Gecko Foolery

I'd sort of like for this to be an April's Fools' joke, but it's not. Geico sent Scott and me separate solicitations last week. Here they are:

The Lady of the House needs a lot of detail

whereas the man says, "Ooooh! Gecko!"

This isn't the first time Geico has provided some junk mail amusement; a month or two back the letter to me was pretty much the same blah blah responsible family finance blah, while the one to Scott was all about sports.

I really expect better from a lizard.

Back yard update in photos

Gato lion, cleaned of some moss

If there's one thing I never bother to resist, it's then and now photos pertaining to the house. Today, I mowed the lawn (such as it is) for the first time in 2018, and then, the weather being intermittently pleasant, I took some photos. Seeing as it was more a yard work than a photo-taking day, I took the photos with the iPad--and then had to deal with figuring out how to get them off the iPad and over to blogger. My life, she is so hard.

The "then" photo (to which I keep returning); the backyard circa 2009

And the latest "now" photo, the backyard this afternoon (March, 2018)

The cherry--the tree in the right foreground--lost a major limb a few years back.  I'm really not entirely sure what the rest of the branchiness is in the current photo.

And, because it was a somewhat lovely day and I frequently need to be reminded that not all is dark and dreary:

Clematis which blooms early and smells lovely

Lenten roses that have recovered nicely from February's late snow and frost

Budding magnolia against some cumulus clouds and blue sky

Moses says to Noah “We shoulda dugga deepa one”

His mind was freshly inclined toward sorrow; toward the fact that the the world was full of sorrow; that everyone labored under some burden of sorrow; that all were suffering; that whatever way one took in this world, one must try to remember that all were suffering (none content; all wronged, neglected, overlooked, misunderstood), and therefore one must do what one could to lighten the load of those with whom one came into contact; that his current state of sorrow was not uniquely his, not at all but rather, its like had been felt, would yet be felt, by scores of others, in all times, in every time, and must not be prolonged or exaggerated, because, in this state, he could be of no help to anyone and, given that his position in the world situated him to be either of great help or great harm, it would not do to stay low, if he could help it.

All were in sorrow, or had been, or soon would be.

It was the nature of things.

Though on the surface it seemed every person was different, this was not true.

At the core of each lay suffering; our eventual end, the many losses we must experience on the way to that end.

We must try ot see one another in this way.

As suffering, limited beings--

Perennially outmatched by circumstance, inadequately endowed with compensatory graces.

--from quite late in Lincoln in the Bardo (with some attributions omitted)

Between books

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the state of being between books is extremely disquieting to some of us. Well, to me. And maybe it's only acknowledged by the handful of people who know me well enough to know that I get very twitchy when I am, as I say, between books.

 Even worse, I am realizing, is to be between books after having read a couple of what might be called, more or less accurately, "stinkers." Oh, Beatrix Lehmann's Rumour of Heaven probably wasn't really as bad as all that. It just didn't so much hold my attention, and I tended to fall asleep while holding it in the evening. That could have been because I've been tired lately. But it doesn't go on my list of favorite books read, no matter how long such a list might be.

 It would, however, fall somewhat higher on that infinite list than The Mitford Mysteries which book, thank god, I got from the library. I'd read a good review for it."I like Nancy Mitford and I like mysteries," I said to myself. "This is the book for me!" Alas, I was so wrong. I'd forgotten that what I liked was a decently crafted mystery. You can't declare at the end of chapter 1 that "no one saw her alive again" and then have the victim weakly waving as she is carried off the train and then slowly dying in a hospital some chapters later. No, you cannot. One might also ask how a laundress's daughter who picks pockets to get by gets hired as a nursery maid in a decent family. Oh, Ms Fellowes is maybe related to the man behind Downton Abbey, but has she never seen the first act of My Fair Lady?

 So I'm feeling a little skittish picking up the next book. I thought briefly about Moby Dick, a book that Scott loves and that I've never read, but I'm worried that it will also disappoint and that would be bad. I realized I want something less challenging, and with less on the line, so to speak. I said, in fact, that I wanted a nice book about cats. (I may have been talking to Gradka at the time.) And then I went into another room and had a look at the shelves. I determined that I didn't have any unread Trollope (and wasn't I disappointed to learn, immediately after finishing The Duke's Children, that there is now an unabridged version of that book out? It seems Trollope's publisher insisted he cut some 65,000 words  from his 200,000-word manuscript before it could be published. A few years back some enterprising person restored all those cut words. The full-length version is supposed to be quite good. But I'm not about to reread that volume quite so soon, even in a restored version. I digress). But a few shelves over from the Trollope is Antonia White and, when suffering from writer's block, Antonia wrote a 120 pages of fluff called Minka & Curdy. Tagline: "The enchanting story of a writer and her cats." There are illustrations. I think it's just the thing to get me through this traumatic period. Then maybe I'll go whaling.

