View allAll Photos Tagged indication
After a while of hanging out at Joliet, IL, a small crowd might appear. This is a pretty good indication that the main attraction at this Chicago suburb hot spot is about to make it's appearance. The early days of the Iowa Interstate provided a mash up of mostly first generation power. Although when this was taken, the railroad was nine years old, but still pouring it on the old Rock Island main with first generation goods. BICB(Blue Island/Council Bluffs) was the daily treat. This train plied the entire length of the Interstate setting out and picking up freight along the way. Even though it has only one more state to travel through after leaving Illinois, it could be days before this arrives at it's destination. What a difference this railroad is today! High welded iron, big GE ES44AC's, and fast trains. I'm surprised it hasn't been taken over by one of the big guys......."Knock on wood".
I was quite surprised when my brother told me that that this waterfall was nearby given that there'd been no indication of it save for a stream which you could see on the other side of the road but which didn't appear to amount to much. I was astonished therefore when I looked over the bridge and saw this below me! You can see the arch of the bridge at the top of frame which gives you an idea as to how dep this gorge is. An amazing place and well worth the short walk to get to the river.
I have a bunch of old negatives that I never got around to scanning and printing in the darkroom. With the move and loss of my darkroom, I'm scanning now and processing in Adobe LR and CS6. Holga 120N. I don't know the film (tho' I suppose I could look for indications on the negative), and I couldn't tell you what I developed this in. D76 or R09 One shot probably...
The appearance of snowdrops is an lovely indication that Spring is on the way - and Brian can hardly wait!
For Macro Mondays theme 'Dangle'. It only occurred to me after getting Brian to dangle by his tail from the snowdrop stem, that the snowdrop flower itself is also dangling! I had thought at first that it would be nice if Brian would hang straight down with his eye stalks outstretched, almost imitating the shape of the flower, but he had his own ideas and was much more interested in stretching his body towards the snowdrop. I know I can't detect any scent from a snowdrop, but snails have very sensitive olfactory cells in their antennae, so Brian may actually be enjoying the flower's perfume.
No snails were harmed in the making of this photograph.
The legend of Saint Sigfrid of Sweden relates how Sigfrid, a missionary from England, chose Växjö as the site to build a cathedral. He was said to also have been buried in the cathedral that he founded. While the legend is largely unreliable as a historical source, it is probable that a wooden church was built on the same site as the current cathedral in the 11th century, during the Christianization of Scandinavia. Coins from the 11th century have been found during excavations within the church, and a preserved Christian runestone from the same century (Rundata number Sm 10), today located next to the choir wall, may be further indication of the early presence of a wooden church on the site. (Wikipedia)
Not much excitement tonight...LOL
But to a sailor this is a Good sky..this is an indication of a good night and day tomorrow.
By the way,,This is the same location of this mornings Shot...LOL
Have a Wonderful evening Friends.
In Colorado I could see the sun set over the mountains from my front balcony in our condo. Our place was tiny, way too small for our growing family and my balcony became my escape. There were times as a stay at home homeschooling Mom that by the end of the day my sanity was hanging on just by a frazzled thread. In the evenings I would go outside and soak up the last rays of sun and admire the beautiful sunset. I used it as a time for myself to calm myself, reflect, usually pray. Some people have a glass of wine or maybe a cigaret to unwind. Watching the sunset was my glass of wine. This was a tradition for me during my last two pregnancies which because of severe complications I was put on extreme bed rest in my third trimester with both. After my youngest was born in March, the pandemic was in full swing. I believe it was only a few days after her birth (hard to remember, but very shortly after) that our state shut down. For several months we were stuck inside like the rest of the world. I maintained my sanity by slipping away each day to watch the sun go down. it meant I had survived another day and sometimes that was hard enough by itself. When we made the move to Texas to by dismay the area we moved to had no vantage point whatsoever to see the sun drop. The trees although pretty, block any indication of the sun setting and obviously the elevation is pretty flat! For the first several weeks I feel silly admitting that I became deeply depressed and sad that I could no longer carry on this tradition of watching the sun go down. When I found this lake (which is about 40 minutes from town!) and realized I'd get to see the sun set for the first time in weeks, I was ecstatic. We brought our portable grill and set up by the lake. And that was where I saw my very first Texas sunset. I was so emotional about it I actually cried. I remember sending my Mom a Marco Polo of the sun setting... I know I sound a bit unstable. Give me some grace, 2020 and all lol. Since then it's became one of my favorite places to go. Because of the distance Im not able to go every day but when I am I savor that experience and always take pictures of it to bring home. I didn't realize how much I took for granted in being able to see the sun set in Colorado but it is one of the things I miss the most. The sunset tonight was so beautiful. This area is unique in the fact that the bottom of the lake seems to be all red clay. It makes it almost peculiar as you get the blue of the sky reflected onto the water but the red tones are also there. Lots of scraggly bushes and rocks in this area that do get in my way for pictures. I'm not sure how well it works in this picture but I still wanted to share. I hope you enjoy the glimpse into my world and hopefully it brings you some joy as well.
