View allAll Photos Tagged easygoing
Õ esmaltinho difícil! It's not easygoing at all! Só consegui aplicá-lo seguindo as preciosas dicas da querida Lizzie do Esmalte Sempre esmaltesempre.wordpress.com/2010/11/21/bases-foscas-para-...
Ele é um rosa pastel claríssimo, quase branco. Não faz meu gênero. Pensei que fosse um rosa nude e, quando a encomenda chegou, surpresa!
Foi bom para treinar minha habilidade "manicurística".
Usei Complexo 4 em 1 da Avon + Essie Matte About You + 2 camadas do esmalte + roxinho Colorama
Obrigada, Lizzie!
New Mind Space mounts a Bubble Battle in Astor Place, because, well, because it's summer, and who doesn't love making bubbles? It ends up being a silly and delightful event that runs to a couple of generations and encompasses an easygoing wide range of personal styles.
Check back for more bubble shots; there are many in the queue. And if you find yourself in my pictures, let me know with a comment below - I'll add your name to the tags, so you'll be searchable.
even though she doesn't believe in love,
he's determined to call her bluff
.
ingenious.
there is no hiding the fact that he is brilliant. his nickname, "einstein," is well earned. robbie has played such an important role in my life because he was one of the first people i got really close with in college. i always appreciate his advice and support but also love that he's so easygoing. we've been on giant slides and spent afternoons just talking nonsense words. he is brilliant, whimsical, and always there to lend an ear, robbie is quite the character.
project 10
MINOLTA x-370
Nick is boarding Crunch at his house and brought him over this evening since Nick and I had to exchange some paperwork. Crunch is a lovely 2.5-year-old guy who's very easygoing--believe it or not, my chihuahua mix, Dexter, had him watching his Ps and Qs!
Ligpo cave is the kind of divesite you need to appreciate. Nothing spectacular, but nice and easygoing. The cave was nice – crappy scatter photos – and this is the only place to see a resident shark in Anilao, and this sloping hill covered in corals was nicer afterwards than at the time.
Appreciate the nice clams and you'll survive (-;
China. Yunnan.
Kunming.
The Huating Buddhist Temple is an ancient Buddhist temple that was originally a retreat for the local ruler, and is one of the major tourist attractions in the Western Hills area. Sitting at the foot of Mount Huating, it is one of the best-preserved Buddhist temples in Kunming. The 900-year-old temple was originally designed as a county temple for Gao Zhishen, Kunming's governor during the Song dynasty (1063AD). It was rebuilt as a Buddhist temple in the fourteenth century and it continued to grow and later became the largest Buddhist complex in Kunming. The main temple contains a trinity of gilded lacquer Buddhas seated on lotus thrones. It is characterized by blue hair, august gesture and sumptuous setting. Comparing with the serious Buddha, the 500 luohan on the sidewalls, similar to those in the Bamboo Temple, then appear frivolous and easygoing. Today, there still are some fine statues and excellent gardens.
"Quand je suis né, j'étais noir.
Quand j'ai grandi, j'étais noir.
Quand j'ai peur, je suis noir.
Quand je vais au soleil, je suis noir.
Quand je suis malade, je suis noir.
Tandis que toi "homme blanc"
Quand tu es né, tu étais rose,
Quand tu as grandi, tu es devenu blanc,
Quand tu vas au soleil, tu deviens rouge,
Quand tu as froid, tu deviens bleu,
Quand tu as peur, tu deviens vert,
Quand tu es malade, tu deviens jaune,
et après ça tu as le toupet de m'appeler:
"Homme de couleurs"
Impressive facial expression studies made by the sculptor Franz Xaver Messerschmidt.
He had probably not a very easygoing personality.
Sculptors are often a bit .... odd. bizarre. schizo. maniacs. weirdoes. complete idiots. just artists.
Yes, in that far corner is the famed Campagnolo tool kit.
---
Back from Key West and Florida.
We flew into Miami and drove down to Key West. On the way back, I wanted to stop and visit with John Dacey of Business Cycles, a cult fixed gear figure and shop of sorts.
So many people reference Business Cycles and the hard work that John Dacey puts into providing a lot of information out there on the web.
I consider him to be one of the best, a very humble and easygoing man who was kind to let us into the store and bother him with my fanboy antics.
He's the Miami's equivalent of Marcus Moore of Yojimbo's here in Chicago.
