Theme Day: The Future

Winter Solstice is to be on December 21st, after which the days begin to lengthen towards Spring. While I took this photo this past summer, I suppose these petals could be seen as showing the progress of time; as they fade and return to Earth, they will become the soil that feeds future roses. 

A Bit of A Painting

 Just a section of one of my little paintings.

Until now, I hadn't realized how thick the outlines are around the swimmers' bodies. I will correct that on future versions, paintings in which I hope to create interesting positive/negative shapes, as well as give the girls the illusion of movement. 

Into the Valley of the Little Flags

 Surveyors were out in droves this past summer, planting little markers to indicate the locations of telecommunication lines. These were at an intersection near downtown, a profusion of little orange flags on wires, looking less like markers for vital cable lines than some sort of haphazard planting of flowers.

And A Happy Friendsgiving to You All - Dew on the Alligator

A local landscaping company has contracts to supply and tend numerous planters all over the city. It always surprises me the combinations the designers put into the containers.

 One year, I saw huge pots filled with various shades of green, while on this morning the plants were of contrasting colors, as well as lumpy set against pretty. Their appearance was given the added glamor of being misted in sparkling dew.  

Let's See If I Can Make This Work

 

One morning last summer I was aboard the bus, on my way downtown. I happened to look across the aisle where my eye was caught by the unique reflection, the safety light from another passenger's electric wheelchair, reflected in the stainless steel baseboard of the bus interior. 

Of course, I took a picture.

Not long after I took this photo, the hard drive on my PC took a death dive. It was only eighteen months old. I was good to it, I don't spend time on weird websites, so I don't know why it went kaput. At about the same time, my house phone died and my cellphone was taken over by viruses, making it unusable. 

Slowly, I've been making my way back into my on-line world: I bought a new house phone so I could order a new cellphone. Its delivery was delayed a month due to the back-ups on the shipping docks. I imagined its slim black rectangle, swathed in pink bubblewrap inside a small brown box, inside a cardboard carton, stacked in a shipping crate shoved inside (possibly) a MAERSK container, which was stacked, among thousands of others on an immense container ship. 

Somehow, it all works. Until it doesn't. We've all gotten so used to having anything we want dropped into our hands, that we don't take the time to appreciate the work it takes for us to have it. Whether it be a lacy bra, a pair of sneakers, a new car - or a life-saving medicine, somehow or another it's come to us through a series of workers we'll never see, but who deserve our thanks.

Ground Cover

These little plants form a part of the landscaping outside University Hospital on the IUPUI campus.

I don't know what they are called, but I think they are beautiful. There are even little bees, just the right size for the tiny flowers, working what must appear to them as a vast expanse of pink and green. 

Finally, Color!

It's not the greatest picture. Most of the roses have had their petals blown away. The shapes and composition are not striking. But, daggonit! There is bright and happy color, something I have missed. The bright pink, purple, and green basked proudly in spring sun.

 

During this long period of self-isolation, it seemed that the only flowers to be found were at the gardens of the club where I swam during the summer mornings, or at the museum where I sometimes would go for a walk. These caught my eye as I walked from my apartment to the bus stop, just a few feet outside my door.

 

Too Long in the Great Lockdown:

 

One night, just after I'd turned off the kitchen light and was on my way to bed, I looked up and thought, "Oh, there's nearly a full moon tonight." Except ... it was the fading glow of the LED bulb of the kitchen's ceiling light.

The bulb is slow to shut itself down, so I was able to take a picture for you, to show what it looks like when one's imagination has brought the moonlight inside one's apartment, just six inches below the ceiling.

 

In A Quiet Place

This sculpture by Morton C. Bradley Jr., is hanging in a quiet alcove in the IUPUI Campus Center in Indianapolis. Called Ensign, it was created in 1996 from square brass tubing, silver solder, and paint. The large piece, fabricated for Bradley by Harold Robinson, contains six planes aligned so that they seem to flip over onto one another as they turn overhead.

At the Swim Meet

I spent this past weekend working as a timer at the 2021 Senior Short Course Championships. Due to Covid-19 restrictions, the meet was held in two cities, Elkhart and Indianapolis, with times from each site combined to determine the winners

in each event. 