Almost 1 in the morning here so I will end this. Goodnight dear friends. xx
Rachel
PS: if you would like to see a few more of my favorite places here in East Texas you can check out my newest blog post on my website <3
With a clear to slow indication, CPKC H25; a yard transfer from Agincourt Yard to Lambton Yard, proceeds west at the iconic Bartlett Ave intermediates. This train had made an unscheduled stop about a mile to our east after hitting a "soccer ball sized rock" left on the tracks. The crew reported the incident to RTC whom requested they stop and inspect their locomotives before continuing. The crew found no damage, and continued their short journey. This would be my last time photographing any searchlights along the North Toronto Subdivision, as by the following week everything would be cut over. One set of intermediate "vaders" replaced 2 sets of intermediate searchlights, and two sets of controlled locations which by this point were just glorified intermediates as the crossovers and diamond that used to be along this stretch of mainline had both been removed years prior. This includes the set of signals seen off in the distance displaying a "clear to stop".
Train: CPKC H-25 Mile 4.5
Toronto, Ontario
CPKC North Toronto Subdivision
The yard has been full of babies lately, but some are more welcome than others. Last year was the first that parasitic cowbird babies appeared, and the presence of adults in the neighborhood this season was a good indication that this year would see more. This baby showed up today and immediately started throwing its weight around. Like all of the others I have seen in the yard, it was attached to a junco foster-mother. Cowbird baby, backyard Olympia.
Modesty on the sands,the grains of sand give some indication of its size,and the cockle shell.Wonder where this small doll came from.
Kenfig Sands.
Thanks all for looking.
Here's the Igarapé, a fine creek watering into the Guamá River which wets the shores of Belém. You can see that modern city on the far side and the stilted traditional houses along the creek on the left here. Those stilts give an indication of 'the swing of the sea' - as religious poet Gerald Manley Hopkins (1844-1889) might have said - even this far up the tributaries of the Mighty Amazon.
The inset is of a flowering tree that lines many of the Tropical Streams, Pachira aquatica. In Brazil it's often called Monguba or Munguba. But our guide Junior insisted on the local name - and he wrote it down for me - Mahorana. Perhaps... But I haven't been able to reference that name. Anyone out their in Tropical Flickrland?
PS Tomorrow I expect to be in Paramaribo where the internet will possibly be better. Patience, please.
VIA has been mismatching their LRC/HEP sets all winter & early spring, and this westbound flying out of Trenton is no different. Silver P42DC 918 leads with 2 Budd coaches, 2 LRC coaches, and another silver P42DC bringing up the tail. An interesting note, due to the short distance between SNS Trenton Jct and SNS Trenton, the default indication for eastbounds on the north track is clear to slow. I'm not sure I've ever seen that before!
All indications indication were that nothing special would happen this night while we were driving up to Milford Sound thru neck-breaking Fiordland National Park. It was another notorious rainy day in Fiordland. Everything grey and misty but yet a mystical scenery worth the many stops. Due to that we were running late for the sunset at Milfod Sound as I was thinking that nothing special would happen anyway. Arriving last minute when the light was unfolding to its full magic I still managed to get some shots. Yay! Had to jump into the water at an air temperature of around 7°C without my gumboots though as I left them in the car in the hurry.
