All a-flutter

This Spicebush Swallowtail butterfly really wanted to get to my parsley, probably to lay some eggs. That's the reason for the tulle on the parsley; the caterpillars just love it. This parsley has pretty much gone to seed now so I really should have obliged this butterfly who provided at least ten minutes' worth of entertainment. However, she was all a-flutter which prevented me from getting a good snapshot of her lovely outspread wings.

Enjoy!

Pour Diane

When last in Roma, one day Davide and I discussed girls' favorite movies. Mine happened to have been The Sound of Music; Diane's was the Empress Sissy series. Now I had never heard of Empress Sissy, let alone any movies made about her. However, Empress Sissy had apparently captured the imagination of Diane much as Maria vonTrapp had done for me. When I returned to the States I started asking around if anyone had ever heard of either the Empress or the movies. Only Bill's older sister (who got her master's in German) had a slight recollection of the Sissy movies.

My girliest girlfriend is Roberta. Roberta collects dolls, bears, well, she simply collects anything girlie. Like me, Roberta hadn't heard of this series but she liked the idea of Empress Sissy and decided to rent the series on Netflix. I watched the three movies with Roberta, and having done so I now understand why Diane would have been transfixed by this heroine.

Diane is spunky, animated, very curious about things, and, as an artist, probably a bit of a non-conformist, too. In addition, as a child, Diane liked to ride horses. I can see how Diane as a little girl would want to grow up to be the independent, horse-loving Empress Sissy.

Now Roberta, being the girlie-girl that she is, found during this, the 50th anniversary of Barbie, a Sissy Barbie on eBay and ordered it for herself as a Christmas present. She knew that Diane might be interested in seeing it, so last night I got a sneak peak at Roberta's 2009 Christmas present.



Sissy-Barbie is still in her box.



In the picture above you can see the reflection of the American flag. Roberta has her house decorated for the Fourth of July.



Up-close and personal.



This is the back of the box.



Just in case you didn't know about Sissy, there's an explanation about her. Arguably, I should have written this blog in French since this is pour Diane, but I'm being both lazy and saving my time to work on CAD later...but that's another story.



And just in case you decide to give a doll like this to someone you know, Mattel provides some advice on the matter.



Now this is Roberta's Christmas present, so shhhh, don't let her know what she's getting for Christmas. Little girls like surprises!

Goldilocks and the three chairs

Since the premature demise of my external hard drive, I have come to the conclusion that I have been tempting Fate every time I sit on the family room sofa and maneuver my laptop from the end table to my lap. Consequently, I have decided to move the computer to a proper desk and work from it like an adult. I don't like it.

My computer runs hot so it must rest on a cushion of air. I have a contraption for that but it makes my computer too high even when I put it on the kitchen desk which I designed to be lower than most adult desks. At the moment, my computer is resting on a cookie sheet which is not really much better than the stand made specifically for this purpose.

The problem is with my chair. The cane chair is too small, the bent wood chair is too hard, and the computer chair in Bill's study (a discard from SSA) lists a little to starboard and pushes me forward so that I feel as if I'm going to fall out of it. With the exception of the goofy computer chair, the others are too low which make it difficult to type. I also don't like it when the back of my upper legs are cut off by the edge of the chair. Frankly, I don't like sitting like a lady. Now while I complain that today's oversized furniture doesn't fit a petite person like me (I'm officially petite since I'm under 5'3"), I do like chairs to extend to the underside of my knees for those occasions when I must sit like a lady. Incidentally, why do we not have a word in the English language for the back side of the knee?

Lacking the money for a proper desk chair, I have opted for the bent wood chair with an added cushion for the seat and a footstool for my feet.

Goldilocks doesn't find this a suitable solution. Hmmm. I wish those bears would do something about her dilemma.

Beauty and the beast

Every year I look forward to the blooming of this water plant. I'm not sure what it is called but it is really quite spectacular. This little dragonfly seems to agree.



Yesterday morning, the first two blooms opened up.



I call them spider lilies but I don't think they really have enough "legs" to be spiders. And then they are plants and not arachnids so they can't really be spiders at all. Really I have no reason whatsoever to call them spider lilies, but I do nevertheless.



