb is a large herb that flourishes on damp ground, such as wet grasslands, ditches, riversides and woodland clearings. Deep pink flowers appear on the top of hairy stems from July to August and its fluffy seeds are dispersed by the wind.
What is willow herb good for?
Medicinal use of Willow Herb:
The herb is antispasmodic, astringent, demulcent, emollient, hypnotic, laxative and tonic. It is used in the treatment of diarrhoea, mucous colitis and irritable bowel syndrome. The plant is used in Germany and Austria to treat prostate problems.
Can you eat great willow herb?
It's not the best food, but being so abundant can be very useful. In the Springtime the young shoots and leaves can be eaten raw, and as they get older need to be steamed or boiled for 10 minutes. Treat the shoots like asparagus. The root can be cooked as a vegetable, added to stews.
THANKS FOR YOUR VISIT AND FAVES
ON THE REACTIONS I WILL TRY TO RESPOND BACK
Macro Mondays
De artisjok (Cynara scolymus) is een plant ,en komt voor in het Mediterrane gebied.
De plant heeft prikkelbare meeldraden: bij aanraking met bijvoorbeeld een bijentong of -poot trekken de helmdraden zich samen en komt er een snuifje wit stuifmeel vrij uit de helmknoppen.
De naam komt uit het middeleeuwse arabisch: الخرشوف (al-ḫaršūf), dat weer een herinterpretatie is van Europese namen voor deze plant
De vlezige schutbladeren van de gesloten bloemknop worden als groente gegeten
In Nederland valt de oogst van de nog gesloten bloemknoppen in de maanden augustus en september.
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The artichoke (Cynara scolymus) is a plant, and occurs in the Mediterranean area.
The plant has irritable stamens: upon contact with, for example, a bee tongue or paw, the anthers contract and a pinch of white pollen is released from the anthers.
The name comes from medieval Arabic: الخرشوف (al-ḫaršūf), which is again a reinterpretation of European names for this plant
The fleshy bracts of the closed flower bud are eaten as vegetables
In the Netherlands, the harvest of flower buds that are still closed falls in August and September.
Originally built by the Nabataeans (not the Romans) more than 2000 years ago, the Theatre was chiselled out of rock, slicing through many caves and tombs in the process. It was enlarged by the Romans to hold about 8500 (around 30% of the population of Petra) soon after they arrived in 106 CE. Badly damaged by an earthquake in 363 CE, the Theatre was partially dismantled to build other structures but it remains a Petra highlight.
The seating area had an original capacity of about 3000 in 45 rows of seats, with three horizontal sections separated by two corridors. The orchestra section was carved from the rock, but the backdrop to the frons scaenae (stage, which is no longer intact) was constructed, as opposed to carved, in three storeys with frescoed niches and columns overlaid by marble. The performers entered through one of three entrances, the outlines of which are still partially visible.
To make room for the upper seating tiers, the Romans sliced through more tombs. Under the stage floor were storerooms and a slot through which a curtain could be lowered at the start of a performance. From near the slot, an almost-complete statue of Hercules was recovered.
With a backdrop worthy of a David Roberts canvas, the Theatre now offers a vantage point from which to watch a modern tragicomedy of the ill-costumed, cursing their high-heeled footwear; the ill-cast, yawning at tedious tour guides; and the ill-tempered – mainly in the form of irritable camels and their peevish owners.
Since I eat fruit every morning instead of Nutella bread, I am a completely new person! Unbalanced, hungry and irritable ...
As much as I like warm weather the recent heatwave has finally made me irritable, I'm bored of clear blue sky, and working in this heat has been horrible, our office like a greenhouse in the evenings and it's just far too hot.
Thankfully it looks like it's going to cool down a bit, I really can't wait for Autumn, for me that's one of the best times of year to shoot some moody seascapes, this time of year the coast is full of holidaymakers and the weather really doesn't help.
So in the theme of moody seascapes here's another shot of Pulpit Rock on the Isle of Portland in Dorset, this shot was taken whilst on a day out with Gregg Cashmore Photography, and although we didn't get the sunset we were after that evening, we still had a fun day.
Stylidium are known as "trigger plants" because of the unique, irritable flower column which is triggered by insect visitors. The trigger remains cocked until an insect probes the flower and then springs upwards and deposits pollen on the head or back of the insect which then transfers the pollen to another flower.
Looking Close... on Friday: Spring Flora
It's coming into Autumn here but these Trigger Flowers are trying to make the most of the weather. They usually flower in Spring and Summer but it was so dry and hot that they seem to have put flowering off till later. We've had plenty of rain now so the flowering season has extended.
Never remembered if he ever had the opportunity. In any case, if she had, she probably would not have dared. The lights of desire are often voluntarily extinguished. Fear, of rejection, can break souls more than an accurate knife. Somewhere she left dreams, but she never remembered where, let alone when. She was used to the mirrors screaming for her, their voice was barely perceptible, and she simply came to that agreement with them. Tremendous desolation, when your voice has already lost the strength to ask for help. The tiredness of waiting for looks that never came, feeling the mornings as if they were nights and the nights as preambles to death, no more. Her feet did not accept to leave more footprints on roads that no one will ever see. Feeling the weight of her visors as if her skin can no longer contain them. Loneliness is an epidemic, undeclared, it kills with a perverse slowness.