Anyway, it was all worth the hassle and the colors where amazing that I even had to tone them down in PP.
While out exploring new points of access for the Prairie River I found this newly-mown trail into a section of public hunting land. Glad they missed this lovely bracken which seems to point me into the forest.
On the misty morning of August 31st, 2015 Canadian National “Rock train” L704 with its single EMD SD60 and about 26 loads were at Ackerville, Wisconsin.
This train would normally shove south from its origin at spur 126 to this location to run-around their train, so the rear end device setting on top of the snowplow is an indication that they were still in the process of carrying out that move here before being able to proceed southward. ~~ A Jeff Hampton Photograph ©
The largest climbable/Treckable dune in the Namib. You start at the green bush line then follow the twisting crest to the top. Others may disagree, but it is hard work! For scale you can see people on the crest on the last curve before the top.
At approximately 0749 on September 15, 2020, UP Train MCXNP 14 ran a stop indication and derailed on a crossover switch at State Line Jct. on the KCT High Line while crossing over from 75 to 74 Track. The switches were out of correspondence, being thrown while the stop signal violation took place. At over 20 MPH, both engines and the head 5 cars derailed, listing but upright.
The derailment thankfully stayed on the ballasted deck bridge without falling to the ground below, but presented a unique challenge with where the equipment came to rest, necessitating the use of several contractors to remove the locomotives and railcars.
Wilkerson Crane Rental, Inc., and Cranemasters did most of the lifting, while Mainline Services LLC., under the direction of BNSF engineering forces, as they have the MOW contract on the KCT; replaced the track. Watco/KCTL dropped new ballast with a BNSF rock train to replace what was removed from the bridge deck during cleanup.
A myriad of other contractors also assisted in moving the needed materials and equipment into the site. The line returned to service at 0450 on the 17th without the crossover, which will be restored at a later date. It was nothing short of a fascinating procedure to watch as the equipment was recovered.
I've seen a horsefly. I've seen a housefly, but I ain't never seen an AC4400CW fly until tonight. It's not far off the bridge, but suspended between the Cranemasters and Wilkerson booms, the engine is suspended over 30 feet above the ground in this photo.
Locomotives: UP 6539, UP 9104
Rolling Stock: TTGX 697357
9-16-20
Kansas City, MO
An indication that spring has arrived is when the local farmers begin to prepare their fields. This photo was taken at Fort Langley British Columbia Canada with a 1940 Zeiss Ikon with medium format Ilford HP5 film.
2022-08-31, Day 5
Under a setting crescent moon, a wandering braid of Upright Creek separates itself from the main channel and finds its way down a broad meadow on its way to the Moose River, Mount Robson Provincial Park, British Columbia.
The descent from Upright Pass to this valley felt like something of a small miracle. We stood at the apex of the pass and looked down into a vast glacier carved depression, with massive amounts of ice still clinging to the uppermost halls of stone. The lower parts of the depression were forested, and on first inspection, the way forward appeared steep and comprising an incredibly difficult mess of twisted trees and rocks. It would take many hours to navigate the 2 ½ miles to where I thought we might camp, and the time was already past 3:00p in the afternoon. My spirits deflated, and I began to seriously question why I ever thought 4 days of off-trail travel was a good idea.
We began to pick our way down through the wreckage of trees, and it was not long before I saw a curious flat and highly weathered vertically oriented surface on a small diameter downed piece of wood. The maps we carried were produced in the 1990s, and these maps showed no trail from Upright Pass down to the valley below us. However, that flat surface could only have been made by a saw, which strongly suggested a trail once navigated the slope down which we stared, albeit how many decades ago we could only guess. Short, cool summers and long, cold winters with plenty of snow means decomposition proceeds slowly. Maybe that cut was made in the 1970s? The 1950s? The only thing that was clear was that a faint trail was discernible, and we continued to find the cut surfaces belying the work of some long disbanded crew of trail builders as we proceeded steeply down slope. The euphoria we both felt at the discovery of this long-lost right-of-way was immense, and it was an interesting indication of how much the uncertainty and difficulty of the previous four trail-less days had weighed upon us.
