Congregations on the rock

Sometimes we are seekers.  Othertimes we just stand still and have our eyes opened to the enormity of what we do not know.

I started out to take a photo of a daddy long-legs on the shady stone beside the trail at Arbor Hills Nature Preserve.  Just one.

Soon it was dancing with its shadow--

Me and my shadow

Strolling down the avenue

That one was headed to the gathering of far more than I could count!  "Adults are frequently seen in huge gatherings, standing with legs interlaced." *

I pray their shoes are velcro.  Not anxious to get in there to tie shoes.

Wouldn't want to be that one roly-poly, either.  A mother pulled her two young children over to see what I was photographing.  "Look, kids," she said, "those are the most poisonous spiders on earth."**
Thankful I was off-duty, I didn't even blurt that daddy long-legs aren't really spiders.

I slowly realized the exposed stone faces on both sides of the trail were hosting congregations of daddy long-legs.  Was this a break-out session at a synod convention?

Why did some groups hang upside down?  Why did others stand sideways?  Through what miracle did they all get the memo to wear striped socks?

What if the plenary session reconvenes?

*National Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Insects & Spiders.

**This seems to be a prevalent urban legend, although it was new to me.


The seeker will have to wait for the next post.

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

Hot time, summer in the suburb

The cows had a boom box.  They were grooving to the Lovin' Spoonful.

Back of my neck getting dirt and gritty. The cows were all bunched in the shade at 9:45 this morning.  My walk buddy wanted to take photos of the Haggard Farm -- OUR farm -- across the street from our homes and our Walgreens.  The farm is soon to be housing built by Toll Brothers*.  The development will have a farmsy name to make up for the loss of the breathing room in the middle of Plano.

We weren't breathing all that well as we walked along the barbed wire fence with traffic whizzing past.  It wasn't that we had Dirk Nowitzki sympathy sinus infections.  We were being bombarded with massive doses of grass pollen.

The llamas were under a different tree, probably listening to Peruvian flute music.  We walked toward the farm's tree-shaded drive with its modern day recycling carts.

Much of central Plano was part of the Haggard farm at one time.  We have Haggard Library, Haggard Park, and Haggard Middle School.

Although W. O. Haggard, Jr. married Merle, it was NOT that Merle Haggard.

I am still pleased that none of my sons turned twenty-one in prison doing life without parole.

Part of the Haggard farm property will become a new city park.  We walked all the way east to take some photos of the horses there.

It won't be an massive soccer field park, but a real open space park, thank heaven.

 *I would be much more crabby about this if the Toll Brothers were not the sponsors of the Metropolitan Opera's live Saturday broadcasts that bring me great joy on WRR, 101.1 FM.

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

Tomatoes busting out all over

Not my kitchen, of course.  This photo is a painting in one of the diplomatic reception rooms at the U.S. State Department taken without a flash.  It is reminding me to eat more fruit.

"Fruit" is such a confusing term.  At least once a year I look up the distinction between fruits and vegetables, but I never get it clear. Thankfully, tomatoes are in the overlapping area between "biological fruits" and "culinary vegetables".

In the good old Sixties, we had the Basic Four Food Groups--dairy, meat, bread, and fruits and vegetables.  We didn't have to sort fruits from vegetables, we just had to eat them.  The Food Pyramid made things too complex in both the horizontal and vertical versions.  Michelle Obama is the only person in Washington who has uncomplicated my life in a long time, and I applaud the new My Plate.  Now if we could just reunite the fruits and veggies, I'd be thrilled.

My fruit and veggie parings go into my worm bin.  The red wigglers do the ultimate combining.  One of the best parts of vermicomposting is the mystery garden that sprouts in the rich worm dirt.  Our school garden gets volunteer cantaloupe each year.  Those will take over the garden and a good section of the playground if we allow it.  At home I've got tomatoes growing everywhere.  This morning I dug up four from the front flowers that were big enough to attract attention. Now they each have a big pot on the patio.  Hope they produce my favorite fruit soon.

As soon as I got inside, Stubby II appeared on the fence to make sure I hadn't goofed up his realm.  The original Stubby ruled my patio in 2009, a fearless, tailless anole if ever there was one. I don't think the anole with the partially regrown tail I spotted Sunday is really the same lizard, although some sources say anoles can live up to four years in the wild.

