But for the hand of fate and a veering right instead of left, I very nearly became a statistic yesterday. Mistress Panther witnessed the aftermath.
Dead beloved bug got you down? Provide a dignified service with the Dead Bug Funeral Kit.
Allen’s, a long-standing Athens fixture and hangout for “the Dead Beat Club”, is closing its doors.
I’m posting this entry using my new cell phone (assuming I keep it). So far, I like it. It’s a Sony Ericsson T616 that runs Java and has a camera. It looks like it can do most of what my handspring could do, and better, too. My new number is 706-248-1860 and email sent to firstname.lastname@example.org will get to me instantly.
This week’s Photo Friday topic is work.
This old Chinese junk resides under a canopy in the parking lot behind the small building where I work. It appears that it’s been there a while, and it needs a bit of fixing-up before it could take to the seas again. It’s been boxed in over the years, too, to the point that I think it would take a helicopter to move it. Also, remember that I don’t work in Taipei or someplace like that — this is Athens, Georgia, and I may work next to the only authentic junk in the region.
One of the stops we made on the way out of the state of New Mexico was at the White Sands National Monument. There, pure gypsum crystals have been beaten by the winds into dazzling white sands, which then have piled up into massive dunes that are slowly marching across the desert. It all seems so inhospitable, but like on the sands of Tatooine, an abundant array of plant and animal life has adapted to the conditions. It makes a great location for photography, too, with endless displays of light and shadow. Here are twenty of the best I took during our visit.
The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month of 1918 may have brought an end to the Great War, but the ending was merely the beginning of the aftermath.
The aftermath years were a time of paradox, where the men who returned from the horrors of the trenches wanted to forget, and where those who had stayed behind, and had lost husbands and brothers, and sons and fathers were equally determined never to forget. It was a time where remembrance of the dead became a way of life, and where it was somehow assumed that all the best, and the finest young men of a generation had died. The other side of that assumption was that those who had survived were somehow less than those who had died. . . The exploration of that time, that world, is the theme of these pages.
[Listening to: The Ballad of Bill Hubbard - Roger Waters - Amused to Death]
“Downtown Tyuonyi, Frijoles Canyon, Bandolier National Monument, Los Alamos, New Mexico”
On a Sunday evening, Lyson and Chris and I made it to the ruins of Abó just as the sun was setting, but moments before the entry gate was closed. These photos document the sunset, turning red with the first wafts of California fire smoke drifting into central New Mexico, playing with the rough red sandstone masonry of the ruins.