The cut logs and the old route were capricious, sometimes obvious and sometimes disappearing, but always trending downward and keeping somewhat near the stream that carried the glaciers away. We managed to follow the trail to the bottom of the slope and the head of the valley shown in this photo. At this point, there was a confluence with another stream coming in from a different short valley to the north and we lost all traces of trail amongst innumerable braided channels running overland and amongst the trees for over a ¼ of a mile. Wandering amongst the trees and wading through the abundant shallow water, we found occasional dry patches of ground and evidence of long-gone horse camps.
My first thought was to walk to the side of the meadow on the right in this image, and hopefully find dry ground near the toe-slope. I thought to push onward and find a spot to camp near a lake I had seen while planning the route. As it turned out, this was a poor idea, and it was not long before we found ourselves navigating piles of logs thoughtfully arranged by numerous avalanches over years past. Jumping down from one log I discovered I had incautiously plunged myself into a patch of nettles growing under some other, larger-leaved plants. Welts grew on the backsides of my hands and it was abundantly clear that horse packers had never navigated this side of the valley. We turned around and headed back to a horse camp we had seen some 30 minutes prior, and when we arrived, my friend wisely counseled that we should stay put for the night, and search for trail and find our way out of the valley on the morrow. As if to agree, the sun, moon, and clouds conspired together to create an enchanting display as we ate and nursed our tired feet. The sleeping bags called persistently as the light faded.
If the last ten years is any indication, most of the people I know have either had Thanksgiving in October, don't have Thanksgiving at all; or are taking the day off anyway.
To those of you who don't know what a Wild Turkey looks like, this tom made advances at me 12 years ago on Mt. Diablo during mating season. By the time I had the camera to my eye, he was too close to get his full, beautiful display. Consider this a portrait of a missing snood, black beard, blue head, caruncles, and a wattle.
To all, a happy Thanksgiving day.
Babblers have a weak flight and are residents within their range. The forage in parties and clamber up vegetation and when disturbed, they tend to drop from the topmost perches of the bush into the undergrowth. The typical habitat is undergrowth in forest or on the edge of forests in more open growth. Their food is mainly insects. They can be difficult to observe in the dense vegetation they prefer, but like other babblers, these are noisy birds, and their characteristic rattling churr alarm calls are often the best indication that these birds are present.They often join mixed-species foraging flocks.
The breeding season is May to July. This babbler builds its nest low down in a bush, the nest being a ball of leaves, often of bamboo. The nest looks like some dry leaves stuck in a bush with the opening on the side. The normal clutch is two eggs. They are also said to construct dormitory nests within which birds may sometimes roost. These dormitory nests are not lined.
Running out of ideas for your 365 project? Join We're Here!
Strobist: AB800 with gridded HOBD-W overhead. Silver reflector underneath camera. Triggered by Cybersync.
Nikon F5, Nikkor 24mm f2.8, Kodak Tmax 100.
There are some very sparse indications of the kids that once inhabited this place. This little heart on the central hallway window trim stopped me in my tracks when I saw it. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to best photograph it.
Some kid dipped their finger in wet wall paint to make this - possibly at great risk in doing so. I hope this kid had a great life and that his love was met in kind after leaving this awful place.
In Japan, Emily Dickinson's (1830-1886) poetry is higly regarded. A clear indication is the large grant of money that the chemical giant, the Kaneka Corporartion (Osaka) furnished the Emily Dickinson Museum (Amherst, Mass.) in 2005 for its restoration projects. Her poetry is often compared to Japanese traditional haiku, although, of course, it is quite different. Regardless, this photo brings to mind her 'In the Garden':
A bird came down the walk:
He did not know I saw;
He bit an angle-worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw.
And then he drank a dew
From a convenient grass,
And then hopped sidewise to the wall
To let a beetle pass.
He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all abroad,
They looked like frightened beads, I thought;
He stirred his velvet head
Like one in danger; cautious,
I offered him a crumb,
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer home
Than oars divide the ocean,
Too silver for a seam,
Or butterflies, off banks of noon,
Leap, splashless, as they swim.