Mass shootings dominate the conversation in the U.S. about gun control, yet two-thirds of gun deaths are suicides.
Signs to watch for :
Sadness, wanting to cry or frequent crying.
Hopelessness
Decreased interest in activities or inability to enjoy once-favorite activities
Persistent boredom or low energy
Withdrawal from friends or family
Low self-esteem and guilt
Increased irritability, anger or hostility
Relationship problems
Frequent complaints of physical illnesses such as headaches or stomachaches
Poor concentration
Major change in eating and/or sleeping patterns
Talk about running away
*Ironically, Sundays, with all the twilight aches and pains they bring, are not the days when most people commit suicide, but on Wednesdays, as people seem to reach their highest stress peaks in the middle of the week.
The countries showing the highest suicide rates are some countries in Eastern Europe (such as Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, Lithuania, Poland) and Western Europe (Finland, Belgium, France, Austria, Switzerland) and some Asian countries.
Every year more than 700,000 people commit suicide in the world.
We are emerging from the second deadliest pandemic in the last 100 years. Spanish Fever killed over 50 million people and infected 500,000,000, million. With a world population of 1,750,000,000 million.
I think it has left us a lesson, or rather several. We already know what it is like to live in isolation. Now there will be more knowledge about what they feel on a daily basis. Let's be aware, there are thousands of people suffering from depression, surely you know someone.
Do not wait to see them on the cover of a newspaper, it is a silent death, but do not say that there were no screams before the total silence.
Nunca recordó si alguna vez tuvo la oportunidad. En todo caso si la hubiese tenido, seguramente no se hubiese animado. Las luces del deseo muchas veces son apagadas voluntariamente. El miedo, al rechazo, puede quebrar las almas mas que una cuchillada certera. En algún lugar dejo sueños, pero nunca recordó donde, menos aún, cuando. Estaba acostumbrada a que los espejos gritaran por ella, su voz era apenas perceptible y simplemente llego a ese acuerdo con ellos. Tremenda desolación, cuando tu voz ya perdió la fuerza a golpes de pedir ayuda. El cansancio de esperar miradas que nunca llegaron, sentir las mañanas como si fueran noches y las noches como preámbulos de la muerte, ya no mas. Sus pies no aceptaron dejar huellas en caminos que nunca nadie vera. Sentir el peso de sus viseras como si su piel ya no pudiera contenerlas. La soledad es una epidemia, no declarada. mata con una lentitud perversa.
Los tiroteos masivos dominan la conversación en Estados Unidos sobre el control de armas, sin embargo, dos tercios de las muertes a mano armada son suicidios.
Signos para estar atentos :
Tristeza, ganas de llorar o llantos frecuentes
Desesperanza
Disminución del interés por actividades o incapacidad de disfrutar actividades que antes eran sus favoritas
Aburrimiento o poca energía persistentes
Retraimiento de los amigos o la familia
Autoestima baja y culpa
Mayor irritabilidad, enojo u hostilidad
Problemas en las relaciones
Quejas frecuentes de enfermedades físicas como dolores de cabeza o de estómago
Baja concentración
Cambio importante en patrones de comida y/o sueño
Hablar sobre huir
*Irónicamente, los domingos, con todo y ese crepúsculo de achaques que nos traen, no son los días en los que más gente se suicida, sino los miércoles, pues al parecer la gente alcanza sus picos de estrés más altos en la mitad de la semana.
Los países que muestran tasas de suicidios más altas son algunos de Europa oriental (como Rusia, Ucrania, Bielorusia, Lituania, Polonia) y occidental (Finlandia, Bélgica, Francia, Austria, Suiza) y algunos países asiáticos.
Cada año se suicidan mas de 700.00 personas en el mundo.
Estamos saliendo de la segunda pandemia mas mortal en los últimos 100 años. La fiebre Española mato a mas de 50 millones de personas y contagio a 500.000.000 millones. Con una población mundial de 1.750.000.000 millones de habitantes.
Creo que nos ha dejado una enseñanza, o mejor dicho varias. Ya sabemos lo que es vivir aislados. Ahora habrá mas conocimientos sobre lo que ellos y ellas sienten a diario. Estemos atentos, hay miles de personas que sufren de depresión, con seguridad vos conoces a alguien.
No esperes a verlas en una tapa de algún diario, es una muerte silenciosa, pero no digas que no hubo gritos antes del silencio total.
This green heron definitely did not feel like smiling for the photographer! Wildwood Park, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania
FTH: Chinese Zodiac
issuu.com/fashiontellersl/docs/fth_chinesezodiac2
MODEL: Giselle Chauveau
PHOTOGRAPHER: Kiana Jarman
STYLE:
HEADPIECE: 22769 ~ Helios Head Piece
OUTFIT: -AZUL- Anjelique Mesh Dress M/Garnet
[The Forge] Chain Mail Collar
Alchemy - The Shaman - Bore Tusk Mantle - Black
STAFF: Alchemy - Druid Staff
In the Chinese Zodiac, Tigers are a symbol of Bravery. People born under the Chinese Zodiac sign of the Tiger are endowed with great confidence and strong fortitude along with good leadership qualities. They are courageous, charming, ambitious and intense but they can also be irritable, overindulged, impetuous and boastful. Compatible with Horse or Dog.