China. Yunnan.
Kunming.
The Huating Buddhist Temple is an ancient Buddhist temple that was originally a retreat for the local ruler, and is one of the major tourist attractions in the Western Hills area. Sitting at the foot of Mount Huating, it is one of the best-preserved Buddhist temples in Kunming. The 900-year-old temple was originally designed as a county temple for Gao Zhishen, Kunming's governor during the Song dynasty (1063AD). It was rebuilt as a Buddhist temple in the fourteenth century and it continued to grow and later became the largest Buddhist complex in Kunming. The main temple contains a trinity of gilded lacquer Buddhas seated on lotus thrones. It is characterized by blue hair, august gesture and sumptuous setting. Comparing with the serious Buddha, the 500 luohan on the sidewalls, similar to those in the Bamboo Temple, then appear frivolous and easygoing. Today, there still are some fine statues and excellent gardens.
I love pictures of Joe when he smiles but he looks amazing in the shot. I look at him and think about how lucky I am to be this gorgeous man's wife. He is such a wonderful person, intelligent, witty, easygoing and soooo good to me. He's my dream man. He's perfect for me in everyway, I love and adore him with all my heart.
He's getting so big! His favorite game right now is when we help him stand up. He's smiling a lot, he's very friendly, and such an easygoing little guy. I love him to pieces!
Commander Shepard's right hand man, he is one of the most sadistic clones in the pods, revelling in the pain and misery of others. He respects no one, except for Shepard, his pod brother, and Alec, his CO. He used to be friendly and generally easygoing, but after two months of the war, he was kidnapped by human merceneries, along with his platoon, and saw so much suffering in the six months he was captured, that something just snapped in his head, somehow overriding what the Kaminoan's had tried to subdue; independance. Afterwards, he was removed from command, and instead placed at Shepard's side, advising him with tactical desicions (Something Shepard would later regret). He is possible it drove him slightly mad, as when he tortures biological creatures, his clones hear him actually gigling as his victims yell and weep. He eventually reasied this, and, fearing being killed by the Kaminoans for this, told Shepard, whom he knew would never report him. He understood (Barely) and has put him on medication. In his spare time in Kamino, he worked out a lot, giving him a huge phyisicue. This allows him to duel wield without a problem, and hold multiple weapons.
Chris works as a Courtesy Officer at Executive Center. During recent garage repairs, he planned the reorganization of reserved parking with no inconvenience to the 1,000 tenants who park there. Under his careful watch, an entire year has passed with no incidents or damage to vehicles on the property. Chris also uses his computer knowledge to create necessary forms and add photographs to incident reports, which has become the norm in our reporting. Chris knows tenants by name and is well-liked for his attentive customer service and easygoing temperament. His willingness to assist other members of the staff, regardless of the task, personifies “team work.”
For much of his tenure at Executive Center, Chris has been enrolled in college on a full-time basis. His mother and siblings live in Dallas, and he and his wife have a 4-year-old daughter. They are active in their church and love taking Caribbean cruises.
From Edmunds (http://www.edmunds.com/lexus/rx350/2008/review.html) -
The introduction of the Lexus RX series was perfectly timed to meet affluent consumers' emerging desire for SUVs that were easy to drive in suburbia and furnished to luxury sedan standards. The first of the luxury crossover SUVs, the RX 300 quickly became the brand's best-selling vehicle. It won over shoppers with its easygoing personality, upscale cabin, virtually silent powertrain and outstanding build quality. Now badged as the RX 350, this midsize crossover is nearing the end of its second generation but remains a strong competitor in its class. Rivals surpass the 2008 Lexus RX 350 in the handling department, but for buyers seeking comfort and serenity in large helpings, it easily satisfies.
Like other luxury crossover SUVs, the Lexus RX 350 is built on a car chassis, in this case the 2002-'06 Toyota Camry platform. These origins provide an immediate clue to the RX 350's personality: It's a serene and forgiving highway cruiser, but has never been much of an athlete, even by sport-utility standards. That said, the current-generation RX feels a touch sportier than the original, thanks to the availability of an adaptive air suspension and 18-inch wheels. Adding to the effect is the potent 3.5-liter V6 Lexus slotted into its crossover SUV last year. Rated for 270 horsepower and 251 pound-feet of torque, this V6 allows an all-wheel-drive RX 350 to accelerate to 60 mph in the mid 7-second range -- impressive for a V6-equipped midsize SUV.