There's more of a general connection between Dickinson and Japan, though. The anonymous Master to whom she wrote three highly personal letters is thought to be William Smith Clark (1826-1886), a Massachusetts educationalist who made a great impression on the Japanese during his relatively brief stay at Sapporo.
He was the founder of what is today Hokkaido University, then called the Agricultural College of Sapporo. A great statue of him stand atop Hitsujigaoka observation hill. His right arm is stretched out as if he is saying "Boys, be ambitious". That motto is fondly remembered in Sapporo even today, and I am said - though I can't check it - that it in Japanese is inscribed on educational buildings in Sapporo.
Clark came here hard on the heels of Horace Capron (1804-1885), former commissioner of Agriculture under US presidents Johnson and Ulysses S. Grant. Capron had been hired by the Kaitakushi - the development commission for Hokkaido - to modernize that island to stem the expansion of the Russians from Vladivostok. (He actually needed the high remuneration that almost caused scandal to care for his blind son.)
The garden in the photo is that of the Akarenga - The Red Brick Building - that served as the seat of the Kaitakushi. It was planned by Capron on the model of the Massachusetts Sate House. Unusually for Japan made of red brick, two villages nearbij - Toyohira and Shiroishi - were conscripted into making those bricks. In 1873 it was one of the largest buildings of Japan. It burnt down in 1879 but was restored again in 1886. Today it sits as somthing of a smallish anomaly in this pretty park in the shadow of the skyscrapers around and the enormous new central railroad station of Sapporo.
The Blue Swallow Motel had no vacancy the night we stayed there. A good indication that travel had picked up and therefore little motels like this were experiencing an increase in business.
.....and a hint of cloud too!
Last night I received an aurora email alert, and I checked one of my favourite aurora websites which gives a more accurate indication of whether an aurora will be visible at my latitude. Was pleased to see a high number, so dashed outside for a trial shot in our street. A little colour was visible, but sadly, the lower part of the sky down to the horizon had a light hazy cloud layer just obscuring any colour low down. Normally, that part of the sky is filled with stars. Happy to see a little splash of red up high not being overpowered by our town's street-light glow. This was now the second aurora visible in Mount Gambier I have seen this year.
As it was a hasty shot, I did not even get out the tripod. Here, the Canon RP was just set on my front garden table propped up on my spectacle case!
With both outrigger wheels touching Terra Firma, indications are that this visiting US Air Force B-52H Stratofortress was fuelled-up and ready for her next mission
Those enormous wings start to 'fly' as the Bomber accelerates on her take-off run - almost straightening as the lift is generated, see this one from 2015:
www.flickr.com/photos/29288836@N00/18686486135/in/photoli...
RAF Fairford
276A3360
Baku, Azerbaijan
It there is an indication or measure of a city's culture or intellect then chess might be one of those measures. Dotted all along the promenade are these giant chess boards, complete with giant pieces. Clearly, chess is a popular game in Baku and I dare say throughout Azerbaijan as well as there were matches being played morning, noon and night.
I'd go as far to say that it's not something you would come across in any UK city, mainly because all the pieces would get nicked or smashed in the first 24 hours... the Manchester Mobikes thefts and vandalism a case in point!
It was only when I got home did I discover the popularity of chess in Azerbaijan and it's most famous son - Garry Kimovich Kasparov, World champion 1985-1993 (undisputed) and 1993-2000 (classical)
🇫🇷 1) La partie basse de l’horloge donne principalement des indications astronomiques.
Elle indique l’heure publique, ou heure légale (aiguilles argentées), et heure solaire locale de Strasbourg (aiguilles dorées)
2)(La partie centrale est le calendrier circulaire qui est perpétuel, intégrant automatiquement le jour bissextile et toutes les fêtes mobiles
Cette partie centrale montre aussi les positions du Soleil et de la Lune dans le ciel à Strasbourg et reproduit toutes les éclipses de Soleil et de Lune À droite lui sont associées les équations solaires et lunaires .
3) Au dessus défilent les chars des jours de la semaine- à suivre-
🇬🇧 1) The lower part of the clock gives mainly astronomical indications.