Read about the Mighty Tiger:
issuu.com/fashiontellersl/docs/fth_chinesezodiac2
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This is a Book that I have been reading for over Fifty years, it's words of Wisdom have been a source of comfort and joy....A favourite verse about Love
Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.
1 Corinthians 13:4-7 NLT....
Blessed Thistle is a medicinal plant, is used in folk medicine for digestive problems such as gas, constipation, and stomach upset. This herb acts as an appetite stimulant and digestive aid. The entire plant is edible. The herb contains B-complex vitamins, calcium, iron and manganese. Today Blessed Thistle is used to treat digestive problems. It also cleanses the blood, improves circulation, and strengthens the heart. Blessed Thistle increases the appetite and stomach secretions, and works to heal liver and gallbladder diseases. It is also used for menopause and menstrual cramps, and can aid in increasing milk flow in nursing mothers. Blessed Thistle also works well in treating anorexia, indigestion, flatulence and colic. It can relieve headaches caused by a sluggish liver, lethargy and irritability and is used for reducing diarrhea. Blessed Thistle is known to alleviate inflammation and stop bleeding and cuts
The male swan at the fishing lake awaits the hatching of his brood, sometimes taking his turn on the nest. He's rather irritable, no doubt working up his aggression ready to protect his young.
European hornet closeup (Vespa crabro), 10-2022, Ticino, Switzerland
My best photos are here: www.lacerta-bilineata.com/ticino-best-photos-of-southern-...
European hornet (Vespa crabro), 10-2022, Ticino, Switzerland
If you're interested, you can find my best photos of the WILDLIFE IN TICINO, SWITZERLAND here: fr.lacerta-bilineata.com/l%C3%A9zard-vert-occidental-lace...
THE STORY BEHIND THE PHOTO:
I guess you can tell by the look on its face that this is not a happy hornet. That's not unusual for hornets - truth be told, variations of "not happy" "angry", or at least "badly irritated" seem to be pretty much their natural state of mind - but what's interesting about the fella above is that he also wasn't exactly sober.
To spell it out more clearly: that was one hammered hornet. It was so drunk in fact, it couldn't fly for two seconds straight without crashing. I shot that photo in my garden last fall, but as with all my pictures, I'll try to give you a bit more context.
Every year at least one hornet queen decides that some crack or hole inside the thick stone walls of my 400-year old house in Ticino is the perfect place to raise her royal family.
That in itself wouldn't pose a problem, but if there's one thing we know about "royals", it's that they're a complicated bunch (though it has to be said for both princes William and Harry that they rarely build little palaces inside the walls of some stranger's house, but I digress).
There is a slight potential for conflict; in my experience, all hornets are born with a sweet tooth and a bad temper, and particularly when there's ripe figs in my garden, tensions can rise.
That is entirely my fault though, because I still sometimes foolishly try to negotiate the human place in the food- (or rather: fruit-) chain, despite knowing perfectly well that fig season isn't the time to want to improve human-hornet relations, as any attempt in that regard will inevitably follow the same frustrating pattern:
Human: "Oh hello there Ms Hornet, how nice to meet you here at the fig tree - isn't the weather just lovely?"
Hornet: "Bzzzzzz. I have a sting. Bzzzzz. Go away. Bzzzzz."
Human: "There is really no need to be so angry, dear Ms Hornet: we're all friends here, and there's enough figs for all of us! How are the kids, I mean... larvae?"
Hornet: "Bzzzzzz. I have a sting. Bzzzzz. Go away. Bzzzzz."
Human: "Jeez, OK - relax! I can see you have a sting, I'm going, all right? You can have all the figs Ms Hornet, see: I'm already leaving!"
Hornet: "Bzzzzz. Yes, I have a sting. Bzzzzz. Don't come back. Bzzzzz."
And that's how THAT conversation goes.
Yet despite our occasional differences (like when I nearly died of smoke inhalation because Her Royal Hornet Majesty had decided my chimney was another suitable place for her nest), I'm happy to report we generally get along quite well, unless... - well, unless the hornets are intoxicated.
It's one of nature's lesser known facts (or perhaps its dirty secret) that many of our friends in the animal kingdom occasionally like to get high, and hornets are no exception. Not on anything illegal, mind; they are law-abiding insects after all, so you won't see them smoke crack or snort cocaine (although with some hornets I wouldn't rule that out completely 😉).
No: their usual drug of choice is alcohol, which my irritable neighbors find - surprise! - in my fig tree. Once some of the overripe fruit start to ferment, their potent juices become a magnet for hornets - and that's when the trouble starts.
It should come as no surprise that "hornets and hooch" are an inherently problematic combination. Because the crux with alcohol is this: it doesn't alter your personality, it only brings out the character traits that are already there without a filter, so you just become a terribly unrestrained version of yourself when you drink too much.
