Let Me Be Perfectly Clear . . .

On my post yesterday I said that, despite the legalization of same sex marriage, John and I had managed to stay together for fifty two years. I was being sarcastic (something I am wont to do) and referencing the caveat put up by some of the opponents to gay marriage to the effect that same sex marriage was a threat to traditional marriage.

I guess I should have used one of those winky-face emoticons. Several folks seemed puzzled by my statement and seemed, alas, to think that perhaps I was an opponent of same sex marriage and I hurried to explain myself. 

So many of you who read this seem like old friends, though we've never met in the flesh and I tend to take it for granted that my friends are aware of my political and other views -- and will know when I'm being sarcastic or speaking tongue in cheek (that sounds nicer, doesn't it?) 

For the record briefly: I'm a tree-hugging, bleeding-heart liberal yellow dog Democrat(and a gun owner with a concealed carry license just to keep things weird.)

 I'm a non-believer who can quote a lot of scripture and a rational skeptic who is aware I haven't got all the answers.

And I'm definitely in favor of  marriage equality.

I hope that clears that up. 

.

In Spite of Gay Marriage . . .

In spite of gay marriage and all the other temptations of modern life . . .

John and I are celebrating our 52nd  wedding anniversary today . . .

Holding strong . . .

Feelings . . . Dogs Who Have Feelings . . .

One Crow, One Crow, Two Crows, Gone Crows

Witch Hazel

Several of you asked yesterday about the yellow squiggly things in two of my pictures and I said that I was pretty sure it was witch hazel. But I realized I'd never paid attention to the tree or shrub that these pretty late fall flowers appear on.

So I took a look -- down by the barn where we park our go-to-town car, a good-sized dogwood spreads its canopy. And mixed in amongst its branches are the branches of the wild native witch hazel, growing high and reaching far in search of sunlight.

(In the picture below, the witch hazel trunk is just above the flag and the dogwood is to its right.)

 An internet search tells me that witch hazel was used by Native Americans to treat any number of ailments from tumors, skin irritations, burns, and eye inflammations to hemorrhoids.

The most common preparation seems to be Witch Hazel water, obtained by soaking the tannin rich twigs and/or bark in warm water, distilling this, and finally adding alcohol.Back in my teen years, I remember occasionally using a commercial tincture of witch hazel as an astringent on my face, hoping to ward off the dread pimples.

So why is it called Witch Hazel? Wikipedia says (for what it's worth) that it comes from the Old English wice, meaning 'pliant' or 'bendable' and the the use of the pliant twigs for dowsing or 'witching' water may have influenced the 'witch' part of the name. 

Maybe so. I'd sure like to think so.

There's an excellent article HERE -- about witch hazel and distillation and dowsing -- a very good read.

Far and Near

In the River Arts District

My writing classes this semester meet in the Asheville River Arts District -- a formerly industrial area now given over to art studios . . .

 Much of my second novel Art's Blood was set in one of the old buildings that was previously a tannery.

A railroad runs through it . . .

And the funky old buildings that now contain studios retain their funky old look.

It's a very nice use of an area that thirty some years ago was pretty much dying.

One Last Blaze of Glory

Hunkering Down as the Dark Moves In,

Even though we haven't had a hard frost yet and the temperatures are relatively balmy, autumn is on its way out and we are acting accordingly. 

We butchered and readied for the freezer the last batch of broiler chickens on Halloween and yesterday was spent turning necks into broth, making onion rolls and chicken/vegetable soup, also for the freezers -- which are pretty much packed full.  

The last of the pears have been picked and preserved; there are still a few peppers in the garden, though the deer have eaten most of the foliage. And there are collards and kale. . .

But in November my attention is called inward -- the continuing project of winnowing possessions -- my workroom is half-tidy, half-chaos. Many books have gone to the library book sale and to other homes, big boxes of fabric and fabric scraps have been let go, and there's a growing pile of things for the February flea market to benefit a local charity. 

I find myself putting things in the give away pile and then being tempted to take then back out. And then I think of the horror stories of elderly hoarders and try very hard to follow someone's (I  don't remember whose) very good advice when it comes to these items -- look at that book, that basket, that piece of pottery, that craft kit, or whatever the possession is, acknowledge the pleasure that item  brought you originally, and realize that you probably won't ever read that book again, that you have more baskets and pottery than any six people need, that you're never going to put that dollhouse kit together or the kaleidoscope kit or the Nantucket Lightship basket either. 

Life grows shorter, like the days, and it's time to make room for the important things and get rid of the clutter. 

As the World Turns