Another Superbowl Sunday at Nisqually

The boardwalk at Nisqually

There's some question as to whether we'd actually visited Nisqually on more than one Superbowl Sunday before, but we'd gone at least one year which is enough to count as an established tradition, at least in my mind. (It occurs to me that I was at the Sorrento Hotel for a dinner with Reinhold Messner and John Roskelley on another Seahawks Superbowl night, but that's not something I see being repeated in this lifetime.)

Regardless, this last Sunday we got ourselves up and out of the house relatively promptly (aka on the road before noon) and spent the changeable afternoon wandering around what is now officially called the " Billy Frank Jr Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge." It was fine day for it, a little misty and atmospheric to begin with, with some surprising clearing thanks to some somewhat serious wind. We didn't see Rainier, and we likewise didn't see the saw-whet owl that has been reported (and harassed) by any number of birders and photographers over the past month, but the resident great horned owl was there to be seen, along with a lovely downy woodpecker, a number of song sparrows, some very handsome robins, a brown creeper, a gobsmacking harrier, and any number of waterfowl and shorebirds. And the scenery was quite nice.

Atmospheric trees

A few of the mass of peeps along the seemingly solid Nisqually River

Another bit of atmospheric landscape

A helpful family pointed out what we're told was a muskrat

Robins just do not get the respect they deserve; this is a damned handsome bird.

Maria Mudd Ruth's influence continues; just *look* at those clouds!

Scott took this one; we're calling it "The Wyeth"

Harrier in flight over the large field. My, she was yar.

Maybe not the best choice of reading in my current state

The process of growing old bears little resemblance to the way it is presented, either in novels or in works of medical science.

No work of literature, and no doctor, had prepared the former residents of Katalin Street for the fierce light that old age would bring to bear on the shadowy, barely sensed corridor down which they had walked in the earlier decades of their lives, or the way it would rearrange their memories and system of values. They knew they should expect certain biological changes: that the body would set about its work of demolition with the same meticulous attention to detail that from the moment of conception it had applied to the task of preparing itself for the journey ahead. They had accepted that there would be alterations in their appearance and a weakening of the senses, along with changes in their tastes, their habits, and their needs; that they might fall prey to gluttony or lose all interest in food, become fear-ridden or hypersensitive or fractious. They had resigned themselves to the prospect of increasing difficulties with digestion and sleeping, things they had taken for granted when young, like life itself. But no one had told them that the most frightening thing of all about the loss of youth is not what is taken away but what is granted in exchange. Not wisdom. Not serenity. Not sound judgment or tranquility. Only the awareness of universal disintegration.

 --from the first page of Katalin Street by Magda Szabo

Women's March 2.0 in photos

It seems impossible to find an estimate on this year's crowd in Seattle but for now let's just say it was a lot. As many as last year? I donno. It was colder than last year but that didn't seem to dampen anyone's spirits. When we could get a view up or down the street, the crowd seemed to stretch all the way back to Broadway (when we were at 7th or so) and as far as one could see back along 4th towards Pine (from mid-Belltown). It was, again, a hopeful, positive crowd with a great many creative signs.

You wouldn't think this would need saying, would you?

Sounds reasonable

I"m a sucker for the Space Needle (in my excitement to see it marching, I couldn't focus my camera).

I liked this one, despite the questionable hyphenation on "superpower."

And there were a lot of children in the march.

Some old enough to make their own signs

This little girl became a star, waving at the waiting crowd who all waved back.

This child was a bit more reflective.

I particularly liked this one and hope the idea catches on.

A recurring theme

Words to live by

What gives me the most hope

"If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor."

In Seattle, we love our acronyms. I had to ask what this one meant: "Impeach the motherfucker already."

Another worthwhile laundry list

"LOVE is the answer (that, and VOTING)"

A popular bit of signage

Self-explanatory, I like to pair it with this one:

Antifascist US WWII Veteran

A range of causes including that business of not destroying the planet

Immigration!

This one just cracked me up.

Not a great day for golf anyway.

Again with the hope when you see the young women who will be voting for the first time in 2018

There were at least *two* versions of this one. Mmmmm, cinnamon rolls.

So Seattle

Crowd shot while waiting to get moving

Another crowd shot

Marchers and signage (yes, that's the Space Needle sign)

Milling crowd at the end of the line by Seattle Center

WWHD?

I love her so much I'm putting her in twice.