Which with hornets - who aren't the most cheerful bunch even on a good day - is a recipe for disaster. They are MEAN drunks - and I'm not kidding, oh boy. All that bottled-up anger constantly boiling underneath that shiny, chitin surface from the moment they hatch is finally released into the world, and it's not a pleasant sight, let me tell you.
Alcohol REALLY doesn't seem to improve their mood, and the other animals in my garden all agree (and I concur) that the fig tree would be a much happier place if the hornets just smoked weed and listened to Bob Marley instead (if them getting high can't be avoided altogether).
To be fair though, not all hornets have a drinking problem. Most of them behave responsibly and "don't drink and fly" (which I'm sure is a motto that gets taught in hornet school from an early age). And they don't get high all year long: It's only when fall arrives that the hornets like to have a merry get-together in my fig tree to get a good "buzz on".
But you know how it is: just like with any good party, there's always the ONE guy who can't hold his liquor and basically turns into your angry, drunk uncle at Christmas who starts picking fights with every one at the dinner table and insists on letting you know - very loudly - what he thinks about Trump or Biden or the Corona virus once he's had one too many.
Which finally brings me back to the fella in the photo above, because apparently he was THAT guy. That particular "drunk uncle" hornet sat underneath the fig tree on a fallen (and pretty rotten looking) fruit and was deep into its cups. As soon as it saw me, it started to buzz angrily and seemed intent on a confrontation, but it didn't manage to get airborne for more than a second.
After a few more failed attempts to lift off and a few more angry "Bzzzzzz" sounds (I think I actually did hear the words "Trump", "Biden" and "Corona" in there 😉), it just went back to boozing on the juices of the spoiled fig on the ground.
I left it to its own devices, happy that I got this quite expressive shot. 😊
P.S. I think it was actually a crazy, drunk AUNT - not an uncle 😉)
P.P.S. Just to make sure we understand each other (maybe as a disclaimer for readers who come to this gallery for the first time and aren't familiar with my kind of humor): I love the fact that these beautiful insects visit my garden. Watching how these efficient predators hunt wasps, horseflies or other insects is incredibly fascinating (adult hornets themselves mainly feed on sugary plant juices, but they hunt because their young need protein to grow).
Hornets may seem like they're constantly angry (which to me is funny - hence this text), but they're not; they're actually very peaceful towards humans, and even when you compete for a ripe fig with them, their furious buzzing is mostly just a bluff, and I've never been stung (and I don't know anyone who has).
Due to the unfounded fear many people have of hornets, who often get exterminated because they're confused with common wasps, this species is threatened in many countries (in Germany for example, hornets are a protected species). But unless you step (or sit) on them or destroy their nest, hornets don't attack, and even when they're drunk, they are usually so incapacitated that they are completely harmless (just like your uncle/aunt 😉).
So if you have hornets in your garden, just enjoy watching them and please don't harm them! 🙏 🙏 ❤ ❤
With that being said, I hope you like the photo and wish you all a wonderful weekend! Many greetings from Switzerland, and as always: let me know what you think in the comments 🙏 😊 ❤!
Cast an eye across the superb panorama in front of you – far above the mortal goings-on of both ancient and modern city – and it’s easy to see how this site must have seemed closer to the sky than the earth.
The Theather:
Originally built by the Nabataeans (not the Romans) more than 2000 years ago, the Theatre was chiselled out of rock, slicing through many caves and tombs in the process. It was enlarged by the Romans to hold about 8500 (around 30% of the population of Petra) soon after they arrived in 106 CE. Badly damaged by an earthquake in 363 CE, the Theatre was partially dismantled to build other structures but it remains a Petra highlight.
The seating area had an original capacity of about 3000 in 45 rows of seats, with three horizontal sections separated by two corridors. The orchestra section was carved from the rock, but the backdrop to the frons scaenae (stage, which is no longer intact) was constructed, as opposed to carved, in three storeys with frescoed niches and columns overlaid by marble. The performers entered through one of three entrances, the outlines of which are still partially visible.
To make room for the upper seating tiers, the Romans sliced through more tombs. Under the stage floor were storerooms and a slot through which a curtain could be lowered at the start of a performance. From near the slot, an almost-complete statue of Hercules was recovered.
With a backdrop worthy of a David Roberts canvas, the Theatre now offers a vantage point from which to watch a modern tragicomedy of the ill-costumed, cursing their high-heeled footwear; the ill-cast, yawning at tedious tour guides; and the ill-tempered – mainly in the form of irritable camels and their peevish owners.
My position as an unofficial, untrained, unasked for Special Assistant MIB agent emboldened me to expand my search area into the deserts of the South West where I came across this irritable fellow. His home planet must have been very warm because he stands out here in triple digit heat and only dreams of rain.
I have to cut this short as I have lot's of paper work to fill out and send in, I never get any replies, but I know they value my efforts.....
Stylidium are known as "trigger plants" because of the unique, irritable flower column which is triggered by insect visitors. The trigger remains cocked until an insect probes the flower and then springs upwards and deposits pollen on the head or back of the insect which then transfers the pollen to another flower.