From this angle, the plant resembles a petunia. However "water petunia" doesn't sound nearly so exotic as does "spider lily," and this plant is definitely exotic.



While the spider lily is stunningly beautiful, there is a beast in our garden, as well. Every July we are bombarded by these pesky insects known as Japanese beetles. This one is devouring my Cosmos. And what is that thing left in the center of the plant? Beetle dukies?



When I checked in on my pond plant yesterday afternoon it appeared to have been visited by a hungry invader. I am blaming this disfigurement on Japanese beetles.



The infiltration of these destructive insects has led to a new industry: bug bags. This one happens to belong to our neighbor. Apparently, the beetles are attracted to both the yellow bag hanger and to the scent inside, a scent that causes them to get loopy and fall into the bag.



These bugs are not only obnoxious but stupid, too. The two in the picture below are about to fall to their demise and don't even know it.

Disposing of these bags is nasty. When you get a gazillion of these bugs compressed like this the bag emits an unpleasant smell. If you haven't been to see any of the many depictions of "The Last Judgment" with Emilio in Roma, you can get the same impression by simply looking into one of these bags. I feel kind of bad for the little fellows who drown in the intoxicating aroma early on because I suspect they are crushed by those who arrive later.



Now it didn't seem fair to leave you with an image of a bag-o-bugs, so I'm closing with a pretty shot of my snap dragons and sweet alyssum. These plants are holding up well against both the oppressive heat and the Japanese beetles. I should remember to plant more of these next spring.

Daddy's little girl

This is my dad, Donald Wilson Reed. If he were alive today, he would be 101 years old.

I've been thinking about my dad this summer because during this employment hiatus I have had an opportunity to read some of my father's books, The Patriot by Pearl S. Buck, The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand, and now The Grapes of Wrath by Steinbeck.

Personality-wise I'm probably more like my father than my mother. He was always interested in literature, history, and culture and was quite refined, saying "rawther" instead of "rather". He also spoke very slowly, delivering his words like Jimmy Stewart. My dad grew up in Omaha and went to high school with Henry Fonda, an "odd fellow" in his words. During his college years he went to speak-easies and, as the only son of a doctor, my dad lived a privileged life even during the depression. My grandfather wanted my dad to follow in his footsteps and become a doctor, but my dad had no intention of doing that. Instead, after my grandfather died, he enrolled in the best school in social work at the time, the University of Chicago, and got his master's degree.

My dad's hobby was woodworking. On hindsight, I think my dad would have made a fine architect because he liked putting things together. He inherited his mother's artistic talents, and I got mine from him. He was also a shutterbug. He loved photography and even won an award. I can still recall the darkroom he set up in our bathroom in Charlotte. He took me to operas and to Charlie Chaplin films and listened to classical music, something my mom hated. When I was a little girl in Charlotte, he would spend Saturday mornings watching Our Gang Comedy with me. He also loved electronics. He had an international radio and a CB (a citizens' band radio) back "in the day." He died when he was 75 in 1983 before iPods or personal computers; too bad, he would have enjoyed having both.

In case of fire: the best of our wedding album

While it has bothered me for some time that I could lose these lovely images in a fire, the recent loss of my external hard drive has prompted me to scan the best of the photos from our wedding album.

The day was September 10, 1977 and the place was St. Francis Xavier Church in downtown Cincinnati.



The blushing bride.



The nervous groom who forgot to rinse out the shampoo on the morning of the wedding.



A picture of my daddy and me before the wedding.



My mom and me. My mom never forgave the photographer for snapping these pictures in the bride's changing room. There wasn't enough room for a shot of me with both of my parents. My dad was 69 and my mom was 55, exactly one year older than I am right now.

I guess I look like my mom, but I got my dad's nose and tendency not to look like my actual age (that may have a lot to do with my mom having been a smoker). In exchange I got the Reed hips and thighs. At least those you can hide under a skirt, unlike noses and wrinkles!



Here's my dad walking me down the aisle. He had MS, and there was some concern that he might trip on the runner. We both did just fine that day--no broken wrists for me!