All participants were required to be screened each day for Covid-19 symptoms. At the first station I checked in and stated whether or not I'd developed any symptoms of infection from the virus. At the second, I was asked to stand in front of an iPad on a pole, with my head filling the outline more than it shows in the above picture. It actually "took" my temperature and I betcha-by-golly it sure would have taken my photo if it was not within its guidelines. I was then given a colored band to display on my lanyard to indicate I had been screened. After meeting with the other members of the timing and scoring staff, we took what was essentially a backdoor, winding route to get to the pool deck, one that I guarantee we would never have used in *normal* times.

Ordinarily, the stands would be filled with anxious and proud family members cheering for their child who would be trying for that time, that medal, that could lead to scholarships and further glory in the blue box of water. The decks would be crowded with team mates, coaches, and officials - all their attentions focused on the pool to watch the swimmers' progress in their events.

Like everyone else, the kids had to maintain social distancing guidelines: They had to wear their masks at all times, only taking them off just before they mounted the starting block to compete and replacing them upon exiting the pool. For the most part, they did really well. 

As can be seen in these pictures, there were no spectators allowed at the meet, which had been divided between the the two cities in order to meet the state's health department guidelines as to the number of people that could be in the facility at one time. This may seem harsh, but in this time it seems the best way to keep people healthy while allowing everyone - swimmers, coaches, meet staff, and volunteers, to participate in a sport they love.

 

Amaryllis: Now She Is Three

 Amaryllis has been joined on her stalk by two sisters. I love looking at these flowers, seeing their line and structure as the morning sun shines from behind. I've loved translucent light since I was a little girl. A saleswoman in a jewelry store was kind enough to show me some nice porcelain china and showed me the differences between opaque, translucent, and transparent objects, with a fine china cup being the "translucent" example. Those few moments she spent with me, in addition to other occasions when some kind people took the time to show a poor, neglected girl beautiful things have made a difference in my life: I do now have a set of nice dinnerware and I love the light that shows the details of flowers.    

Amaryllis: The Ultimate Squirrel Fighter

 Amaryllis, the 2019 USF* Champeen,

has just produced the first of what will be three blooms. The picture I posted yesterday was taken Monday morning. This picture was taken just a bit ago. Unfortunately, it's dreary this morning, so that lovely bit of golden light does not show, as it did in the first shot and the one shown below, taken yesterday morning.

*Ultimate Squirrel Fighting

Amaryllis: The Survivor

 Several years ago, just after Christmas, I was grocery shopping at my neighborhood Kroger when I saw a flowering red amaryllis plant. It was marked down to just a few dollars so I bought it, bedraggled blooms and all. Ever since, it has blossomed every other spring or so, rewarding me with three vibrant red flowers that last about ten days before they fall away and the plant, once again, goes dormant. All I have done for it is trim its dried leaves back and water it every several days or so. And each spring I am surprised when its flowers appear, feeling blessed to have such a beautiful, undemanding plant.

You might imagine my surprise one morning a couple years ago, when I came to the front room of my apartment and saw a squirrel - A SQUIRREL, dammit! - breakfasting on Amaryllis's defenseless bulb! "Hey, you little fucker! How'd you get in here?! What the hell are you doing?" And the squirrel, henceforth referred to as Little Fucker, made a mad dash for the kitchen, where it shape-shifted into something about as thick as a floor tile and escaped underneath the cabinet baseboard.

Of course, I immediately called maintenance who came over with a humane trap, baited with peanut butter, that they put in the cabinet where Little Fucker was last seen. The next morning, as I lay in my bed, I heard scurrying sounds behind the wall. It was Little Fucker, who apparently either kept work hours or was sufficiently aware of human routines to think I had gone to work. I waited ... Sprong! and much squeaking: Little Fucker had been seduced by the peanut butter lure and was hurling itself around the cage, unable to escape. A maintenance man came to take away the cage and the captured squirrel. Ah, over and Amaryllis had

not suffered additional injury. 

Two days later, however, I again heard the telltale scurrying sounds inside my bedroom wall. This time I found Little Fucker nibbling on an avocado. "Well, shit!" and again, "Hey! You with the tail!" and Little Fucker scurried for the safety of the kitchen baseboard. The maintenance man came with another trap and, since it had liked my avocado soooo much, I put it in the cage. The next day, the maintenance man and I peered between the green wires of the cage where we saw a small, bright-eyed gray squirrel. This time, I will say, he seemed smaller than he had earlier. Once again, it was taken away to be freed some distance from his territory.

Two days later, scurry-scurry-scurry and, again, I chased Little Fucker through my small living room into the kitchen where he fled to the safety of the walls inside my apartment building. The maintenance men return, just as frustrated as I am. Certain that they had captured not just one, but two squirrels, I had some convincing to do but we again baited a wire cage, put it under the kitchen sink, and waited. 

