February can be the cruelest month in the midwest. We can see spring o'comin' but it ain't here soon enough. More rain, more ice, more ---don't say it...
Think of more pleasant climates, like Miami in the winter.
Here, take a vacation--
Miami photos
25 February 2007
This day was born
George Harrison
(1943–2001)
Born in Liverpool, England, musician George Harrison played lead guitar and sang with the Beatles, developing an interest in Eastern music and religion. After the Beatles’ break-up, he made solo albums, including All Things Must Pass (1970), and performed with other artists, notably ‘super-group’ The Traveling Wilburys (1988–90). He also produced several films, such as Monty Python's Life of Brian (1979). Harrison died after a long battle against cancer.
19 February 2007
Takin' the Day Off
As if I have nuffin' to do. But it's President's Day, and the world rests in their memory. Quite a creative lot of souls, I'd say, those presidents all; some more memorable than others. They inspire my creativity, and I searched for ways to doodle on the day we have off.
Here are some to view.
Doodle one
Forget therapy--analyze this, Freud.
Other medium for doodlers
Even presidents doodle.
Exposing some interesting insights.
There's a science to everything. I thought doodling was just, you know, doodling. How can there be rules?
And some people are better than others. Do scroll down to see the cartoon.
I thought doodles were those shapes and scribbles I make while I am talking on the phone or listening to a speaker and pretending to take copious notes. I usually sketch the speaker. Passive aggressive behavior, I guess.
Aside: If you wear reading glasses--fun thing to do when someone is boring you: Look at the person in the room with you and tilt your head so that your reading lens is right about half way down their face. Shrinks the face. Makes it squatty and distorted. Don't laugh out loud, though. Every face looks different. Try it with various people in the room. Especially fun at bored, oops, board meetings.
Here are some to view.
Doodle one
Forget therapy--analyze this, Freud.
Other medium for doodlers
Even presidents doodle.
Exposing some interesting insights.
There's a science to everything. I thought doodling was just, you know, doodling. How can there be rules?
Of course you can do art doodles any way you please, but we recommend the following rules:
-
Working space refers to the entire area of the graphic file - in this case 300 x 300 pixels. Image refers to the actual shapes, pictures or lines on the working space when you first open the file. Picture refers to the completed picture after you have finnished doodling.
-
You may enlarge the working space to 600 x 600 pixels.
- You may not erase any part of the image nor change the colours of the image nor cover more than 5% of the image (this allows for dithering or drawing a few lines over the image in order to complete your picture.
And some people are better than others. Do scroll down to see the cartoon.
I thought doodles were those shapes and scribbles I make while I am talking on the phone or listening to a speaker and pretending to take copious notes. I usually sketch the speaker. Passive aggressive behavior, I guess.
Aside: If you wear reading glasses--fun thing to do when someone is boring you: Look at the person in the room with you and tilt your head so that your reading lens is right about half way down their face. Shrinks the face. Makes it squatty and distorted. Don't laugh out loud, though. Every face looks different. Try it with various people in the room. Especially fun at bored, oops, board meetings.
09 February 2007
Living on Another Planet
Do you know who Anna Nicole Smith is?
Of course you do.
Thursday, 8 February, I was the chaplain on the sixth floor of the FP Hospital, making my rounds to make initial visits like I always do. After the fifth visit, as I was sitting in the nurses station writing my chart notes, one of the nurses rushed into the station and grabbed a rolling chair and slid over next to me.
"I got somethin' to tell you," he said nudging my arm. I looked up from the chart with interest.
"Anna Nicole Smith just died. In her room. They don't know why she died," he told me.
"Anna Nicole Smith," I repeated, more a question than a statement.
"Yeah, Anna Nicole Smith."
My mind was turning. Had a seen a Smith this morning, I wondered.
He saw my perplexed look and continued, "She died, in her room. No one knows how she died."
"Smith." My mind was spinning. Smith, Smith, Smith. I didn't recall any Smiths. I hadn't heard them call a "code" and I had not gotten a page. I looked at my pager. When someone dies they always call a chaplain. Maybe they called the CCU chaplain. So I opened my folder to check the patient census sheet. No Smiths on the 6th floor. Maybe she was in CCU.
"What floor is she on?" I asked.
"What?" What what, I thought. Something is not right about this conversation.
"Is she a patient?"
"No! Anna Nicole Smith." He looked at the other nurses in station. They looked at him and then at me. "Anna Nicole Smith?" one of the offered, "You, know?"
"Um, I guess not. But I'm guessing she was not a patient," I admitted.
They took turns explaining the story behind Anna Nicole Smith. Intriguing, I thought, and said so. None of it sounded even vaguely familiar.
They all said it's ok not to know who she is or was. But I know they were all wondering what planet I live on when I am not at the hospital. Obviously one that does not care about Anna Nicole Smith.
