The Happy Post Hippie Couple

We celebrated our 37th anniversary at the Elephant Bar and Grill tonight. The hostess seated us by the door, and just in front of a totally open kitchen area. Big mistake! I could hardly hear Barb talking to me. We moved in short order to the back of the bus, where the brain didn't have to compete with so much input. Much better!

Great menu choices. Median prices. Not as much privacy as we're used to (Black Angus), but it was okay. The food was excellent. The dessert was excellent. And it didn't break the bank. So we'll give it a 3.5 out of 5 stars.

Liz bought us a 'What Was Happening in 1971' book. Thanks, Liz. We had fun perusing the pages of factoids, fun and great ads from that year. And now we can sleep better, knowing Winona Ryder was born the year we got married!

Barb has a thingy about steaks. Tri-tip, sirloin, pink inside. So she enjoyed this $10 tri-tip and potatoes, but didn't eat the crispy lima beans. I had the kung pao spicy chicken and rice. Spicy is the key word. Wow! Just this side of that horseradish runny nose. Just right. So I brought half of it home to take for lunch tomorrow.

Sorry about all this detail. If you were expecting some great philosophical tome or rambling argument about why Hillary should get the nomination, forgive me. I'm relaxing tonight and enjoying those old memories of two young kids who started out with nothing but each other, survived by God's grace and still love each other today. Now that's a relaxing thought to treasure in the midst of an out-of-its-mind world.

Screaming Calla Lily Color

There is a side of me that you know not. Must be time for bed!

Early Rising

Another scouting expedition started early as I maneuvered through the brick and glass canyons of downtown, heading toward the waterfront. A dismally thick smog covered the valley and the picture perfect city scene shot was out of the question. But there was enough color and action on and around the water to make up for it.




A few fishermen were lazily waiting for tugs, while others were netting bait fish. One told me there were more than 30 species to choose from, more than you can imagine and the best time to catch them was when it was over 90 degrees. Another said business was slow because of two sea lions that had taken residence a bit to the west of us (they've been the stars of the noon news on t.v. lately).

My telephoto lens is a cheap Sigma, so I can never get a good, sharp image even with a tripod. But there were plenty of composition opportunities with some decent color saturation, so I can't complain too loudly. The big plus was the egret that sailed in and made a perfect turn before landing. Only one of about six shots was sharp enough to post.



This little family of mallards scuttled their way to and fro across the channel. Only three of a probably much larger brood survived their first few weeks in the world.

Happy Mother's Day!

Tomato Watch

My backyard tomatoes are flourishing between the apricots and roses. Plenty of sunlight, fertilizer and water (not too much, though), and I don't have to hear Barb complaining about having to buy the lousy ones at the store. But it will be quite awhile before any payoff presents itself.

The neighbor's climbing rose drapes onto our side of the fence. Pastel pinks mixed with darker rouge and white display a trinitarian theme, like many other things in nature. The flowers are about 3/4" across and have a slight fragrance.



Far from pragmatic utilitarianism alone, flowers connect us to the dimension of all things beautiful. They reflect the beauty of God's holiness that the Scriptures speak of, albeit in a diminutive sense (Psalm 29:1,2). The ability to appreciate and value beauty is another in a long list of evolutionary impossibilities. It is God-given.



"Beauty is but the sensible image of the Infinite." - George Bancroft

"Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything that is beautiful; for beauty is God's handwriting, a wayside sacrament. Welcome it in every fair face, in every fair sky, in every fair flower, and thank God for it as a cup of blessing." - R.W. Emerson



"Every rose is an autograph from the hand of God on his world about us. He has inscribed his thoughts in these marvelous hieroglyphics which sense and science have, these many thousand years, been seeking to understand." - Theodore Parker

Wrested Realities

Not much brings me to tears these days. The sad story is usually the well to draw from. Here is a glimpse into that story, only one of many.

When Roses Go to College

Few of us went to a college that looks like The University of the Pacific. Established in 1851, it is the oldest college in California and is loved for its Ivy League style buildings and landscape design. It's always fun to head there in the early morning to grab some low angle sunlight as it filters through the campus.

This morning's roses were color-flushed handfuls, with firstborn petals scattered on the ground. Over-tended and prolific, white-grained fertilizer had been shoveled beneath them and around them, much of it lay on the bordering boxwood.

The air was crisp and cool. Wet grass soaked my shoes and the toes of my socks as I scouted different angles and light. The maintenance man drove along the walk to the rose garden, agreeing that it was indeed a beautiful morning before stopping to empty two trashcans. I told him to take his time.

Patience is a key virtue. Waiting upon God with a sense of trust is a wonderful thing. May I know the power of this trusting when I can't see past this present tense existence.