I guess I liked baroque churches back then. I actually went church shopping in Cincinnati. Fr. Pallo, the first priest we knew in Fayetteville, even used me as an example in one of his homilies.



Bill was having a little difficulty getting the ring on my finger. Notice that we had two celebrants at the wedding, Fr. King (the younger priest) and Fr. Brueggeman. At the rehearsal dinner the night before, Fr. Brueggeman was trying to peddle drugs--he offered Bill two Valium; Bill refused.



More high church.



Mr. and Mrs. William A. Quinn



The new couple.



My parents, Donald and Mary, and Bill's folks, Lucy and Bill.



The Quinns--Lucy, Bill, Tricia, Bill, Diane, and Karen (Bill's twin sister).



My mother's family--Patrick, my uncle Bill and his wife, Nancy, Tricia, Bill, Meg (everyone thought she was Bill's twin), Tim, Michael (in front), and my aunt Helen. My mom was also upset that she and my dad weren't in this picture. I only have four first cousins.



Bill's family. This is the DiCamillo family. Bill's grandmother from Italy is sitting to my left. Grandma liked me a lot. Behind Bill's mom is her sister Mary; she and I share the same birthday.



Here we are with the greatest godparents in the world, Claude and Ann Reed. Claude was my dad's first cousin but they were like brothers (my dad was an only child). Ann Reed lived to 100 + 1 day; she gave me my first pair of nylons when my mother wouldn't let me have them. I'm eternally grateful to her for that Christmas present.



Here's Eric Wentz, the best man, toasting the new couple at the Cincinnati Club.



Here we are cutting the cake. On our first anniversary we ate the top layer but it wasn't very good--a little freezer burn. I wonder if the Italians and British have that tradition or if it's just an American custom.



And here's the wedding party. Meg, Dan Moore, Eric Wentz, me, Bill, Frank Abate, Mary Neenan McTighe, Neil Hennessey, and Diane and Karen in front.



P.S. I can still fit in my wedding gown!

Stars and stripes

Yesterday was the Fourth of July, America's Independence Day. Since Bill and I had been invited to two parties we were able to escape the war zone that was created on our own street by neighbors who annually defy the Fayetteville ordinances that ban fireworks within the city limits.

We met up with the Billingsleys at the Joliffe's party. Here Roberta on the left and Tracy on the right demonstrate the appropriate way to dress on the Fourth of July. This is a new style for Roberta, my friend who had breast cancer last year. She has decided that if you've got it, flaunt it. Both she and I come from a quasi-Puritanical heritage where we are not accustomed to showing our decolletage (sorry, I can't keep the font I have here and insert the accent mark). But proudly she displays her ta-tas, something no woman should be embarrassed to do.

During the party the Joliffe's cat hung out on top of the kitchen cabinet, about 8 feet off the floor!



After the Joliffe's party and a quick visit home to check on our charges, the recovering Billy, the incontinent Daisy (our 16-year-old dog), and the loaf-of-bread thief Bruce (our 2-year-old grand-dog/horse), we went to our second party of the evening at Chuck and Rhonda Adams' house.

Here is Bill making a most serious point with Roberta while Rhonda with a twinkle in her eye mugged for the camera.



Meanwhile, Robbie and Chuck were visiting at the railing.



Roberta made a scrumptious cherry pie for the occasion; Rhonda prepared her delicious homemade ice cream with just a hint of banana.





This was the view from the Adams' porch early in the evening. Not only was the view spectacular but they are not bothered by summer bugs like we are at our house.



The view was equally impressive when night fell.



A word about fireworks. I love to watch fireworks from afar as we did last night. However, they scare the wa-hoo out of me when non-professionals shoot them off. I suppose that's because my parents' mantra to me growing up was that it could render me handless or blind. So much for growing up with a nurse for a mother and a social worker (who worked with the blind) as a father. Consequently, my little phobia (I prefer to think of it as prudence) makes me a bit of a kill-joy on this holiday.



The City of Fayetteville didn't have any money for a proper display of its own this year, just another reminder of the current crisis. Nevertheless, we were able to see some lovely fireworks from our vantage point on the Adams' deck.



And not to be a total stick-in-the-mud on this festive occasion, I sported my own stars and stripes!