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My American Bulldog. We adopted him from Benji's Buddies Animal Rescue here in Phoenix almost a year ago. He's such an awesome guy!
8 Apr. 2011 'To revive my drooping spirit' I give the delightful Ann a quick squeeze in the school assembly hall after my godson's Confirmation. In the background is his friend Tyler again!
Inside the old log part of the Michael Crowell home place.
The Annual Halls Mill Sorghum Squeeze festival was held on Saturday, October 1, 2011. Sweet sorghum cane grown on Paschal Road, near Halls Mill, in Bedford County, Tennessee, is squeezed for its juice on a mule-driven press which dates to the 1800’s. The juice is then reduced over a wood fire to a sweet syrup, called sorghum. The all day event is held on the old Michael Crowell (1826-1906) farm that was built long before the Civil War days. The old house is in need of direct attention but serves well, in its present state, for a look back into time. There was music, the Mid-State Cloggers, food, arts and crafts, Watkins Products for sale, a tour of the old home, old farm equipments and just about any other thing a person would want to see at this type of festival.
Mass transit in Tokyo, I should emphasize, is NOT as bad as the stories you've probably heard. Ten or twenty years ago, the stories of super-overcrowding were apparently true. Now, they aren't: the network has matched capacity demands, or at least become closer than it was. There are pushers at the largest stations during the height of rush hour, but you will never encounter one if you sleep past 9 AM every morning. (I leave for the office around 9 now, and can usually get a seat on the train through the center city.)
In the Christmas season, when I was young, my brother and I used to have a wonderful time squirting orange peels into the flames of a candle. Squirt! and the flame would do all sorts of interesting things.
This set is an attempt to capture that experience photographically. It wasn't easy, because the flame effect is very quick. In the Christmas season, when I was young, my brother and I used to have a wonderful time squirting orange peels into the flames of a candle. Squirt! and the flame would do all sorts of interesting things.
This set is an attempt to capture that experience photographically. It wasn't easy, because the flame effect is very quick.
More flowers than I have had before all at once :)
I have been growing this lovely miniature orchid for five years. Its 2mm tiny crystalline white flowers always appear in pairs, squeezed in tight between the undersides of its fleshy leaves that have a 12mm spread.
Superficially the vandaceous Microsaccus griffithii brings together aspects of both, nearly passing for the charming Angraecum distichum, only it's a bit smaller in all dimensions and lacks spurs or scent. It is native to Cambodia, Burma, Thailand, Vietnam, Peninsular Malaysia, the islands of Borneo, Java, Sumatra (Indonesia), and the Philippines.
Crockett's Land, 1705, pressed between a 1735 building to the left and a late seventeenth century one to the right. These three are about the only survivors of the West Bow, which rose in a steep zig-zag path from the Grassmarket to the head of the Lawnmarket. Lined with narrow lands (tenements) like these, the tourists (and me) would have lapped it up, had it not been for the Victorians having other ideas; in an effort to improve access to the west of the Royal Mile, Victoria Street was driven through the area in the 1830s, destroying most of the neighbourhood in the process. As nice as their efforts are, it's a shame so much was lost. The other group of surviving buildings, at the top end and including a crazy old timber building where a tartan tat shop now lives, was demolished in the 1880s.
(To get an idea of how steep the old street was, stand at Victoria Terrace at the foot of the northern stump of the West Bow, now called the Upper Bow, and consider that the road used to go from about there to the lower bend of Victoria Street, just to the right of this photo.)
The wee holes at the top of the gables were apparently wee doocots, the birds being kept for a reliable supply of meat in hard times. Tom and Barbara from The Good Life would approve.