The next morning, as regularly as if he had punched a time clock, Little Fucker reported to my kitchen, lured by the promise of Amaryllis's sweet bulb. And Sprong! waylaid by the temptation of more avocado, the little gray scavenger found himself stuck inside the trap. Maintenance men took him away, to a large field about two miles away before he was freed.

You might think the squirrel was stupid, or so entranced by the promise of Amarylliss's bulb that he became a stalker. The maintenance crew and I discussed it some time later as we tried to figure out how he'd gotten in. That's when I found out one of the men had also captured a squirrel in the apartment above me.  We figured it must have been a family of furry thieves; my flower had been assaulted by Little Fuckers I, II, and, maybe, III, each of them a serial nibbler who'd learned of the temping red flower and was determined to try her flesh for themselves, only to be carted away from home in a cage. Amaryllis is still sitting in her vase in the window, none the worse for wear, working to show me a few new blooms over the next week or so. And I get to see golden morning light on her beautiful petals and stem.

          

Cement Tart Cups

 I dunno. I want to get a picture of these big planters that emphasizes the angles and contrasting light of their pleats. I noticed them a long time ago, but this is the first time I've tried to capture their rhythmic design in a photo. I think I need to put my camera on a tripod and settle it lower down, using a smaller f-stop for more detail and depth of field. Hmmm ...

The Sun's Out!

The morning was crisp and clear. The sycamore/plane trees criss-crossed in front of my view of IUPUI Campus Center bell tower, their limbs creating sharp contrast of light and dark against the blue sky. Students bustling to and from classes, appropriately masked, had still proven eager to drop as much of their winter clothing as they dared; I saw two very good-looking young men in workout clothing, baring their well-conditioned arms to the sun. Their dark, curly hair and honey-colored skin made me smile. It may only be meteorological spring, with about two weeks to go until the Spring Equinox, but the welcomed sun, blue sky, and good looking men made me happy. *Sigh.*

Not So Plane

I enjoy seeing sycamore trees in the winter. I believe they're called 'plane' trees in Europe, but to me they aren't so plain at all. Their white hide makes a sparking contrast against other trees, basically providing a line drawing of basic tree shape that almost glows in the sunlight. 

Yesterday afternoon, a flock of grackles was perched in a nearby plane tree, all of them facing into the sun. Then they seemed to have gotten a message from their leader, and all of them were gone. 

And More

 These delicate-appearing flowers live under the shade of a large maple tree at the Riviera Clubhouse, where I swim during the summers. They are a few feet from the beautiful lilies I posted a few days ago.

More Pink Beauty

  My supermarket orchid, before she dropped her blooms

 and the Baby Leaf began to grow.

Waiting for Pink and Green

Combined with the winter, this Covid stay-at-home regime has finally begun to take a toll on my morale. I poke my nose out the front window, my arm metaphorically draped around the shoulders of my amaryllis plant, looking and anticipating warmer weather. I look forward to flowers like the hibiscus above. The sepals at the base of the bud remind me of the prongs that hold a jewel. Then again, maybe that's exactly what it is - another jewel in its setting

 I don't like the cold; as a child, our home was never warm in winter and I find myself returning, unwillingly, to days spent wrapped in every blanket I have on my bed. And then I remind myself - at least I don't live in Texas. 

Three Kinds of Leaves, One May Be Coleus

 I am dredging my image files simply because I don't want to go outside. How much, if any, vitamin D can I absorb from the reflected glory caught by camera pixels? 

Some Kinda Beautiful

 I don't know what kind of lily they are, I just know that I fell in love with their mauvy grace the first time I saw them many years ago. They appear, three to a stalk, some time in July, stand tall for a few days, then wither and lie down. After that they are done until the following summer.

These flowers live in the shade of the Riviera Club clubhouse, where I often go to swim during the summer. Like much of the country, this area is expecting what may be the biggest snow storm of the season. There won't be any lilies in sight.

 

Little Rituals

I have a little painting I've been working on. I made sure my palette was clean, I saw my brushes were ready, and that the colors I wanted to use were at hand. I filled a jar with clean water. Now ... can anyone tell me why I felt it necessary (and it was a conscious decision) that I put on a bra before I could begin my work? I did it. I said, "I need to put a bra on before I can work on this."