There's a Skafte family trait I can't pretend I don't share, borrowed more or less equally from both sides of the tree. We like to complain, oh sure, we love it like a poison. When someone says we should give it a rest, we take it poorly, and find someone else to complain about that. Doesn't matter how hard or easy we've had it, we want to rail against the minor inconveniences of life. No one would mistake us for easygoing, not a chance. Nobody ever met me and left thinking: "He doesn't let anything get to him." You could brush off that gripe and grumble as common human behaviour, but I've spent a lot of time thinking on the cause. What makes us want to see the fault in what we're given, offering half a thanks at best – and why do we feel so slighted for the sake of passing problems? It feels strong to rip in and tear something down, but somehow weak if we let in on why we do it.
I think it hides in a fear of facing mental health. The symptom of my family's dysfunction is our constant complaining, but anxiety is clearly the cause. Buzzing around like a low-grade headache, swift and shallow breathing, heart beating a bit too fast. No real reason, but plenty of possible triggers. Instead of telling ourselves that there's nothing to blame, we pick from a thousand options of what's setting us off. Too many chores, someone talking too loud, piles of paperwork to finish, a pending trip to plan for. When I finally realized that anxiety was the common factor, it got easier to deal with. I understood it like a switch randomly flipped, why I can cheerfully work a long and stressful day as a wedding photographer – but inexplicably feel miserable with twenty minutes of dirty dishes in front of me. I keep stumbling into issues that will solve themselves tomorrow, then telling myself I'll take nothing less than tonight.
When I first met Susy and we fell in love, I quickly saw how similar our anxieties behaved. She'd respond to stimuli much the same as me, and get set off just as easily. But where she differed was being open about it. Susy never made me the scapegoat for her feelings, didn't form a complex complaint around imaginary triggers. She just said: "I'm feeling anxious", and I understood exactly the depth she was meaning. It's what finally got me starting to scrape myself off the wall, and admit what I was feeling. Turns out everything went back to that singular cause – high anxiety. It's what explains my easy annoyance, worries about the future, fears of what folks think of me. It's why I could spent sixty straight minutes sharing my problems, until they end up bigger than they started. It's a precarious feeling when you finally admit it, all those years inventing excuses when you only needed one. Anxiety – not my friend, and not my enemy.
April 9, 2022
Annapolis County, Nova Scotia
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Class outing - Wednesday, visiting the ruins of Ancient Ostia (ex-seaport town of Rome)
William: a bit bored, listening to music, leaning on a wall
March 12, 1944 - September 27, 2025
Editor's Note: I have this rule against using the real names of people I know in the world, and I generally avoid posting pictures that aren't mine. I'm breaking both those guidelines today. This picture -- probably taken by Robin's mother -- shows Robin's father, a man named Joe Vitucci. That last name isn't pronounced the way you might think. Joe's father (Robin's grandfather) immigrated from Italy to Cincinnati in 1921, but he wound up living on the Kentucky side of the Ohio River and decided to Kentuckify the pronunciation of his name for reasons that aren't clear. The arrangement of letters that might translate to a "ch" back in Italy make an "s" sound in Cincinnati's Northern Kentucky suburbs. The name is a close rhyme to "watusi."
The picture was taken 21 years and ten days ago during a 2004 trip Joe and Carol (Robin's mother) took to Montana to visit Carol's brother and his wife. I think this shows Joe on a boat tour on one of the reservoirs on the Missouri River near Helena, but they roamed all over the place on that trip, so it might have been down in Yellowstone or up in Glacier. Robin's mother will tell me. Joe looks like a cool dude here in his do-it-yourself sunglasses and his turtleneck shirt and his free cap from work and his understated Joe Vitucci smile.
I'm not going to write out the story of Joe's life, because I wasn't there for most of it, and it's not my story to tell. Robin can talk about the family history. I just know some basic facts. He served in Vietnam but lucked into a non-combat "Radar O'Reilly" job because he could type. (That's what he always called it, a "Radar O'Reilly" job.) He came home and married Carol and spent decades doing some sort of desk job for a box company 60-someodd miles from where he lived, and he had a deep respect for a particular brand of folding box because of it. (We still have some of those things lying around.) He built or mostly-built two houses with Carol, learning tradesman skills as he went, and he turned into an excellent handyman. He liked driving but was a horrible passenger, thanks to a wreck he'd had when he was young and riding with a women who crashed a Volkswagen. He always rode in the back seat when he wasn't driving, and he always told the story of that wreck to explain why. He was a finicky eater and was very particular about his machines -- he never missed an oil change for his cars and had a three-page checklist for starting up his giant RV -- but was otherwise very easygoing, and he was one of the least judgmental people I've ever known. He was always nice to me. I always felt like he liked me. He'd laugh at my jokes.
