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04.02.2019 - Matty Healy of The 1975 sings I Always Wanna Die (Sometimes) at the Toyota Music Factory in Irving, TX.
Sometimes it looks like there simply isn’t really adequate time in the day to exercise. Luckily, you do not require much time for an excellent exercise. You do not also require any kind of devices! All you require is a little space to removal and also concerning 10 mins to obtain a strong...
This kind of says it all for me right now. I don't often say too much about my personal life but I am really struggling with this and it will pretty much effect the future.
Last week I was diagnosed as having Chronic Invasive Lung disease, in late stages. I have been really unwell all year but this came as a big shock. I am really very unwell right now and I have to say very scared.
Waiting to see the consultant again on August 1st and until then I do not know the prognosis but it doesn't feel good to me as in recent days I have been coughing up blood and am in the most unbearable pain. Even posing my dollies hurts and it is making me feel so sad as they give me so much pleasure.
Anyway, just saying as photos have been hard to get together and if I have not responded to photos I so apologise, just sometimes I am feeling so unwell, but I do read everything people leave and so value everyones' comments.
Thank you all, I have some wonderful friends here xxx
A song sparrow making a nest outside my window...
Tonight I attended a Rachmaninoff concert at the Pittsburgh Symphony... Here is the story:
A day like many other, and like no other day. Awake past dawn from a dream with a surprise, an old car parked in the garage of my old house in the woods. The day is alive with sunshine bright, warm and ready for bees. I watch CMU's sweepstake buggy races on the internet. The trees reach into my kitchen, and yank me outside, and the birds do say: why do you waste this day inside? You are right, I retort. So I spend the day with the birds singing surreal spring songs. I, in my way, plant flower and tomato seeds and ride bicycle high and low in the air with wind in my hair. To end a day like this is a thing to regret, but what better way than with symphonic music to hear, so I do it that way, my way.
The Pittsburgh Symphony appears, and I take my seat, turn off my cell phone, with ample cooperation, and made ready to enjoy the concert. Hushed silence, then the orchestra begins their warm up, the sound like no other, individuals all playing, nothing coordinated, yet it sounds so familiar, and sounds rather fine; how could that be, no composition, no rhyme, no reason, yet it sounds good to me.
Rachmaninoff, what more can I say? A concert filled with Rachmaninoff, the icing on top of the day. Goose bumps, appear on my neck, when the music commences, with Vocalise, music Conductor Slatkin dedicates this selection to the recently slain officers in Pittsburgh, and accordingly, he asked for a moment of silence after they play. This composition was perhaps unlike anything done before by Rachmaninoff. There was drama between sections of the symphony, and that accords places for sweet solos from the oboe, horn, cello and others. This time I hear no coughing in the audience, this time I heard pure music, I can hear each section, and drink in the music, with pure appreciation.
Rachmaninoff, Symphonic Dances: A simple story that I invent while listening to this music:
A bird soars back to her nest, beside the egg is a baby, hatched just the other day, she feeds him. He hops to the side of the nest, ready to fly -- no, my little one, not quite yet, you are not ready, if you try now you will get hurt, I must protect you until you are ready. He hops down and waits. The mother flies off in search of more food. The baby is belligerent and stubbornly tries to fly, and comes crashing down and is injured. First flight this time was to no avail, but the baby perseveres. He hops about and manages to find a high place to try again. He will try the flight of the gliding bird, bounding first then flapping, take to the air, spread his wings, then keep them still, try to glide, that is his goal. His plight is on display, sometimes falling down. His desire is represented by robust, loud, rhythmic, spirited passages, looming near a precipice, and about to dive forth, as if over a waterfall, and when this happens, it is only luck that brings him softly down in a soft, gently flowing, meandering stream and around a bend and into a bed, whence and as if that is where he had started, but not really. Adept at determination, he tries again. Flutter, perhaps his chance at flight is taking off a little, it could be done, it can be achieved, if only, but, plop, back down again.
Next movement brings a waltz, 3 um-pah sounds beneath his wings. Now we see a hawk in the guise of an altered horn, the odd sound that brings his menacing purpose home. The hawk, as is his nature, will eat a baby bird, but if he gets the chance, it will be to find a way to maximize his gain, he must have more than simply this one lone morsel. The baby continues on his quest to learn to fly, it's difficult from the ground, no perch to perch upon, so he continues to try from rocks and with hopping bounds. Low keys abound in the sound coming from the orchestra, this represents the overture of the hawk, he is now soaring above the baby bird. He talks to the baby. He convinces him that he is his mother. That he can be good for him, and the baby, filled with hope, instantly believes him. The hawk gives him food and teaches him a better way to fly. And he lures him to the hawks way of thinking, with nothing to interfere. But the baby has an innate nature, and that nature cannot be denied.