I should start by saying I don’t come to this side that often. There’s that horrible winding road from Redruth to Helston, and that’s before the last section down to and beyond the village of Gunwalloe. Why can you always be sure you’re going to meet a tractor flailing its appendages about like a Tyrannosaurus Rex in an irritable mood and towing an enormous trailer full of winter beet on a blind bend just where the lines in the middle of the road disappear? Why put yourself through all of this when your beloved north coast is three miles away from the end of the drive?
Of course I should have waited a few more days. I nearly cheated and altered course for Gwithian as usual, but the voice inside my head told me to persevere as I followed the signs for that wearisome drag down to Helston. It might have been Thursday, and the bank holidays might have all now passed, but the schools were still out and so were quite a lot of people. Not that they were at the beach when I arrived - no, they were busy clogging up the road, queuing in the opposite direction as I crept the last handful of miles down to the village, past the Halzephron Inn and finally towards the National Trust car park. The van barely made it out of third gear once I’d left the main road.
My archive tells me this was only the fourth time I’d ever been to Dollar Cove with the camera. Which came as no surprise. Neither did the fact that every other visit had been during the first two weeks of January. In fact when I look at my past exploits in this part of Cornwall, pickings are pretty slim; decent images almost non-existent. One solitary outing at Mullion; one at Kennack Sands, and another at Lizard Point. Even the hotspots of Kynance Cove and Porthleven share no more than half a dozen episodes between them. Don’t ask about my old home town of Falmouth. I may have grown up and raised my own family there, but as far as photography goes, we’re total strangers. I’ve never come close to getting a shot that didn’t look like one of the bland blue postcards outside the tourist shops on Church Street. Of course, living where I do, the drama laden north coast is going to be the obvious choice, but I really do need to head in this direction a bit more often because all of these places deserve some love. I was convinced that I hadn’t ever taken a decent shot here at Dollar Cove before too. But in fact I surprised myself by finding an image from seven years ago that I really liked a lot. It’s just a shame I wasn’t yet in the habit of keeping my raw files, because the edit is dismally dark and does the moment no justice whatsoever. I could have had another go at that composition this time around if only I’d been paying attention as I studied the tide times. Low tide, not high tide was at 1pm, so when I expected it to be going out, it was coming back in and fast, sloshing energetically around my wellies and the base of my tripod. I suppose the careless oversight tells a tale in itself. I’ve never made that mistake at Godrevy.
The reason I regard this, and most of the other spots around the south coast as winter locations is of course because of where the sun sets. And it helps that this beach is west facing. It seemed that a number of other photographers agreed. There were four or five of us getting in each other’s way. At one point I became aware of a presence standing just behind me. A dog had just charged into the sea and I assumed this was the owner. But I was wrong. “That’s a nice looking composition,” said a voice. I was pointing the camera at a group of rocks as the waves broke over them. “Can I take a look?” Before I knew it she was examining my camera. “What have you got? I’ve got an R5!” Sometimes I feel as if I’m being left behind with my antediluvian set up, you know. While so many others have been arming themselves with mirrorless gear, my two additions to the vault over the last twelve months have been extremely modest, purchased second hand for lightweight travel adventures and moving backwards in time rather than making any technological advances. I’ll just have to manage until I find a spare few thousand down the back of the sofa. As you do. Her husband smiled quietly. His job was to carry her gear. She moved further down the beach and started shaking her camera at the sea. ICM; it’s the new garlic bread.
By now I had moved from the right hand side of the beach, almost completely to the opposite end, changing lenses to close in on the subject. A long super highway of clouds floated towards Gunwalloe from the direction of Loe Bar, softly colouring the sky with pastels as I tried to catch the bigger waves smashing over the group of rocks in the frame. Stupidly I’d left the remote cable in the other bag, and with the light falling I could see that most of my images were blurred. There was nothing for it but to use the two second delay and hope my timing wasn’t off.
If nothing else, I now feel as if I understand what works here. Or at least what works for me. Forget the wider view, stick on a long lens, point your camera at the rocks and wait for a wave. I might try again soon. Once I’ve summoned up the courage for another battle with tractors on blind bends that is. You never know, I may even try coming in February, just for the sheer hell of it.
For now, I’m going to leave you all to enjoy January and wish you happy adventures. I’m not at all sure whether I’ll be able to hop onto the Wifi where we’re headed, but if I’m able, I’ll tune in now and again to see what you’ve been up to. Back soon!
The oppressive visual onset of a storm is often occasioned by a rapid drop in barometric pressure. Studies have associated this drop with negative physical and emotional effects on living beings. Everything from rising blood pressure and headaches to restlessness and irritability. I suppose irritability is rather subjective when, for many people, we're merely attempting to distinguish between degrees. But I can attest to the restlessness as storms approach. It's based on an intense desire to experience the sensory aspects (winds, clouds, temperature change, advancing darkness, etc). It goes back to that boundary obsession I have, of standing on the edge between two realms. For me it's not enough to simply witness such an event. I yearn to document it, and each storm is like the first one. The excitement and the pull never seem to diminish over time. I think this is yet another opportunity to channel the energy from some external source and direct it into a creative bent. On this magical day I found myself in an old burial ground beneath an advancing system. The clouds seethed with dark energy that could be felt at ground level. The weather boundary echoed by the physical boundary, the old stone wall separating the dead from the living. Never felt more alive.