He loved his wife, who was the core of his world, and whenever he left the house -- whether it was a five-hour jaunt around the Ohio Valley or a five-minute hop to the store -- he always took a moment to kiss her on the way out.
For a longest time, I'd have complicated and (sometimes) contentious talks about the state of the world with Robin's mom, but Joe always kept his opinions about all that stuff to himself. He talked to me about guy things, like what was going on at work or school or with the kids, or what little I knew about sports teams, or how our car was running. The first thing he'd say to me whenever I'd walk in the door was, "How was traffic?" He'd follow that up with, "What's gas running up there?" And then he'd talk a little about what was going on down on the river, or maybe he'd mention something he'd heard on the Chicago news he picked up from his AM car radio on the way to work. And then maybe we'd go outside and walk around the river house and talk about cutting the grass, or we'd plan some excursion out into the countryside.
That's the way I most connected with Joe. He liked to roam around and poke his nose into places, and a lot of weekends he'd take me and Robin or, later, just me on long drives around Northern Kentucky or Ohio or Indiana. Early on, he took me to my first-ever Major League Baseball game with outrageously expensive home plate tickets he'd gotten for free from the guys at work. Later, we started just wandering. We went to Clifty Falls State Park a couple of times. We drove down to Lexington once and walked around the nature preserve at Ravens Run. We drove the road on either side of the river more times than I can count. We explored a state park where Daniel Boone had fought a Revolutionary War battle. We crossed the Ohio River on a ferry boat and walked through museums and parks and a frickin' castle in Cincinnati. If he couldn't think of a specific place to go, he'd just drive around, thinking maybe I'd see things to photograph, and a bunch of pictures on this page come from those drives. He liked looking at this Flickr page and was always curious about how I came up with all this stuff to write. Sometimes he took his own camera along and shot some pictures of his own, and I kind of wish now I'd thought to set him up with his own Flickr page in about 2015.
He was fascinated with the logistics of big machines and liked to watch things running so he could figure out how they worked. He lived near an Ohio River dam, and he liked going down to watch the boats pass through the locks. One time, we were in the middle of a dinner with the extended family on Robin's grandparents' back porch, which faced the river, and he saw a big paddlewheel boat round the bend upstream. He dropped his hamburger (plain, no cheese) and asked if I wanted to go watch the boat lock through, so we abandoned the rest of the family and drove fast down to the dam, and I took this picture.
I think it was those weekend drives that finally clued us in on what was going on with his mind. Robin and I went with him on a random drive to Rooster Run sometime around 2018, and a car at a stoplight backed up right into him for no reason at all. Joe had done absolutely nothing to make that happen -- the moron in the car ahead of us had decided he was in the wrong lane and forgot mirrors existed -- but the excitement of the moment froze Joe in a way he wouldn't have frozen before. Something about this tripped a wire in Carol, and that night she asked me if I'd seen anything odd about his behavior on our drives. I said that he got turned around easily, but I pointed out that I'd never seen anyone named Vitucci who knew where they were, and that I figured getting turned around was just part of his nature. But the more I thought about it, the more evidence I saw buried in the moments. It turned out that Carol was right to worry, and the diagnosis came not too long afterward.
But that's just how the story ends, and as Robin said a few days ago, you can't measure the quality of a life by how it ends.
Joe Vitucci lived 81 years, and 75 of those years were everything any of us would hope for in a life. You never know what goes on in a person's head, but I think he was a happy man. He was satisfied, and by any measure I think he would have valued, he was successful. He spent more than half a century married to a woman he deeply loved, and at the very end when he'd lost everything else, that love was the anchor that showed he was still Joe Vitucci. Even to the very last moment, he worried about Carol getting home safely. He was an excellent father, and his love for his daughter shaped a wonderful woman who has become my entire world. He was a nice guy, a good man, a brilliant husband and father and father-in-law, and I will miss him deeply.