It's not my only little ritual: before I go to a swim meet, I exfoliate with salt, then shave - all in an effort to save nanoseconds as I compete in the 70+ brackets. (I hope you all can *hear* the sarcasm) And before I can paint, I put on a bra.

Fall/Falling/Fallen

 

One day last spring, this leaf appeared on a tree. Like billions of others, it budded and gave the tree an aura of exuberant life. Dancing in the breezes or swaying with the swooping drama of storms, the leaves took in sunlight and made us oxygen. Then one day, usually around Labor Day, they begin to look a bit tired, and the leafy gowns begin to droop and fade, changing color for one last hurrah, before they are swept away in the cooler winds of autumn; the trees get a signal to release a hormone that causes the leaves to fall off.

It's an interesting process, described here. 

Indy Through the Bus Window

 

Monday afternoon I went to Eskenazi Hospital to get the first of two vaccines against the Covid-19 virus. For all the effort I took to make the appointment, to show up early (the alternative was to be late), and worrying about the results, the actual jab was, really, nothing. I spent more time on the bus than I did at the hospital. 

I'd worried about missing my place in line, but once I'd gotten a mask from the receptionist at the entrance, I was nearly alone in this little adventure. There were others there for the same reason, but we were definitely outnumbered by staff. I walked in, got my paperwork, was summoned by an EMT who swabbed my arm, pinched my deltoid muscle, and Poof! sent me on my way. I didn't even feel it; if there was a microchip in that dose of Moderna vaccine, it is a miracle of the tiniest miniaturization ever achieved by science.

Dashing Through the Snow?

 Every winter, as though it was on the teachers' plan for the semester, we'd spend a portion of our music classes singing "Over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house we go! The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh o'er the white and drifted snow-oh!" I always wondered "What river?" "What woods?" and, especially, "What snow?" Every winter was the same: We'd get snow, of course, but never enough for a horse-drawn sleigh. That is, not until The Blizzard of 1978, when I happened to see a nice bay horse drawing an actual open sleigh along the street. Of course, I'd heard the bells first, then went to the door to watch, for the first and only time, as a one horse open sleigh traveled gaily through the neighborhood. Today, while I waited for my bus, I was reminded of that sleigh. The snowflakes blew around me, an inconvenience, like dandruff, instead of the white stuff that inspired songs with laughter and bells.

Six Weeks of One, Half Dozen of the Other

 Either way, it's about a month and a half to spring, when I can begin to once again see the edge-lit leaves of iris plants. But today puts another hash mark on my odyssey, as it is Day #331 of my Covid Groundhog Day. A full year of this isolation will be marked March 9, by which time I will have had both my initial and follow-up vaccinations against that evil virus. I don't expect much to change, however, as we begin to emerge from this long, four-year winter. But I am certainly happy to be able to greet each day able to breathe freely, to see the daylight, and to look forward to the sunlight on flowers.

Big Leaf, Little Leaf: So ...

 Ta-dah!

It's Madonna and Child!

Lit From Within

 I don't know what they are called, but these beautiful red flowers caught my eye last August during a walk around the grounds of Newfields. The insides of the flowers seemed to glow with the heat from the sun. I'm sure any bee or hummingbird would find them irresistible.

Theme Day: Smile: Music to My Eyes

 I was on a bus heading north out of the downtown area, browsing through a fashion magazine to pass the time. The colors and the patterns of the clothes were jarring, incompatible with those outside the bus window - sandstone, gray, and limestone, asphalt and metal chrome, a rather mundane bass line overlaid with the bright dresses. And then, there it was, just in the corner of my eye - a grace note, fluttering above the cars and over the bus - a butterfly, wending its erratic path on a quest, perhaps to meet a bazillion of its own kind in Mexico.

As I watched it make its way, determined in its direction, however much it was tossed in the air currents, it reminded me that the object of travel "is not the destination, but the journey." And it made me smile.

The first of each month marks the Theme Day for City Daily Photo photographers all over the world. To see how other participants have interpreted the them in their city, just click on the CDP badge to the right of this post.

  

A Berry Among the Thorns

The varied colors on this shrub adds to the depth in this image, with the older twigs providing the backdrop for the newer, darker twigs. The overall effect reminded me of a sisal rug but, given the thorns, I probably wouldn't be massaging it with my bare feet. Not for long, anyway.

A Grassy Nest

 The other day while walking towards the grocery, I couldn't help but notice the clumps of pampas grasses, all shorn to about six-to-eight inches height. They'll grow back, of course, but it seems that every year, everywhere, they are allowed to flourish, their grassy plumes back-lit by sunny days, then Poof! they are cut down, like a new Marine recruit's blond locks, reduced to a regimented burr.

As I looked at the mowed patches, I noticed matted swirls, and wondered what critter had made the grass its bed for the night. Was it a fox? A coyote, perhaps, that turned around three times then settled down, curled into a tight wad with its tail covering its nose? We tend not to think of wildlife in a place so urban as this overgrown strip mall, but the stretch of concrete and asphalt definitely has another life when the humans have mostly departed for their own burrows: One morning years ago, I was walking along the arcade when I noticed a scattered pile of flesh and feathers, where an owl had taken and eaten its prey. And here, in the bottom picture, is a question mark, showing me that something had been there, but not told me what. Another aspect of life that goes on out of our sight.   

Where "Gone With the Wind" Meets "Frozen"

When I saw these frosty cabbages hunkered down in rows inside long urns, they brought to mind any number of images, but mostly of  the dance scene in the old movie, "Gone With the Wind". It's not one of my favorite films: What with its racist caricature of  Black people and the reduction of women to simpering ninnies, the movie now seems like it is a very dated reminder of both how far we have come as a society, and how far we have yet to go.

I long ago became irritated with the character of Scarlett O'Hara until I chose to see her as an intelligent, shrewd woman forced to play a role in a society that seemed to regard females as little more than child-like baby machines; in fact, when Rhett Butler told her he wanted to pamper her as though she was a child, he immediately lost his charm for me. When I saw Scarlett as doing what she needed to protect her family, to put food in their bellies, and keep a roof over their heads, then her actions (and stupefying simpering!) made sense.

If like me, you think the movie is a bit fucked up, I recommend The Making of a Legend: Gone With the Wind, made in 1988. It seems almost a miracle that the entire production did not suffer a complete collapse.

 

Teen-Age Orchid Leaf: Two Red Edges

 When all else fails, drag out pictures of the kids.

Dreary days have left me wandering in the shallow end of my image pool. Now five and one-half inches long, the new leaf on my orchid plant continues to provide me with small pleasures during this covid down-time.

 

Brown IV: Placeholder for Spring

 When I saw this, I had just come from the grocery, one tote over my shoulder and another in hand. The day was overcast and had seemed to be a washout picture-wise, when I noticed a wee bit of sun, shining through leaves. "Aha!" says I, and another image, this time with all-l-l-l the browns, has entered my visual lexicon.

Cabbage Boutonniere

 Every fall, I can tell that winter is closing in when I see the city's landscape contractors replacing the more delicate flowers with what look like fookin' purple cabbages. Cabbages, daggonit! And there are white ones, too! In the winter, covered in snow, they take on a tired crystalline beauty, looking for all the world like a batch of over-the-hill debutantes, gathered for one last ball.

Alligators in the Snow

 Alligators in the snow.

Honestly, I've no idea what they are but these are the dominant plants in the giant pots outside the Federal Court Building in downtown Indy. As such, they probably provide some shelter for the pansies that crouch below these bumpy leaves. They remind me of some kind of kale, though. Bleck!

The White Plaster House

One morning, a bit over a year ago, I was on my way to an appointment on the east side of town. While the morning light was cold and bright, I was still not prepared to see a gleaming white cottage at the corner of East 10th Street and Arsenal Avenue. In fact, in a neighborhood made up primarily of wooden frame, vinyl-sided homes, the smooth white stucco walls were a surprise.

Later, I looked for information and found the home was built in 1886 by William T. Prosser, a plaster craftsman who immigrated to Indianapolis from England in 1870. He was employed as a plasterer and sculptor by the Indianapolis Terra Cotta Company, so it is not unusual that he used his home to display his skills. In fact, a description describing Prosser's home/studio stated "This house shows an interesting use of detail, especially in the decorated plaster ceilings, unusual in a house of this size."

These images, from the 1958 LOC Historic American Buildings
 Survey, show ceiling details from the home's interior.
Photos by E. Roger Frey 

From what I could find, the home has had few owners during its life. One of them was F. Max Howard, who fell in love with the house when he was a boy and vowed to own it one day. When he returned from fighting in WW II, he saw the house was for sale. Though in poor condition at the time, he and his partner, John P. Sieberling, a music teacher, bought the home and worked over the next fifty years to restore and maintain it. Its current owner is a former student at the Herron School of Art and Design, who has also done work to the home to both update and to retain its unique appearance. In fact, Prosser House now has its own Facebook page.