Beautiful snake but quite venomous. I find copperheads to be difficult to photograph. They are irritable, uncooperative, and have no interest in being friends!
OK, so maybe he wasn’t giving me the stink eye directly, but he looked mighty irritable standing alone in a fork of the river in freezing temperatures.
I haven't been active on Flickr lately as I've been swamped by a lot of stress. It's already bad enough that I have to contend with my long history battling against depression. I've been prescribed a plethora of SSRIs that I've forgotten which ones my doctor had prescribed since 2007. I've been given Lexapro for the past three months and while it worked nicely back in 2020 before Covid-19, the drug is suddenly giving me side effects like irritability, insomnia, stuffy nose and body aches. 😓
It gets even worse when new ailments started to pile on me, like chronic back and joint pain and sinus problems, necessitating the constant use of analgesics like acetaminophen (Tylenol) and daily antihistamines.
Joey's also been behaving distantly ever since we took in Sunny and Cherie. I can see the jealously in his eyes as he sits across the room, uncomfortable at watching Sunny clamoring for attention. He's now very timid when approaching my bedroom as he expects to see Sunny on the bed.
Two years ago Joey used to bully Sunny as he was still the alpha cat, but Sunny never took revenge. It's not Sunny's fault that he literally outgrew Joey and is nearly twice his size. It's in his genes that he'd become the largest cat we've ever adopted.
Sunny has tried to befriend Joey many times by sniffing him and grooming him, but Joey freezes each time and I could tell from his body language that he was either in a fight or flight mode. 😐
I constantly worry about the day that I can no longer take care of Joey, but I guess that's the path of life I have to take. 😐
Title: The Final Voyage of the Trawler Hawser and the Rusty Old Shackle
Once upon a briny dusk in the forgotten harbor of Crumpet’s Cove, an aging trawler named Hawser stirred from a decades-long nap. Her hull groaned like a grandmother with gout, barnacles clinging to her underbelly like stubborn regrets.
Beside her, hanging limply from a creaking bollard, was Shackle—a rusty, irritable hunk of iron with a temper like a wet matchstick and a voice like someone gargling gravel and moonshine.
"I’ve been thinking," muttered Hawser, her anchor winch twitching with vague purpose, "what if we just... left?"
Shackle squinted. “Left? We’re antiques, Hawser. Artifacts. Fish laugh at us. Seagulls use my eyelet as a public restroom.”
“Exactly,” said Hawser with a glint in her fog-light. “Let’s go out not as scrap, but as legends. One last voyage—for self-discovery!”
Shackle spat out a fleck of rust. “You’ve been listening to the tide-poets again, haven’t you?”
But deep down—beneath the barnacles and the tetanus—they both yearned for something more. Something wet and dramatic.
With a wheeze, a belch of diesel, and an illegal amount of enthusiasm, Hawser heaved herself off the dock. The ropes gave way with a theatrical snap, and Shackle clanged into place like a rusty exclamation mark.
They sailed into the open sea, where waves greeted them with surprise and mild concern.
“Where to?” asked Shackle, now vibrating slightly with existential dread.
“North-by-northeast-by-chaos,” said Hawser. “We follow the jellyfish. They know things.”
Three days in, they found a floating disco run by philosophical squid. Shackle got in a dance-off with a bioluminescent cuttlefish named Kevin and realized he’d been clenching his metaphorical jaw for 43 years. Hawser learned how to feel the ocean, instead of just floating above it. She cried bilge water for the first time since '79.
They sailed further.
They survived a romantic entanglement with a lovesick lighthouse, narrowly avoided being recruited into a pirate-themed reality show, and at one point, accidentally entered a whale’s book club. (Moby-Dick was panned.)
At the edge of the world—a place cartographers refuse to acknowledge due to tax reasons—they met The Great Crustacean, a sentient lobster the size of a small village, who challenged them to a riddle contest.
Shackle won by accident when he sneezed out a bolt that landed perfectly in the lobster’s weak spot. Hawser screamed, “THIS IS WHAT GROWTH FEELS LIKE!” and accidentally triggered her emergency foghorn, summoning every sea creature within 50 nautical miles.
Together, the duo was declared “Honorary Ocean Elders” and gifted a sash made entirely of kelp and unsolicited advice.
They never returned to Crumpet’s Cove.
Some say Hawser became a floating spa for therapy seals.
Others claim Shackle was last seen hosting a podcast about corrosion and emotional vulnerability.
All we know is, somewhere out there on the misty blue, a trawler and a shackle are still discovering themselves—and possibly reinventing maritime jazz.
Fin. And some people about Ai taking their jobs
when i feel irritable, disconnected, or anxious, i step outside. i return to the earth; return to nature; return to myself. i gather perspective and inhabit the moment. and my mood shifts in the most beautiful way.