2011 Nancy L. Ruder

Communing with balloons

Took flowers for Dad's vase after lunch.  He'd been pretty sharp in the morning, just uncomfortable being folded wrong in his bed.  Dad doesn't weigh much these days, but still enough that I need an aide's help to scoot Dad up toward the pillow.  Then I can raise the head of the bed so Dad can sit up to drink coffee, always important!

After lunch I stopped back with the bouquet.  Dad was still sitting up, eyes wide and unblinking, mouth agape, and hands tracing the route of the suspended ceiling's grid.  He looked like a flight attendant pointing to the exits during the safety demo.  Oblivious to me, I arranged the flowers, chatted about lunch, took off his glasses and cleaned them.  He grabbed the glasses back and returned to communing with the ceiling.  Pair of L lines receding toward the horizon.

Spur of the moment, I headed to downtown Dallas for free admission First Saturday at the Nasher Sculpture Center.  I needed art.  I needed free.  I needed driving directions!  "You cain't get thar from hyere" should be the Mavs welcome to Heat fans.  Downtown is a massive detour due to construction on the Woodall Rodgers deck park that will change the freeway into a tunnel with a giant urban park above (take a virtual fly-through at the link).   For now you cain't fly through.  You cain't exit.  You cain't backtrack.  You cain't find the parking garage at the Dallas Museum of Art to save your life.  Not even from the three-point line.

While I was struggling to get off of Woodall Rodgers to circle back to the Arts District, I got a view of the Margaret Hunt Hill Bridge, also under construction.  The bridge is the first of a proposed trio designed by Santiago Calatrava for the Trinity River Project.  It would be nice if the construction went as quickly as this time-lapse video.

While it looked like I might be stuck on the Interstate all the way north to Denton, I was able to exit at Victory Avenue.  This was as up-close as I've been to the site of tonight's game three of the NBA Finals.  It figures that I was lost at the time.

This is not a map of downtown Dallas with detours, but there's a resemblance to my completed Worm Knot textile project.

The good news is that my auto travails were completely worth it.  The Nasher Center has an outdoor exhibit, "Statuesque" with very fun works by Aaron Curry in blazing pink and lime green.

The bright colors contrast with the dark figures of  Thomas Houseago.  (Both these artists were born in 1972).  Hut, hut, hut!  The works resemble football centers from this angle.

And Curry's "Horned Head Trip" looks a bit like my new "CollageMama" Chinese chop:

What about the balloons?  What about the communing?  That's a whole different exhibit on the lower level of the Nasher Center.  "Whole different" doesn't begin to describe the experience of "Sightings:  Martin Creed".

Walk down the stairs, and the balloon-filled room grabs your vision.  But, wait, these are musical stairs.  Each step plays a tone.  You and everyone else is making the strange music filling the museum.

Wait in a long line with anticipation building for your turn inside the balloon room.  A few people lost their nerve, as I would have in my anxiety days.  When you get to the arrangement of cacti you are on deck.  No eyeglasses allowed in the balloons.  It would be easy to lose them.  You begin to anticipate the static effect on your hair before you even enter.  The atmosphere is that electric.

You are in!  You are pushing your way through balloons.  You push them up for a glimpse of the ceiling.  It takes surprising effort to move.  You push until you find a wall, then turn.  It's loud.  Kids are shrieking with joy.  You push through balloons to find a person pushing toward you and both shriek with surprise!  It is cool, and not as humid as expected.  There's plenty of air, of course in all the spaces between balloons.  You breathe and fill with joy.  All other thoughts are gone.  You are IN ORANGE BALLOONS.  What else could there be?

Your five minutes are ending.  You find the windows, and then the door.  People are taking photos of you through the windows, documenting reactions.  You are pleased to emerge without letting any balloons escape.  You feel a bond with everyone who has been inside.  You may never be quite the same.  You have been on a very odd detour!