It indicates public time, or legal time (silver hands), and Strasbourg local solar time (gold hands).
2)(The central part is the circular calendar, which is perpetual, automatically integrating the leap day and all moving holidays.
This central part also shows the positions of the Sun and Moon in the sky over Strasbourg and reproduces all the eclipses of the Sun and Moon. To the right are associated the solar and lunar equations.
3) Above, the floats for each day of the week - to be continued - are displayed.
🇩🇪 1) Der untere Teil der Uhr gibt hauptsächlich astronomische Hinweise.
Er zeigt die öffentliche oder gesetzliche Zeit (silberne Zeiger) und die lokale Sonnenzeit in Straßburg (goldene Zeiger) an.
2)(Der mittlere Teil ist der kreisförmige Kalender, der immerwährend ist und automatisch den Schalttag und alle beweglichen Feiertage einbezieht.
Dieser mittlere Teil zeigt auch die Positionen der Sonne und des Mondes am Himmel über Straßburg und gibt alle Sonnen- und Mondfinsternisse wieder Rechts davon sind die Sonnen- und Mondgleichungen angebracht .
3) Oben ziehen die Wagen der Wochentage vorbei - dazu später mehr.
As if my last few posts weren't an indication, I'm going through my Arizona archives. On this early morning, I only took one photo of this composition. Now I wonder why. I really do like it. I must have been headed somewhere specific, and this scene caught my eye.
. . . so blue that they can't wrap their heads around things getting any better . . . That is the time for help . . .
Reach out to someone if you think they are having a hard time, if you see any indication they are in distress or having inner turmoil, or even if they just seem a little blue . . . What's the worst that can happen? You feel stupid? That is something I can do ANY day!
Saving a life just might be your job today.
An indication of the climate within the western rain forests of Tasmania where rainfall can sometimes reach as much as three metres a year.
Taken from the eastern end of Loch Tulla near Rannoch Moor and Glen Coe Scotland. These two trees give a strong indication of prevailing wind direction and strength which passes over this area. I chose B&W to emphasise the remoteness and ruggedness of the scene.
Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty…
The wife counted her husband’s thrusts. Silently, of course. To herself, in her head. She’d lost all interest in sex twenty years ago and didn’t think her husband should suffer for that.
Thirty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two…
She’d done the cliché things at first – picking colours, making grocery lists, thinking of things that needed doing. Er… other than the husband.
That’s what she called him: The husband.
Not my husband. The husband. As though he were infinite, ultimate, abstract.
Fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four…
Counting was better. Continuous. Rhythmic. Keeping time to the bedspring squeals, her head gently knock knock knocking on the headboard.
Plus, it reduced the risk of zoning out, forgetting where she was – and what she was doing.
Once, in the old days, she’d been busy during sex with the husband, planning a party. A big party, a surprise party, for one of her closest friends. She got so caught up in planning that, without even thinking, she rolled over. Rolled right out from under the husband, who had been on his knees behind her… dislodging him, shocking him, leaving him panting.
“What the fuck?” he asked.
“I…” said the wife, trying to think of some way of justifying what she’d done.
“I had a cramp,” she said weakly.
“Sorry. Here. Let’s try it like this instead.”
Once he was back inside her, he forgot. But she felt terrible about it for weeks. And that’s when she switched from thinking to counting.
Counting hadn’t let her down. Sometimes, she lost her place. Like, sometimes she couldn’t remember if she was at 121 or 221 or 321. But it really didn’t matter. She just dropped the hundreds and kept on from 21. After all, it wasn’t like she was keeping score. Just keeping busy, getting by, getting through it.
Seventy-eight, seventy-nine, eighty, eighty-one…
Her loss of interest, way back when, hadn’t gone unnoticed. Once, he accused her of having an affair. It was the only reason he could think of (after a lot of thinking, over a lot of months, during which the temperature of their sex was definitely cooling)… an affair was the only reason he could think of for her apparent loss of interest.
When he accused her, she had to fight from busting out in hysterical laughter.