[17:52, on the ground]
This will be my last post for a couple of weeks, as I am going to try to quit smoking. Monday is my quit date I thought that this scene was quite fitting, as whenever I try to quit smoking, it is really like being in a very thick fog. I figured by announcing it, I would have perhaps a bit more motivation.
The last time I tried to quit was just at the beginning of the Pandemic, and found between it and the stress of the pandemic that it was just too much, but remember that keeping up with Flickr, and trying to make half decently intelligent posts, descriptions and comments was tough, as I really do get so spaced out and grumpy, and it almost became a chore. Of course in trying to quit smoking it is easy to become so irritable and to hate everything.
I know it won't be easy, but I need to give it another try.
Quickly about the image, this used to be my favorite Snag, but time and the elements as removed one of the branches, and the other branch is drooping. It just does not have the same charm to me without its two "arms" reaching out. So I will have to find a new favorite snag to shoot in different conditions whenever I pass it.
In closing, while I am climbing the walls, I wish you all the best, and may the light be with you. See you in a couple of weeks, and hope to come back with good news rather than egg on my face:)
Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. ... Love never ends.
“If you can’t be flexible in life, you become irritable with life.” - Rubyanne. Happy Tree- mendous Tuesday!
Stylidium are known as "trigger plants" because of the unique, irritable flower column which is triggered by insect visitors. The trigger remains cocked until an insect probes the flower and then springs upwards and deposits pollen on the head or back of the insect which then transfers the pollen to another flower.
I knew where it was. It was just that I had little idea of how I was going to get there. Courtesy of the major road upgrade right on our doorstep that’s gathered pace this summer, I’d already been forced along two diversions I hadn’t been too wild about following. By the time I arrived at the outskirts of St Agnes I was beginning to lose heart. And now things got worse. The road I’d planned on taking when I looked at the map appeared to be a very narrow bridle path, and so I continued to the next likely looking route, only to find myself crawling along a classic Cornish lane, barely wider than the car and flanked by bracken that did little to hide the bruising granite walls on either side. And of course it was as I was almost a quarter of a mile along it that a car appeared, coming from the other direction. A few minutes of irritable backtracking to the unbroken sound of my car’s complaining reversing sensors later, followed by an apologetic thank you from the grateful occupants of the offending obstacle, I gave in and turned around, finally arriving at a layby beside the main road where I stopped to inspect the map once more. The last mile took me down another narrow winding lane, but at least this time I didn’t meet anyone coming in the other direction. The track from the road to the car park was a series of ruts, rocks and potholes, but finally I was here, ready to explore a space I’d never brought the camera to before. I was only six miles from home, but the drive had taken me almost an hour. On the plus side, apart from me there were just two vans in the car park. Presumably everyone else was stuck in that narrow lane waiting to see who’d engage reverse gear first.
It was Marcus and his YouTube channel, Cornwall on Camera, that had brought me here. Somewhere in the afternoon the idea had taken root that I needed to get out for a couple of hours, just to breathe in the air and watch the sea. Of course I’d have the bag with me, but photography wasn’t the main purpose. As I often do when I haven’t really made plans, I’d already half resolved to go to Wheal Coates, the nearest coastal beauty spot. But then I looked at the tide times and considered the options again. It was a mild afternoon, devoid of purposeful conditions, and I do generally prefer Wheal Coates when things are a bit nasty. Nasty was the last word I’d use to describe this gentle September Sunday afternoon, and as I continued in the current vein of indecision, Trevellas Cove suddenly leapt into the forefront of my ambitions and shouted “remember me with my twin sea stacks?” And so the deal was done. It was a perfect day to try something new.
Unlike the drive here, it didn’t take long to get my bearings, although I was immediately distracted by a small group of people on the beach who were all staring out across the water. What on earth were they looking at? It took a while for me to realise that their friend, swimming close to the shore, had been joined by an inquisitive seal, edging ever closer to him until it was almost within touching distance. For a few minutes I sat and watched, entranced, intrigued and full of envy. I made a mental note to bring my wetsuit and the underwater camera next time. And with that thought in mind, I continued along the narrow clifftop path towards where I hoped I might find the sea stacks.
It was only after I’d set up the tripod and began to try and make sense of the clifftop composition that they walked past, him barely registering me, her offering a smile as I nodded hello. And within seconds they’d vanished, before I caught a glimpse of them on the rocks below, donning wetsuits and jumping into the sea. I’d assumed I was standing as close as you could get with high tide approaching, but by watching their progress I was already beginning to learn something about the place. Following their route took me to a rocky platform. And there was the scramble to the side of me - a diagonal traverse that would allow anyone brave enough to descend the few metres to the shelf beside the sea. It wasn’t for the faint hearted, but just about navigable if taken methodically and slowly. After a bit of huffing and puffing and searching for suitable holds, I was soon on the smooth grey rocks where a whole new world opened up in front of me. Now I could stand close to the water, with lots of delicious textures right there in front of me.