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

My red lettered days

Yesterday was an "in the red" sort of day.  The nice plumber came to solve three long-standing non-emergency aggravations:

• The cold water shutoff valve leading to the washing machine was calcified, ossified, petrified like a geologic cave formation.  This is a chicken/egg problem.  Did the shutoff become frozen when the washer cycle control went crackerdog and would only fill with hot water?  Or did the cycle control go flopbot because the shutoff valve was frozen?  Now mind you, the washing machine is about twenty years old, and the shutoff valve is probably forty.  If I bought a new washer, I would still have to replace the shutoff valves.  Plus, I had a walrus/washer problem.  Were all my clothes shrinking because the washer always filled with hot water?  Or was it that I was, ahem, outgrowing my clothes?So now I have very cute new matador shutoff valves.  They look just like the matador in The Story of Ferdinand.  I may rig my laundry room to play the overture to "Carmen" whenever I open the door, just like the restrooms at "La Madeleine" play French 101 lessons while you sit on the potty. [See visual aids A and B]

A.  Matador shutoff valves

• All my drinking glasses come out of the dishwasher all spotty. There's not enough water pressure for the kitchen sink or the dishwasher.  Sure, the dishwasher may have lingering issues from the Big Meltdown, but now everything under the sink is all pretty and the hoses don't look like macrame.

  

B.  Matador illustration, Lawson c1936

• Then there's the darn rusty bathtub/air conditioner problem Of Which We Do Not Speak, except that if the plumber is already at my condo he might as well deal with EVERYTHING! Let's just say the plumber has fixed the problem and the air conditioner should not drain rusty water into my bathtub.  I've cleaned the tub with Super Iron Out Rust Stain Remover.  We will see...

So Wednesday was a day of $$$$ condo ownership fun.  Friends took me to supper and a play last evening to cheer me up.  Now I get why geezers go out to dinner at 4:45.  If I am the youngest person at the table, none of us in the candlelit booth will have long enough arms to read the little print on the check to figure out the tip.  And the play?  A dripping blood-red very dark musical comedy written and performed by Matthew Posey in his home/theatre, Ochre House.  The Dallas Observer reviewer called it "Sweeney Todd sandwiched between elements of Greek tragedy and the Muppets".   [See  C].

C.  "The Butcher" playbill

As dark maroon as Wednesday was, Thursday was a cinnabar delight.  Meet us at 10:30 the email suggested.  Short notice.  Long day of fun.  Three old friends.  My opera buddy.  My blogging muse.  My amazing, funny, stressed, generous, thoughtful muse!  A tolerant La Madeleine restaurant staff wondering if/when we would ever leave.  Shaky after many American coffee refills.  [See strawberry rhubarb jam and Chinese chop, D-H visual aids].

D.  Chop  and strawberry rhubarb jam.

E.  Dad will love this jam!

F.  A sense of honor and validation.

G.  The gift of my chosen name.  

H.  It feels magical!

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

Renwick three out of four

Wishing I could pop back in at the Renwick Gallery in D.C. before the Craft Invitational 2011 ends in July.  Cliff Lee's amazing ceramics are on my mind this morning.  His celadon and Imperial yellow glazes on  pieces inspired by lotus and melons held such serenity and attention to detail.  Other pieces appeared to be porous lava rather than ceramic.

Yesterday it was Ubaldo Vitali's crab and urchin silver candlestick from 1976.  True, his pieces are conservative, but they are objects of great beauty. So that is the one out of four.

Matthias Pliessnig creates seating made of steam-bent strips of wood based on complex computer design models used for shipbuilding.    While one review suggests this is extremely new, to me it has roots in Thonet's bentwood chairs, Eames' molded plywood, and even basketry.  Sadly, we couldn't sit on any to test for comfort.

Judith Schaechter's glass pictures were just too creepy for me, although her "flashed glass" technique created lovely kaleidoscope effects.

In the permanent collection I was struck by Texas quilter, Pamela Studstill's piece.  Works by Kiyomi Iwata were intriguing in their use of metal thread and stiffened fabric.  An enormous ceramic "Dango" by Jun Kaneko made me regret not visiting the Bemis Center for Contemporary Arts during my many trips through Omaha in recent years.

And now, oh my, I have discovered that Kaneko has designed two operas, Fidelio and Madama Butterfly!  On the Kaneko website click on "Artwork" and then on "Performance" to see photos of his designs.

There are lots of links here to the Renwick, reviews, and photos of artwork.  I don't want to violate any photo copyrights, so please enjoy meandering through the links.

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

Giant worm gets remote control!

Details at ten?