The baby bird escapes the clutches of the hawk. His scurry is frantic, his directions are wild and his wings fluctuate as he attempts a dive to avoid the chasing hawk. But his attempt is futile, the hawk recaptures the baby. But this time there is recapitulation, there are many other baby birds in the capture of the hawk. They all begin to sing, a song of different sounds, each their own, each an individual voice. These add up in syncopated sublime instantaneous coordination. But the wind is blowing. The wind dampens their song. Now a flock appears, a flock of adult song birds, who join the chorus. The sound is beginning to be loud and is culminating in a harmonic vibration all based on a single note, which happens to be the base frequency and harmonic resonant core vibration for the glass cages that hold the babies. It cracks. They are free, and the flock is too big, so the hawk flies away. Many individual voices, acting in unison with tempo and volume, was simply too much for him.
“Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, "I will try again tomorrow.” - Mary Anne Radmacher
Do you know these days when you just feel clumsy and of no use and nothing at work goes (or went) as it should? Well, this is mine today.
Maybe I should go to bed.
Sometimes my head feels as though it is going to explode so many decisions and so many outcomes I tend to wonder if I make the right decisions. I'm stuck at the moment with one of the most hardest decisions yet, time is ticking and I need to decide fast. No matter what option I choose, I sacrifice something. The question is am I strong enough the make the necessary sacrifice.
"Everything comes too late for those who only wait" : is true and I agree but sometimes you find yourself waiting .
Waiting : "Aspettare" in italian from Latin exspecta¯re >> ex 'from' and specta¯re 'look'.
And so I'm waiting for a rainy day , for a quilt-moment , to go to the cinema to see " Atonement" next week , buy a basket of new books , for his kiss , for saturday , for the tram , for a mail, for looking all your photos and so make the globe feel a little smaller, for a falling star , for that green dress , for my cup of barley coffee in the morning , for a white petal on my windowsill , for that deserved slice of cake , to make an unforgettable shot .
Mathilde
Taken for the NHVP group "Macr's Scavenger Hunt. Episode IV". Newtown/Sydney, Australia.
Theme: Portrait of a Fellow Scavenger
Sometimes, simple is really nice to work with! I love the reproduction prints. The inner border is scrappy, and I think really added a lot to this one.
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Sometimes, small, hand-made gifts are the best. This one was made by a quiet, humble woman from Korea, and given to us with the utmost love. We don't have a Christmas tree, so we hung it with other ornaments on a 4-foot palm in our house.
(2010)David Wilmore Photography
The Fennec Fox can be found in Northern Africa of Saudi Arabia. This social fox lives in groups of up to 10 individuals, with a life span of 10 to 12 years.
Anatomy: The Fennec fox is the smallest fox; it is from 14 to 17 inches (36-44 cm) long with a tail 8 inches (20 cm) long, and it weighs 2 to 3.5 pounds (1-1.5 kg). The long, bushy tail, sometimes called a sweep, helps the fox change direction quickly and keeps the fox's feet and nose warm when it curls up to sleep. Foxes have sharp, curved claws, and sharp teeth. The thick, insulating fur of the Fennec fox is the color of sand; the belly is white. The outer edges of the ears are reddish brown. To shield their feet from the heat of the burning desert sand, their feet have protective hair on the soles (the bottoms of the feet). The muzzle is narrow and pointed.
Diet and Water: The Fennec fox is an omnivore (eating both meat and plants); it eats small animals, plant material, fruit and berries. At night, the Fennec fox eats insects, lizards, snails, small rodents, birds, and eggs. Like other foxes, the Fennec fox stores extra food in its underground den. The Fennec fox gets most of the water it needs from its food. It can go without water for a very long time.
Reproduction: Female Fennec foxes give birth once a year, in the late winter or early spring; a litter has 1 to 5 tiny, gray-skinned kits. The gestation period is about 50 days.
Classification: Class Mammalia (mammals), Order Carnivora, Family Canidae (foxes, wolves, dogs, hyenas), Genus and species Fennecus zerda.
Information - - enchantedlearning
I feel like the body
has passed on
and the spirit continues
running over the same old
paths and courses
as if
in a dream