Comet Watching

 Last evening was an excellent time to see the PanSTARR comet. 

E and a friend went out FAR west of the city lights 

and awaited dusk. 

 By looking south of the moon (not below the moon, but south by a map), they could see the comet.

An occasional jet crossed the sky... but the comet had center stage.

A keen eye, patient observation, is the key to comet watching. 

"Pay attention. It's all about paying attention. attention is vitality. It connects you with others. It makes you eager. Stay eager.” ― Susan Sontag

 (All photos have copyright. They were taken by E. and Zusman. They are not to be copied nor reposted without permission.)

Winter wears white

Winter hit us with snow. 

A lovely site that transforms the desert and transfixes its residents.

Lost in the grass

While walking the dogs yesterday,

 I came across this guy.

A cockatiel.

He was in the company of several doves.

They were all content to peck at the grass, 

ignoring the dogs and me.

Surely someone's lost pet?

I wonder if he knows he is lost. 

I think he thought he was a dove.

 

After riding

Stopping for breakfast after a morning ride.

B-17 over Arizona

Above is a video (in HD) of the B-17  

"Sentimental Journey". 

It is filmed flying over 'our' neck of the hills/desert/our spot in the country.

This aircraft was used in World War II, and now it resides at the Commemorative Air Force Museum, just a few blocks from our house.

Yes, you can take a ride in the Sentimental Journey, if you want. We catch it buzzing our house most days, and always on weekends. I still run out and look up at it, fascinated by its size, its gun turrets, its history. 

Almost any day of the year the CAF Museum is open. 

Almost every day, I wonder about the airmen who flew in it. Who sat in the belly, in the little enclosed bubble, looking at the world below him? Who folded himself in the tail turret, an easy target? Who sat way up front in the nose, underneath the pilots? Would you?

Or the big dome on top - great sky view, but another easy target.

WHOOPS!

I hear it flying over the house right now!

I have to go out and wave. You just have to!

Not in MY Garden

A follow up to yesterday's post:

While walking Shado the dog, I saw this in a desert garden.  

Shado and I both were perplexed.

What do you think the 'boy' did 

to deserve this punishment?

The poor guy was stuck there, 

in that position, for a week. 

He finally disappeared...

Reading for others

 When one can't read for himself, where does he turn? 

Audio books.

Some books are recorded by actors, 

some by the authors,

some by volunteers.

 Our city library maintains a recording studio for the State Braille and Talking Book Library.

A much larger studio with three recording booths is housed in east Phoenix.

The above photo is the 'director's desk' at my recording site. I get to sit here one day a week.

 And here is the 'reader's' desk. Often it is easier to call this person the 'narrator'. Reading is NOT easy work. This person must pre-read, read again, read out-loud, and practice reading more. Two hours of recording requires A LOT of homework for the narrator. S/he must also maintain a 'moist mouth' (no coffee while preparing!) and must sit very still while recording - no rustling, no tapping of foot, and no wearing jingly earrings.

This is the 'reviewer's' desk. This is my desk two days a week. A review is the proof-listener. For a few hours, the whole world is blocked out. The headphones replay every sound, every word, every swallow or sniffle a narrator might create. The reviewer documents it all, recording the time stamp and error. The file then goes back to the director - who plays supreme editor, cutting out the minute sounds or gurgles. 

And then it goes to the boss of us all, the KING REVIEWER. 

And...

then copies go to patrons who want to read but can't. 

Reading for others. The best job money can't hire.

(and we get to read a LOT of books!)

A red sky at night

And the scent of a winter night filled the air.

The sky

And the clouds brought rain!
(as Mr. Tillett reminds, enbiggen photo for the full effect)

An outburst of the soul

 Music is an outburst of the soul.  

~Frederick Delius

Another Thursday, another concert.

Another sunny afternoon with melodies that follow you for the rest of the day.

 Sophie and I hunted for our friend Michael in the crowd.

We had photos to give him - photos of our last concert together. Sophie had the photos tucked in her backpack.

 Michael spotted us first. He came to sit by us, and

Sophie welcomed him warmly.

He sat with us; he told us about his day, how he loved dogs, how nice Sophie is to hug, how he loved Thursdays. 

The singers continued on. The afternoon was filled with chords, poems, songs - and Michael petting Sophie.

 Are we not formed, as notes of music are,
For one another, though dissimilar?
~Percy Bysshe Shelley

And just what are you saying?

To say of what is that it is not, or of what is not that it is, is false, while to say of what is that it is, and of what is not that it is not, is true.
~ Aristotle

Otherwise, there is this sign:

On the street where we live

Anyone remember "My Fair Lady"? Years ago when I saw the movie, starring Audrey Hepburn and Rex Harrison, I knew life could be that lovely. I always wondered if Eliza married Freddy... he was so in love with her!

I have often walked down this street before;
But the pavement always stayed beneath my feet before.

from the song "On the Street Where She Lives" 

Alan Jay Lerner & Frederick Loewe 

The street where we live is changing. We live adjacent to citrus groves and we enjoy the luxury of a small neighborhood, rare traffic, and quiet nights. Our summer nights stay 10-15 degrees cooler because we don't have the summer heat island that burns after dark. In spring we suffer the lovely fragrant of orange and grapefruit blossoms. And around the corner, we pass two local citrus stands that operate all spring, selling freshly picked fruit.

 But now the orchards have been sold.

Houses are to be the next crop planted. 

The citrus trees are being pulled out by their roots, destroyed and removed from site. 

We are well aware that 45 years ago, the plot our house sits on was either part of the groves or on the road leading into it. 
Surely someone once grieved the loss of the trees. 

The citrus processing plants in town are closing. 
The land has been sold. 
Developers hope the housing economy has turned and new houses are needed. 

Our hands our tied from this point on. 

Our hearts are heavy.

Our hopes were once higher...

for the street where we live. The irony hits us hard, too.

Birds noises

A spring day and the birds celebrate!

Hear how the birds, on ev'ry blooming spray, 

With joyous musick wake the dawning day.
  - Alexander Pope

The sound of birds stops the noise in my mind.
-   Carly Simon

All photos taken today at the Gilbert Riparian Preserve.

Tomorrow - and today

The anticipation of tomorrow... saguaro blooms.

The beauty of today... desert flowers.

Spring on the other side of town

Spring is blooming across town. An afternoon spent at my mother's house 50 miles west of our house shows different but equal desert spring beauty.

I am amazed at the difference in our geography, our deserts.

That is Phoenix way down the road.

Rainy day by the river

Drove along the Salt River yesterday. 

It rained in rhythm to my camera clicking.

Mr. Cormorant was back on his perch, over the river.

The skies were quite dark. Shado walked silently beside me, 

and Mr. Cormorant ignored us.

We sat under a huge tree, canopied from the rain, and watched.