This old lavender twin flat sheet was sacrificed to the cause of worm education.  Great fun to be dyeing fabric again, inhaling the hot, stinky smell of RIT and vinegar on the stove, wondering how many weeks my hands will be red, ruining another plastic colander, and bleaching my sink. Joy in the moment!

Maybe the giant worms will pop out of a Rubbermaid tub at the We Did Worms event, instead of a can.  I priced giant can options at Target this morning while my walking buddy spent her gift card.  We were cooling down after one of our intense strolls around the neighborhood.






I have not yet dragged the bags of play sand, pea gravel, and $1.00 topsoil out of the Buick's trunk.  These are ingredients for worm parfaits. I'll deal with those tomorrow at terra. There's only so much I can do while remembering  when Gary Hardin put the worm gizzard from the dissection tray down the throat of Resusci Annie in Mrs. Wittemore's seventh grade Life Science class.

And was Mrs. Wittemore's hairstyle what is called "marceled"?  How old was Mrs. Wittemore in 1967?  We thought she was at least a thousand with her weird hair, sensible shoes, and frumpy green dress.  She was probably much younger than I am now in my sensible shoes, fat lady capri pants, and chrome hair.

The prototype giant red wiggler gave me many hints that there must be a better way to make the other three worms.  Life Science today, Home Ec class tomorrow.







© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

Worm whereabouts and library life list

Two more libraries for the life list!  That brings me to sixty-four.  Today I visited the Carrollton Public Library At Josey Ranch Lake.  My worm presentation has been changed to this location, and I wanted to check it out in advance.  The library has a virtual tour online.  It's embarrassing to know so little about the next major suburb one giant step over on the tollroad.  The library is connected to a senior center, looks out on a lake with a loop trail, adjoins a park and an athletic complex, and has a natural plant area.

It was exciting to see the Summer Reading Program poster with the worm event listed, and to see the Carrollton Leisure Connections catalog:

I'm planning to make a soft sculpture Can'O'Worms for the event, sort of a Claes Oldenberg meets Popeye visual aid.  Picked up the "wine" RIT dye and rubber bands at Albertsons.  Heading to the upstairs linen closet to find a well-aged white bed sheet for dyeing.

Walking the library lake 6.4 mile loop trail included views of swans, ducks, red-winged blackbirds, white egret, little blue heron, and green heron, all at no extra charge.

And the other life list library?  My visit to the U.S. Institute for Peace include a quick walk through the Ron Silver Library.  Ron Silver did not mean anything to my son/tour guide.  I had a vague idea Ron Silver was an actor or a political activist.  As it turns out, Silver was both.  In 1989, he co-founded the non-partisan social and political advocacy group Creative Coalition with colleagues including Alec Baldwin, Christopher Reeve, and Susan Sarandon.  I still don't know how the library came to be named for him.

As I read about the USIP's library, I learned about a fascinating woman, Jeannette Rankin.  The library's program is named for this pacifist, the first woman elected to the U.S. Congress.









You can't shake hands with a clenched fist. 
Indira Gandhi


You can't shake hands with a fistful of spinach.  
Popeye

You can't shake hands with a can of worms.

CollageMama

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

All Gaul...

...is divided into how many parts?

I always have to look these things up.  It's exasperating, vexing, and occasionally chafing that I can't remember from year to year.  gall2 v. 3. 

Galls are bizarre and common occurrences in the natural world.  gall3 n.  An abnormal swelling of plant tissue caused by insects, microorganisms, or external injury.

This Oak Gall was bigger than a ping pong ball, and still intact.

It was ninety-three degrees, but I needed a stress reduction walk at Oak Point Nature Preserve.  My dad's Guide to Nature in Winter, by Donald W. Stokes, has thirteen pages devoted to galls:

The closest we can come to explaining gall formation is to say that the insect disrupts the normal growth of a plant either through physical irritation or chemical secretion.  Around the insect, the plant grows a deformity, which the insect then uses for food and protection while developing.

Stokes says about 1500 types of gall-makers are known on this continent, and over half are on oaks.  Most oak galls are formed by wasps.  The galls in my photos seem to be Oak Apple Galls.  I avoid wasps whenever and wherever possible!  They do not play well with others.

This gall on a sapling just down the trail was hollow.  The galls were a tricky usage trail to follow:

• Of all the gall...  This was an expression my mother used quite often.