Drawing A Line

Let's see . . . as long as it's a blockbuster magazine, and as long as it's a world-renown photographer, and as long as she's known by millions around the world, and as long as her parents sign off, and as long as someone told her it's 'art,' and as long as she knows little to nothing about what God expects from her, and as long as it's fun, and as long as people are telling her how grown-up she looks and acts, how DARE anyone criticize a 15 year-old for ANYTHING they want to do. Or even a 14 or 13 year-old. In fact, let's just play it safe and say 10 years old and up.

Apparently, there's a lot of stupid people that believe it's okay (or not willing to say it's wrong) according to today's Yahoo Poll. About 42% worth.

The chickens are certainly coming home to roost.

Tyson Four-Step

Nothing like the smell of deep-fried asparagus, a bulldog who likes to skateboard and girls polevaulting on Fremont Street to get the camera clicking. The Stockton Asparagus Festival is the yearly fund-raising event for all ages, even us old coots who'd rather sit in the shade than traipse up and down eatery row, watch Joey Chestnut win the all-you-can-eat contest (again) or listen to Joan Jett croon to other 50ish folks.

It was good to be in church today where all of us old coots had a great time without any hype, hoopla or barf bags.

Belated Happy Earth Day

Earth Day in the 1950's was any day you communed with nature, planted a tree, picked a rose, weeded the flower bed, composted your garbage, or used your trusy machete to cut down a yucca bloom. The girls in camp were impressed, but the local ranger tied us to the back of his pickup and dragged us around for awhile. Lesson learned.

Oh, that's brother Marty on my right and cousin Larry on my left. I forgot who wore the machete belt after this incident --- certainly not any of us.

Pete Souza's Ronald Reagan

White House photographer, Pete Souza, enjoyed the Reagan years by shooting all things President and presidential, including family and friends. Great moments during a history-making time. Find them here: The Musarium

Stitching Time

THIS IS WORDYDAVE AT A K/P PHOTOSHOOT IN SEATTLE


I haven't seen the latest figures of how many people are taking how many pictures in how many seconds around the world. Guess you could have done this before the digital camera revolution, but it's impossible to estimate now. Capturing the instant (or a few seconds worth) of the moment digitally provides the current 'gotta-have-it-now' mentality.

Barb was sorting through several bins of old stuff a few days ago. Mementoes saved for daughter Liz and personal stuff for the old couple. There was a box of old pictures that I'd taken a long time ago that jogged the old memory nerves. A few that others had taken that I didn't remember (like the one of me in bed reading 1984 when I was just out of high school). Old negatives that I need to convert for saving. All stuff that will be tossed after we check out of the breathing ward.

We (and our kids) need PROOF that we were young sooner or later. Don't ask me why.

Party Gurlz

Birthday parties for 8 year-olds haven't really changed through the years. It's still proverbial mayhem and pandemonium until the last decorated cupcakes are eaten. All parents and grandparents were thoroughly entertained.

Keep those cameras handy. You'll soon forget the wonderful details without them.

Deja Nam

Friendly Al was wearing a Vote for Obama t-shirt and huge Obama button on his shiny blue jacket. He was more than ready to bring the "boys" home from the second fiasco, this time in Iraq. Barak was the ticket to get this done --- not Hillary, and certainly not McCain.

That's my wish as well. Bring them home. We have plenty of oil in Alaska and offshore to supply the good ol' USA for hundreds of years (if this mess is about oil --- which I really doubt). If it's about freedom, the Iraqis must want freedom badly enough to secure it by themselves. They don't need us to train them how to get it. They can fight their own civil war for it.

Our 'fight' is here, on the borders and within the states that harbor these extremists, illegals and their sympathizers. Denmark is reeling from its 'open-arms' policies. Looks like we're next in line for the dance.

You can see photos of the Vietnam Veteran Welcome Home event last Sunday here: http://wordydave.zenfolio.com

This Fragile Force

Windblown blossoms sail the breeze and land willy-nilly on the grass or spider webs. The spiders do wish they'd stop.

The northyard's green explosion reaches heavenward, defying all but mowing and poison. It must prevail without choice. It must drink the sunlight, devour the earth and make babies. It's a beautiful thing . . . and painless.

"Now this I say, brethren, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God; neither does corruption inherit incorruption. Behold, I show you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed. In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. For this corruption must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality. So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, 'Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is your sting? O grave, where is your victory?'" (St. Paul, I Corinthians 15:50-55

The Pharmacy is Full

Today's visit to the local Kaiser pharmacy to pick up meds to treat Barb's flu symptoms reinforced my belief in the power of genetic inheritance. We disease prone humans are but a breath away from the next world. The place was packed with young and old, thick and thin, rich and poor. Barb had to wait at the entrance after her doctor's visit. She was too weak to walk the '1/2 mile' to the pharmacy, so I accepted the challenge. If you weren't sick before you wandered in, you would most likely catch something before you wandered out. Tis the plague season.

God, be merciful to us sinners.