Of course you do.
Thursday, 8 February, I was the chaplain on the sixth floor of the FP Hospital, making my rounds to make initial visits like I always do. After the fifth visit, as I was sitting in the nurses station writing my chart notes, one of the nurses rushed into the station and grabbed a rolling chair and slid over next to me.
"I got somethin' to tell you," he said nudging my arm. I looked up from the chart with interest.
"Anna Nicole Smith just died. In her room. They don't know why she died," he told me.
"Anna Nicole Smith," I repeated, more a question than a statement.
"Yeah, Anna Nicole Smith."
My mind was turning. Had a seen a Smith this morning, I wondered.
He saw my perplexed look and continued, "She died, in her room. No one knows how she died."
"Smith." My mind was spinning. Smith, Smith, Smith. I didn't recall any Smiths. I hadn't heard them call a "code" and I had not gotten a page. I looked at my pager. When someone dies they always call a chaplain. Maybe they called the CCU chaplain. So I opened my folder to check the patient census sheet. No Smiths on the 6th floor. Maybe she was in CCU.
"What floor is she on?" I asked.
"What?" What what, I thought. Something is not right about this conversation.
"Is she a patient?"
"No! Anna Nicole Smith." He looked at the other nurses in station. They looked at him and then at me. "Anna Nicole Smith?" one of the offered, "You, know?"
"Um, I guess not. But I'm guessing she was not a patient," I admitted.
They took turns explaining the story behind Anna Nicole Smith. Intriguing, I thought, and said so. None of it sounded even vaguely familiar.
They all said it's ok not to know who she is or was. But I know they were all wondering what planet I live on when I am not at the hospital. Obviously one that does not care about Anna Nicole Smith.
06 February 2007
The World Turns
Cultural disaster or turning point that will be noted by hisotrians to come? Perhaps print media has entered its end stage. I'll agree that holding paper in the form of a magazine or book adds a tactile sense to the reading experience. But the newspapers are a hassle and I for one will not mind their extinction.
STOCKHOLM, Sweden - For centuries, readers thumbed through the crackling pages of Sweden's Post-och Inrikes Tidningar newspaper. No longer. The world's oldest paper still in circulation has dropped its paper edition and now exists only in cyberspace.
STOCKHOLM, Sweden - For centuries, readers thumbed through the crackling pages of Sweden's Post-och Inrikes Tidningar newspaper. No longer. The world's oldest paper still in circulation has dropped its paper edition and now exists only in cyberspace.
The newspaper, founded in 1645 by Sweden's Queen Kristina, became a Web-only publication on Jan. 1. It's a fate, many ink-stained writers and readers fear, that may await many of the world's most venerable journals.
03 February 2007
Can you spell SPA....................
Welcome back to midwestern winter! Temperatures will not reach above freezing for the next several days. Pinch me, somebody, so I can wake up back in Key Biscayne.
Last week I died and went to the Ritz Hotel on an island off the coast of Florida for four days. In addition to lounging by the waterfall at the pool, I enjoyed the spa amenities. The first thing I noticed is the scent of the entire spa and fitness area. A quick look in the gift shop and the nose found mango candles. Ah ha! The smell of the spa.
Entering through the spa doors, I walked down a long, softly lit, softly carpeted, well appointed hallway, through French doors surrounded by the hint of mango. The door to the women's spa opens into a warmly lit and cozy lounge where each guest is greeted by the hostess who gives you sandals and offers you a key to a locker. I thought the lounge was cool enough just to stay right there! An inviting couch, magazines, botanical prints, live orchids, healthy snacks, water or light cranberry refresher or hot herbal tea whisper, "relax, time has stopped, be here, be you , be now." Filled with an other worldly Zen-like transcendental peace I sipped my lemon water, slipped into the spa slippers, and floated through the next door to the locker area, which is nicer than most people's bedrooms. Much!
I changed into my silky robe with terry lining and ascended into the mango scented spa area. First, the steam room, then more water, then the jacuzzi, then more water and five minutes of sinking my body into the cushions of the wicker chair. Ready set go...into the sauna. Ah, but I brought with me a fluffy washcloth, folded and chilled in cucumber water to place on my eyes.
How can I recreate this in my own bathroom? I wondered. Well, the sauna and steam rooom will take a major rehab. But the mango scent and soft lighting, cucumber towels and robe are an easy addition to any home. Chilled lemon water with a splash of cranberry can be stored in the fridge for spa day.
The locker room [really far to harsh a description for the lovely environment] was complete with hair products, disposable razors for the shower, lotions, conditioners, body gel soap, and personal hygiene products. Silly me; I brought from home in my 1 quart zip locked baggy for the plane all those personl items! