10-10-10

Today is being called Singularity Sunday. There are those who think that, due to the date, Something is likely to happen. 

I am charmed by the fact that 10 10 10 in binary code equals 42 in base 10. (No, I didn't know this on my own -- I learned it HERE.)

So what's the big deal about that, I hear you asking. Well, as all true fans of Douglas Adams' magnificent The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Universe  know, 42 is the answer to The Meaning of Life, the Universe, and Everything.

So perhaps as the day unfolds, the meaning of the question will emerge.  Or not.

Till then, I'm pretty excited with the picture I caught at the river yesterday of what I think must be an osprey. 

And yes, we're beginning to get that fall color.

Do let me know if the day brings any auspicious events or revelations your way.

Where'd It Go?

Look what I found on the floor by my laptop!

Miss Susie Hutchins is not amused.

"I left it right here," she mutters. "But that's not it . . .

The Seeds of a Nightmare

YesterdayI traveled to Little Switzerland, a charming community where I spoke to the Homemakers' Club. But first I paused in Burnsville, long enough to traumatize a child.

Here's what happened.

Judy, who had invited me to speak, had offered to meet me in Burnsvillle and drive me to Little Switzerland as the shortest way was apt to be confusing. 


"I'll be in a black Four-Runner," she said. "And I'll meet you in the mall parking lot."


So I arrive a little before the appointed time and park where I can keep an eye on cars turninng into the mall. After a while I notice a shiny black Four-Runner parked over by the Burger Kingand I figure that Judy was early too. As I'm getting ready to drive over there, the car backs out and moves to the nearby drug store -- also in the mall.

"Okay," I think and drive over to park beside the black Four Runner. I get out but, to my surprise, there's no one in the car. 

"No worries," I tell myself, "It's still early; Judy's probably slipped into the drug store to pick up something or other."

Then I notice in the back seat,  a head moving behind the dark-tinted windows. Judy mentioned she'd be bringing a neighbor, so I tap  on the window and say, "I'm looking for Judy."

The person doesn't respond and I reach to open the door so as to make myself heard. 


It's locked.


I try the front door -- also locked. Then I put my face to the dark glass and see that it's not a neighbor but a small child strapped into a car seat. 


"Funny," I think. "Why would Judy be bringing a small child to this meeting?" 


Just then, from the corner of my eye I see another black Four-Runner turning into the area where I had originally parked.


And I realize what this poor wide-eyed child must be thinking.


As I hurry into my car, back out and head for the other black Four-Runner, I wonder how good this child's communication skills are. 


Will he startle his mother with a tale of a witch, her wispy white hair blowing around her face as she tapped at his window and tried to get in the car with him?


Or will I figure in his nightmares for years to come?  I hope not.

The meeting was, thank goodness, pleasant and uneventful. 

Not from Around here, Are You?

How do you pronounce it -- App-a-LAY-shun? Or App-a-LATCH-chun? It probably depends on where you're from. And since the Appalachian Mountains stretch from Georgia all the way to Maine, there's plenty of room for disagreement.

In Appalachia: A History, John Alexander Williams says this about the term Appalachia:

"As if the varying boundaries weren't enough, there is no fundamental agreement even about how to pronounce the word "Appalachia." Residents of southern and central Appalachia pronounce the term with a short -a- in the stressed third syllable; further north, the same -a- is given a long pronunciation, as in "Appal-achia." 

"Most of the experts and bureaucrats who came from Washington and elsewhere to fix the region's problems beginning in the 1960s adopted the northern pronunciation, while resident experts favor the southern-- which led to a situation, according to one commentator, wherein 'people who said AppaLAYchia were perceived as outsiders who didn't know what they were talking about but were more than willing to tell people from the mountains what to do and how they should do it.'

"Finally, while a majority of both long and short -a- users crunch the third syllable as though it were spelled Appal-atch-yuh, in New England-- where the term "Appalachian" first came into widespread use by nongeologists thanks to the Appalachian Mountain Club and the development of the Appalachian Trail-- a variant pronunciation uses "sh" rather than "ch," as in Appal-ay-shuh."

 In my county, a lot of folks pronounce the name of a nearby community Lee-cester. Across the county line, the folks who live there call it Lester. Both of them spell it Leicester.

Is the Greek gyro a yee-roe or a jie-roe? Is the space between your eyebrows and hairline your fore-head or your far-ed? You say to –may- to; I say to- mah- to . . .

Hit don’t matter, as my neighbor said about the spelling of her name, but the way you pronounce a word can tell others something about where you’re coming from. . .

Other Mountains, Other Skies

On the road from Mars Hill to Asheville -- the skies and mountains are beautiful -- even from a supermarket parking lot.

And farther on, the sky was so compelling that I had to pull off the interstate to take another picture.

The views from our porch will always be my favorites, but there are great shots everywhere. 

Blog Tour -- Last Stop

I've borrowed a fiaker from Merisi's Vienna to take us over to Molly Weston's MERITORIOUS MYSTERIES for the last stop on the blog tour.

But perhaps the elegant conveyance below would be more suitable. I'm talking about graveyards and giving an excerpt from the new book -- an excerpt set in a graveyard.

And it is the last stop, after all...  and your last chance to leave a comment and be entered in a drawing for a copy of the new book.

Monday's Sundries

It hasn't frosted yet but it's turned cool enough (51 F on Sunday afternoon) that I doubt the nasturiums will be around much longer. So I've planted a flat of pansies in this little island bed in our entry way.  These hardy little flowers will greet us all winter, smiling up from the melting snow. If things go well, there should be a purple pool around the crepe myrtle trunks next spring.  At least, that's what I'm hoping for.

The big poplar in the cemetery  is shedding its lower leaves and revealing its elegant skeleton while the sun gives its  leafy crown a parting kiss.

This is the lull before the storm -- a time of getting ready. In a very few weeks, the trees beyond the pond will set the quiet water aflame with reflections of red and gold. The autumn color will blaze across the hills and we will scurry to make ready for winter.

The Autumn Switch

 October means it's time to put the house into autumn mode --  of course the chimneys need to be cleaned, the screens taken down and the windows washed, the house plants brought back inside after their summer sojourn outside -- but in order to get myself psyched up for these chores, first I put away the summer blue and white and bring out the autumn colors.

I enjoy marking the change of seasons this way -- and I like putting some things away and bringing others out.  I'll pack away most of the blue and white china in the corner cupboard and take down the paintings of lilies ...

Away with the kitchen's blue and white throw pillows and the curtain over the pantry door . . .

The corner cupboard fills up with odds and ends that have been packed away since last December -- painted gourds, two skulls (cat and raccoon ), and other objects that somehow seem autumnal to me.

 Different paintings in the living room and the ostrich, emu, and rhea eggs that were in the cupboard look somehow different in their new perch on the mantel.

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The blue and white throw pillows an the couch give way to a rosy-hued leaf fabric, similar to that in the kitchen pillows. . .

And the blue rag rugs go into the washing machine while I bring out these bright mats.

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A harvest wreath on the door. . .

And it's time to set a spell and rest -- the vacuuming can wait till  another day.

 

Asheville for Beginners

I found myself downtown last night, with time to kill before my reading at Malaprop's. 

I thought of Merisi and the beautiful city pictures she takes.

Of course, her city is Vienna.

But Asheville, too, has its shadows, reflections, and shafts of sunlight.

But It's Really All About Ali Ali...

This was Marigold when we brought her home almost two years ago.

And here she is today, a mother and a milk cow.

 Ali Ali has watched the goings on of the past few days with unabashed disapproval. Why, he asks, is this silly cow getting all the attention? Why are my people spending all their time with her? After all, it's all about ME, isn't it?

Once they got a whiff of the fresh warm milk, Ali Ali and Otis both decided that perhaps there was something to all of this cow foolishness. Now if Claui would just set that pail down so a dog could get his face in it . . .