“I hate sex!” she wanted to finally admit. “I only do it to keep you happy, keep you satisfied – whichever one is easier. Why on Earth would I want to do it with someone else, too?”
Really, it was funny. But of course she couldn’t share that joke with the husband.
Ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six…
It wasn’t that she didn’t find him attractive. She did. And he was a very good husband. They had raised four children together. And back in the day… yeah, sure. They frisked around like kids. Hell, back then, they were kids.
Now they were grown up, and decidedly so… soft, achy, full of complaints and baggy in their skins. After the last baby, she had wanted to say to him, “I’ve birthed four babies. It was hard hard work. Hard, hard HARD work, okay? You get it? I think my vagina has served its time; has done its duty for this family. Don’t you? I hitherto request the right to… so-to-speak… hang it up. Pack it in. Pack it away. Put it in dry storage. Forever.”
Of course she didn’t. Couldn’t say that to the husband. No sirree.
So she kept having sex with him, and kept not liking it, and figured they were coming out somewhere in the middle.
Bad sex, unresponsive sex, sex with someone who was counting, fer crissakes… well, she knew men. She knew the husband. She knew that men weren’t choosy when it came to sex. Having it was what really mattered. Having their partner enjoy it was gravy.
One twenty-one, one twenty-two…
She liked it when it was fast. When it was over with, quickly. Then she could get on to doing other things. Like embroidery. She liked to embroider. Had been tarting up tablecloths and pillowcases and runners and whatnot since she was a girl. She loved the pretty shiny coloured soft skeins of thread… pinks and blues and greens and yellows, reds and blacks and browns and whites.
She liked to run her hand across a row of them… lying there, neatly aligned by colour in her sewing basket, row after row, so nice and tidy. She loved to feel their silkiness, to stroke them, like silent pets. She loved, too, the tiny sure certain pressure of the needle, breaking through the fabric, again and again, leading the thread in loops and lines and x’s that became faces, flowers, kittens, ribbons, monograms.
She had embroidered the pillowcases that were on their bed right now. She reached behind her head and touched a corner of the stitched white cotton, reading the familiar floral pattern like a message to herself in Braille.
One forty-two, one forty-three…
She embroidered that pillowcase when she was eighteen. Fresh from the farm. Right out of high school. Anxious to finish up her hope chest before the wedding that fall.
They married in a Catholic church. The bishop told her father they would need proof that she was a virgin. He demanded signed statements from three different witnesses, attesting to the pristine quality of her character.
Her father was offended. Who in hell could prove that his daughter was a virgin – and how? And why was his word (hers didn’t really matter) not enough?
He told the bishop: “You get me signatures from three legitimate witnesses attesting to the existence of God, and we’ll talk. Okay?”
And the bishop backed down. And they had a lovely, big, loud, multi-day drunken Catholic wedding. And then the babies started coming. And then, for her, it was all about mothering.
One ninety-eight, one ninety-nine…
All in all, she was happy with her life. The kids had turned out well… each successful in his or her way. The mortgage was paid. The husband was almost ready to retire. And she, the wife, was looking forward to traveling… taking it easy… doing some of the things they’d put off when the kids were young.
Really, when she thought about it, this whole sex thing was pretty much the only unpleasant thing she had to do.
Silently she willed the husband to hurry, get it over with. And of course she kept counting. And sure enough, in a minute or so, he started thrusting harder and faster.
But it didn’t end. It kept getting harder. Ouch, dammit! She almost screamed.
“Relax,” she told herself. “This will all be over soon. Just keep counting and forget about the pain.”
But when she thought it couldn’t get more painful, it did. And finally… still counting… she screamed.
Not some random sex sound. No. She screamed out, “Two forty-three!!”
And was horrified.
But he was finally finished. And he gave no indication he’d heard anything but nondescript screaming. In fact, he seemed extra satisfied as they settled down to sleep in the darkness.
She was on her side with her back to him, drifting off and counting again – this time, counting backwards, ticking off the weeks till the husband retired and they could start traveling.
Arizona. She wanted to go to Arizona, see the desert, maybe in spring. She’d always wanted to see those pretty wild flowers blooming.
