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In time for our Easter Party I recovered a Craftsman style rocking chair built by my grandfather around 1910. The Calder print material covering it was a recover from my mother- it used to be covered in all leather.
While we were waiting hopefully outside the restaurant for a taxi to take us back to the border, the shopkeeper on the opposite side of the street invited us in to "look around". As it was hot outside and the length of our wait was unknown, we accepted.
Shockingly, I was unable to find a piece to take home to place in our living room, or anywhere else.
Ojinaga, Mexico.
30 Day Photography Challenge
13th challenge**use a prop in photo**
****view on black****
there are more photo on my blog
...last time at the hospital.
A wonderful old hospital with amazing big and wide corridors and rooms. There was still life in there - beautiful to explore!
Images cannot be used without my written permission.
Thank you. © thestargazer23/J.Seifert
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cat photo by Petr Kratchvil
chair photo by Rubyblossom
mouse photo here
Paco and I would like to wish you all a relaxing weekend!
this is not my chair its at a hotel in washington! if it were mine it would be painted so no splinters in the bum!
sept 19th explore #334
Still on the theme of chairs, this is a more well used example. Obviously someone has spent many hours sat here, most probably watching the world go by.
This corner of the house just makes me feel good. I bought the clock and rug in Korea and sent the clock to my mom's church. When they went more modern after a tornado damaged the church (and the clock), Mom got it back, repaired it, and now I have it. My bridal bouquet is on top of the clock. The rocker was a gift from Mom to me in my freshman year of college. The pictures on the wall are of Hadley's favorite lake, DeGray, in Arkansas, and of my hometown square., Bowling Green, Kentucky. Mitzi made me the pillow. So I'm surrounded by belongings which bring the past back and surround me with good memories.
The Delta Queen is an American sternwheel steamboat that is a U.S. National Historic Landmark. Historically, she has been used for cruising the major rivers that constitute the drainage of the Mississippi River, particularly in the American South. She is docked in Chattanooga, Tennessee and has been converted into a floating hotel.[3][4]
The Delta Queen is 285 feet (87 m) long, 58 feet (18 m) wide, and draws 11.5 feet (3.5 m). She weighs 1,650 tons (1,676 metric tons), with a capacity of 176 passengers. Her cross-compounded steam engines generate 2,000 indicated horsepower (1,500 kW), powering a stern-mounted paddlewheel
Here is Sindy's friend, Marie, in a beautiful new dress created for her by Maria (The doll keeper). Thankyou!
She thinks she looks the bees knees, which is why she's giving that sideglance to the other girls.... "I got to wear the new dress & you didn't!"
In time for our Easter Party I recovered a Craftsman style rocking chair built by my grandfather around 1910. The Calder print material covering it was a recover from my mother- it used to be covered in all leather.
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Chair and flooring my own.
Other elements from~
I decorated her lampshade! I found these yellow flowers and glued them on it looks so much better =)
Local call number: dm4155
Title: Conch house porch - Key West
Date: 1979
Physical descrip: 1 photonegative - col. - 35 mm.
Series Title: Dale M McDonald Collection
Repository: State Library and Archives of Florida, 500 S. Bronough St., Tallahassee, FL 32399-0250 USA. Contact: 850.245.6700. Archives@dos.state.fl.us
Persistent URL: www.floridamemory.com/items/show/59688
The Hanover-Horton Historical Society houses its museum in the former Hanover High School building in Hanover, a small village southwest of Jackson, Michigan. My brother Doug and nephew Grant and I visited during Jackson County's Museum Day May 11, 2019. This is the elegant 1900's Living Room.
Hanover-Horton Historical Society
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These aren't a fixture on every boardwalk, but Sea Bright has them. Konica Auto-Reflex, Kodak Plus-X (expired 2004), Rodinal 1:50.
When I was in 5th grade, my mom took me to a concert of big band music at Michigan State University. It was all university bands. One after the other. I couldn’t get enough of it. The drumming must have made the biggest impression, because from that day, I wanted to learn how to play. I got a snare drum for Christmas that year and began taking lessons in the clatterly old music building on campus (replaced decades ago) from Linda Flahive, a student there.
Over the next several Christmases my snare drum was joined by other members of the drumset family. My interest in big band music waned, taken over by an interest in contemporary jazz. By the time I left for college, I was a jazz snob. The shelf in my freshman year dorm closet groaned from the weight of all my LPs. I played in a jazz combo (horribly, horribly bad) at school and made friends with guitarist Julian Catford, who shared my love for Django Reinhardt and Charlie Christian.
In the years following, I went to hundreds of concerts (and photographed at all too few). The 1970s were fertile times for jazz. MSU had a jazz society that put on four or five shows a year, bringing in top-tier talent. And there was The Stables, East Lansing’s jazz club, where I saw Charles Mingus, Miles Davis, and many more. Less than an hour away, in Ann Arbor, the university jazz society there also brought in the heavy hitters. And there was Baker’s Keyboard Lounge in Detroit, and shows in Chicago and Toronto.
In those years the Art Ensemble of Chicago and Sun Ra and his Arkestra toured incessantly, frequently playing within my driving radius. I saw both those bands repeatedly. Roscoe Mitchell, of the Art Ensemble, lived for a time outside East Lansing, and I got to know him personally through a weeklong workshop I attended.
In 1979 I moved to Boston, and the music menu grew. Jonathan Swift’s in Harvard Square and The Paradise on Commonwealth Ave. presented an eclectic variety of music, and I partook of it all. My most memorable event: Seeing Captain Beefheart on two successive nights, two shows each night, at the Paradise. (Why oh why didn’t I take pictures?)
My interest in drumming faded over time, replaced by stabs at piano and clarinet. I play bass guitar now. In my fantasies I play in an old-timey conjunto band. I love that stuff. In fact, I’m not good enough for a band, but when I play along with records, the band just keeps chugging along through all my dropped notes and rhythmic foul-ups.
Andromache Astrapol, Queen of the Northern Breezes, adjusted the burners. She eased off the heat, and allowed the steam to clear. The mushroom broth was done.
It had been a hard course that brought her and her vessel, the Prospect of Zion, to this anchorage. Right now, all she wanted was a chance to put her feet up and rest a moment.
All too soon her people would be here, bombarding her with their troubles and needs. And it wasn't that she minded, necessarily. They were a deserving folk. But, by the heavens, it was incessant!
She shooed El Cazador from her seat. The tiny tyrant clawed at the seat cushion and yowled its frustration, but she disregarded it. It already had exclusive use of a basket, two shelves, the best hammock and a ragged-looking ottoman. She was damned if she was going to let it colonise her rocking chair as well. A queen needed a throne if she was to recieve supplicants.
The soup was both scolding to the lips and rich to the taste. Cumin and pepper lent it a familiar spice. These were the riches of caravans that had travelled many hundreds of leagues. The wealth of her people.
And soon they would be here; mooring up for the winter. She ran over the essentials in her head; there was plenty water for many families - as drinking supplies and as solid ice. There were good lines of sight in every direction. The nearest settlement was over 30 leagues off, and unlikely to give them any trouble. Food and fuel would be provided. And this year enough of the families would share the responsibility that no-one could take advantage. It might be five months or more before they left Coldharbour. And there would be no-one impoverished or starved on her watch.
El Cazador sprang back into her lap, and curled into a ball quickly, lest she dispute the arrangement. It watched her with wary eyes, ready to fight, even as it settled in. But Andromache Astrapol, Queen of the Northern Breezes, simply sipped at her broth. After all, who was she to deny a throne to such a persistent pretender?