• He had the gall to...  impudence He had the gall to say he was my friend after being so rude to me.

• It galls me to think...  to annoy (a person) very much It galls me to think that he is earning so much money. 

• Gallbladder n. Also gall bladder.  A small, pear-shaped, muscular sac located under the right lobe of the liver, in which bile secreted by the liver is stored.

• Gaul, though, is divided into three parts according to Caesar.  Julius was quite the propagandist/spin doctor.  [De Bello Gallico bk. 1, sect. 1]:

Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres.

Why is yellow the color of bile?   

In the medical theories prevalent in the West from Classical Antiquity up to the Middle Ages, the body's health depended on the equilibrium between four "humors" or vital fluids: blood, phlegm, "yellow bile" (or ichor) and "black bile". Excesses of the last two humors were supposed to produce aggression and depression, respectively; and the Greek names for them gave rise to the English words "cholera" and "melancholia". Those same theories explain the derivation of the English word "bilious" from "bile", and the meaning of "gall" in English as "exasperation" or "impudence".

And what was the deal about crossing the Rubicon?

• Kenny Roger's song, "Ruby, Don't Take Your Love To Town" has always given me acid reflux.  The You Tube is worth watching just for the 1972 white patent go-go boots and tambourine.
• The Rolling Stones' Ruby Tuesday was one of the first songs I heard on KLMS radio after Santa Claus brought me a transistor radio and ear phone in December of 1966.  

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

Visualize whirled worms

World peace is beyond my control.  "Whirled peas" always brings mental images of bad junior high cafeteria tricks back at Millard Lefler in the late-Sixties.  Whirled worms might be manageable with a touch of Doppler radar.  

Whirred worries about worms are causing an undercurrent of anxiety as my Worm Show moment of fame approaches.  In just a few weeks I'll be presenting a "We Dig Worms" event for a nearby public library summer reading program.  My worms are not at the peak of their training, ready for Olympic competition.  And the worms are far ahead of me!

Tuesday evening I sorted worms from humus while tracking weather watch radar on t.v.  Joplin, Missouri was on my mind, as were memories of Omaha in 1975.  I moved my worm bin to the living room so I could sort while watching t.v.  I was afraid I'd have to take my bin of little critters with me into my "safe room" (aka downstairs bathroom).

We were lucky.  It rained hard, but my area didn't get any hail.  This weather dude kept talking about the curving tail motion on the storm cells.

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

Believing in peace

Good design, bad idea, don't get bogged down:

Today I planned to write about the splendid architectural spaces in the new headquarters of the United States Institute for Peace.  Instead I learned that Republicans are trying to kill the agency forever.  Excuse me!  Did those guys and gals grow up sitting on their hands when the rest of us were clapping to save Tinkerbell's life?  Were they rooting for the flying monkeys?

I'm pretty discouraged about the prognosis for peace.  My current preschool students wear glittery peace symbol t-shirts with their sequined shoes and purple sparkle nail polish.  The peace symbol seems to be enjoying a marketing resurgence while the real concept gets flushed.  This could send me into a real slough of despair, except that I would have to admit never reading Pilgrim's Progress even though I wanted to be Jo March when I grew up, nor can I pronounce "slough", which seems to be the past tense of creamy cole slaw when it gets too warm and runny and potentially bacteria-filled at the picnic.

Keeping me out of the slaw-slew-slow-bog, I'm celebrating not having to use the plunger at work yet this week.  Also, Eeyore the tailless squirrel just ran across my patio fence top.  

In the dean's address to the graduating students of the Elliott School of International Affairs at GWU, he kept it simple.  Go forth, he told them:

SAVE WORLD,

HAVE FUN.

The employees of the U.S. Institute for Peace have a softball team, just like every other agency and Congressional staff in D.C.  The U.S.I.P. folks work hard and play hard.  Their team is named the Screaming Hawks.

Henry Kissinger was addressing a group about China and Pakistan in this space when I arrived for my tour.  The window faces the Lincoln Memorial on the National Mall.

I love the building.  I love the agency and its mission.  Glad, too, that my son is still employed there for the summer.


Let's choose for peace, and not just for cheapo t-shirts.  SAVE WORLD, HAVE FUN.


Go, Mavs!

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder