Posts Tagged ‘As Pictured Below’

My name, cast in lead on a Linotype machine, and a 100-year-old “S.”

I began taking a short class on running a letterpress at Green Pea Press at Lowe Mill the week before Advance Publications announced it would be cutting print publication of four daily newspapers — including the paper I subscribe to now and the one I worked at for 10 years — to three days a week.

Working with such beautiful old printing machines while facing the demise of the printed newspaper was a little dizzying.

The husband’s not sure how I can possibly eat breakfast without a newspaper. I’m not either.

Although I left the newspaper industry more than five years ago because of its instability, I still feel like something huge has been yanked out of my life.

I loved that career. I loved that industry.

Most people my age will proudly admit that they don’t read a newspaper, so I will mourn this demise quietly. But in a few years, when the industry’s watchdog duties have been neglected, we will all realize what we have lost.

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Yesterday, we hustled this beast of a piano into a rental truck for a short trip across town to one half of The Owl Sisters, two Huntsville ladies who refinish old furniture. After they remove its incredibly heavy harp, one Owl Sister will move the piano (which will really be a former piano at that point) into her home, where she’ll probably turn it into a bar. Or, possibly, something even cooler.

I’ve learned that old pianos are essentially worthless unless they’ve been completely reconditioned, a process that can cost just a thousand dollars or two less than the newly reconditioned piano’s value. I’m not taking that wager.

In the past, I’ve called this the accidental piano. When I was helping my dad clean out his mother’s house, it seemed like a good idea to take it home, not because I had fond memories of it (or even played piano), but because I had always thought it was a groovy piece of furniture. I had no idea that nearly 10 years in Mobile’s humidity would render its delicate wheels virtually useless.

For me, it has held family photos and knickknacks, along with whatever objects happened to be attracted to a flat surface at any given moment. I will miss its unique addition to the general decor, but I won’t miss moving it to another house or worrying about it scratching/denting the new floor when we get around to ditching the carpet.

Au revoir, beastly piano. Enjoy your third life.

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On Sunday, I posted this photo to Facebook, noting that I had owned this book since I was 2 1/2 years old.

It took a friend approximately three minutes to name two of the kittens (Paddy Paws and Toddly) featured in the tale. He also quickly found a link to the series, titled Books for Young Explorers, on LibraryThing.

Looking at the inscription date — December 1974 — and considering the fact that the book was from a branch of the family with whom we did not usually exchange Christmas gifts, I can only reason that this book was offered to me as a consolation prize after my little brother was born.

A kitten would have been more appreciated.

My real question is how I didn’t manage to obtain this entire series. Because a quick look at some of the titles (Amazing Otters, Animals of the High Mountains, Animals that Build their Homes) tells me that this series was written specifically for me and my kind.

It’s made it through a lot of moves and book purges, I think because I love the title so much: Little Tigers in Your Home. I also must admit, however, that flipping through page after page of kitten photos never gets old.

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The secondary flowers from large bouquets usually last longer than the main flowers. When broken down into sub-bouquets, they stand on their own as quirky little arrangements.

Yang agrees.

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Yep, it’s a tiny bowl filled with tiny pine cones (seriously, they’re each approximately the size of a fingertip).

I felt compelled to pick hundreds and scatter them across the mantel. Instead, I gathered five and left the rest for squirrels to throw at one another (that’s what I like to think squirrels do on their days off).

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Fall brings open windows and interesting scents.

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I wish the weeping willow wasn’t notorious for invading sewer pipes. I would love for my back yard to be covered with this gorgeous canopy.

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There will be no setting up a cute stuffed animal/real animal shot with Yang, a light sleeper who dislikes such hijinks.

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I finally got around to making poblano souffles again. And it totally worked.

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Ground cherries


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