Coloured petals floated in her mind. She was almost asleep when the husband said her name. With a question mark. As in… she was meant to answer.
“Hmm?” she murmured. “What is it, dear?”
He leaned over and whispered in her ear:
“It was three forty-three.”
If I didn't know the temperature, seeing Painted Turtles basking in the sun would be a sure indication that we had reached the 70s.
The survey carried out for Subway and Maaf would show thus that according to the people questioned according to a representative sample, the French would be more grousers other nationalities. Thus, with the question “do the French often moan? ”, our compatriots are 48% to declare that yes, very often, 45% to say that yes, often. Finally, they are only 6% to say that the French moan only from time to time, and 1% seldom. However, when one puts the question with French this time, they are only 37% of the guarantors to say that yes, they often moan. Would the French be also insincerely? At all events, a point of considering outside, they would be the elderly and the men who generally would moan, the French woman then giving the indication of a more patient person. And why the French generally would moan ? It would be, always according to the survey, against the administrative concern, transport, the cost of living or the bugs data-processing.
Classification of the survey to the question: Which nationalities moan more ?
1. French - 72% of the votes
2. Italians - 50%
3. Americans - 19%
4. English - 12%
5. Spaniards - 11%
6. Belgians - 8%
7. Germans - 6%
8. The Australian ones - 1%
Le sondage réalisé pour Metro et la Maaf montrerait ainsi que d'après les personnes interrogées selon un échantillon représentatif, les Français seraient davantage râleurs que les autres nationalités. Ainsi, à la question "Les Français râlent-ils souvent ?", nos compatriotes sont 48% à déclarer que oui, très souvent, 45% à dire que oui, souvent. Finalement, ils ne sont que 6% à dire que les Français ne râlent que de temps en temps, et 1% rarement. Pourtant, lorsque l'on pose la question à des Français cette fois-ci, ils ne sont que 37% des répondants à dire que oui, ils râlent souvent. Le Français serait-il aussi de mauvaise foi ?Quoi qu'il en soit, d'un point de vu extérieur, il s'agirait des personnes âgées et des hommes qui râleraient le plus souvent, la femme française donnant alors l'image d'une personne plus patiente. Et pourquoi les Français râleraient-ils le plus souvent ? Ce serait, toujours d'après le sondage, contre les soucis administratifs, les transports, le coût de la vie ou encore les bugs informatiques.
This is my first attempt at imaging Jupiter this apparition. Seeing was, predictably, not the best but I managed this image. Some nice detail coming through. The planet is presently located in Taurus.
Jupiter is not at opposition until the 7th December so hopefully there will be more opportunities to capture more images.
Notable is the darkening of the right-hand (preceding) limb an indication that the planet is before opposition.
Imaged from the garden in the early hours of 23rd October. I used my Celestron C11 SCT with an Explore Scientific focal extender and a ZWO 224MC camera with Baader IR cut filter.
Thanks for looking.
Thank you for any and all views, faves, invites to groups, comments and constructive critique. I’m not keen on: invitations to post 1 award 3; copy and paste comments (you know who you are); or links to your work. If you like my images there is a good chance I will like yours and I tend to reciprocate views as a matter of courtesy and personal interest. All my images are my own original work, under my copyright, with all rights reserved.
Logan Square, Philadelphia. The hawks spent some time carrying sticks to different buildings around Logan Square. This particular stick made its way to the Franklin Institute, Family Court, and the Sts. Peter & Paul Cathedral. There is still no clear indication of where the hawks will ultimately settle in.
Crystallized Clouds & Star Trails
While working on this series of startrails, clouds started rolling in and with the full-moon illuminating them, I decided to continue the shoot. I wasn't sure how the cloud formations would affect the final shot but I'm glad I did. I like how the clouds look like crystals forming in the sky. I should note, the clouds were coming in from the north (left) and then rolling in a counter-clockwise manner which is why they appear to have the upward 'frost' look to them.
This time-lapse shot was inspired by Matt Malloy's Time Stack images. www.flickr.com/photos/matt_molloy/
This is a stack of 178 images using StarStaX and Picasa. Exif: f/4, 10 sec., ISO-800, 17mm