Unlike many of Marcus’ shots here, I completely ignored the right hand stack and brought the edge of St Agnes Head into the frame, the small dot known as the cow and calf on the horizon. You’ll need to see them from Perranporth to make sense of that descriptive title. And although I hadn’t consulted the relevant apps, I’d evidently chosen a good time of year to come here, because the sun was setting in exactly the right place. I’d come here armed with the B team, the crop body and ragtag lens collection, including that one - the Tokina wide angle affair that had arrived from Pakistan and broken down on its first outing. But those debut nerves seemed to have been banished to the wings, the lens working without complaint and performing rather admirably considering how little it cost in comparison to the rest of them.
The return journey was rather less eventful, even though the clamber from the rocks to the grassy safety above felt marginally more hair raising than the journey down had. I need a pulley system installed for next time. Either that or a raft to get me back to the beach, very possibly with a playful seal in hot pursuit. Whether or not I’m brave or daft enough to take on that traverse again, I was glad I made the effort. I will be back. I think this place has another ace or two up its sleeve, waiting to be discovered.
Encara queden uns dies per acabar la tardor, però aquest darrer dia de novembre mentre contemplo una acàcia que ja no li queda cap fulla, penso que ja s’acosta l’ hivern. Fent una mica de comiat d’aquesta estació que tant ens inspira, vull dedicar-vos aquestes fulles, que la calidesa dels seus tons uns transmetin escalfor per l’ hivern.
BON CAP DE SETMANA AMICS!
Quedan aún unos dias de otoño, sin embargo en este último dia de noviembre mientras observo una acàcia a la que no queda ninguna hoja, pienso que se acerca el invierno. Como despedida de esta estación que tanto nos inspira, quiero dedicaros estas hojas, me gustaria que sus tonos os transmitieran calor para el invierno.
FELIZ FIN DE SEMANA AMIGOS!
Un bri d’herba digué a una fulla de tardor: “Quin soroll que fas quan caus! Escampes tots els meus somnis d’hivern”
I la fulla digué indignada: “De baixa casta i de baixa casa! I sense cançons, criatura irritable! No vius a l’aire de les altures i no pots parlar del so del cant”
Aleshores la fulla de tardor caigué sobre la terra i s’adormí. I quan arribà la primavera despertà novament, i era un bri d’herba.
I quan fou tardor i li arribà el son hivernal i per sobre seu, per tot l’aire, les fulles queien, es digué a si mateixa “Oh, aquestes fulles de tardor, quin soroll que fan! Escampen tots els meus somnis d’hivern” ( kahlil Gibran )
Una brizna de herba dijo a una hoja de otoño: “Que ruido que haces cuando caes! Dispersas todos mis sueños de invierno”
I la hoja indignada dijo: “De baja casta y de baja casa! I sin música, criatura irritable! No vives en el aire de las alturas y no puedes hablar del sonido del canto”
Entonces la hoja de otoño cayó a tierra y se durmió. Cuando llegó la primavera despertó de nuevo y era una brizna de hierba.
Cuando llegó el otoño y le llegó el sueño hivernal y encima de ella, por el aire, las hojas iban cayendo, se dijo a si misma “Oh, estas hojas de otoño, que ruido que hacen !Esparcen todos mis sueños de invierno” ( Kahlil Gibran )
“Some minds corrode and grow inactive under the loss of personal liberty; others grow morbid and irritable; but it is the nature of the poet to become tender and imaginitive in the loneliness of confinement. He banquets upon the honey of his own thoughts, and, like the captive bird, pours forth his soul in melody.”
― Washington Irving, The Sketch Book
Heavy snowfall quietly surrounds the only round barn in our county (Isanti, MN) as it resolutely endures one more storm in a long line of storms from its 100+ years of existence. The Linden Barn is named after the original farmer, Olof Linden, a Swedish immigrant who had three fellow Swedish carpenters who were brothers build it for him in 1914.
Uniquely, the barn has 18 foot block concrete walls that have helped the barn withstand the test of time and will probably enable it to outlast most area residents that are alive now. Linden had the redwood silo built next to the barn too and though it is now showing its age, it has pretty well defied the passage of the last century.
I don’t have to drive far from this barn to spot barns built around the same time last century that have already fallen. Many that are left show gaping holes in the roof or siding and the majority of them lean to one side or the other as they await a gentle push from Time that will collapse them in a chaotic pile.
As I get within touching distance of my eighth decade on this planet, I have observed how differently we all age. Some people look surprisingly like they did decades ago while others we knew when they were young require a second or third look to see if they are who we suspect they might be.
One aspect of aging that varies as well is our spirits. It can be tempting when we can’t hear or see well or navigate without aid to become irritable and withdrawn. In our interaction with others we can become morose and impatient.
Those who age well through the storms of later life can be a treat to be around. The inevitable trials of old age does not quench the joy that radiates from their spirit and the stories they can tell enrich our lives.
(Photographed near Isanti, MN)
If I could speak all the languages of earth and of angels, but didn’t love others, I would only be a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. If I had the gift of prophecy, and if I understood all of God’s secret plans and possessed all knowledge, and if I had such faith that I could move mountains, but didn’t love others, I would be nothing. If I gave everything I have to the poor and even sacrificed my body, I could boast about it; but if I didn’t love others, I would have gained nothing.
Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.
Prophecy and speaking in unknown languages and special knowledge will become useless. But love will last forever!
Skillet says it well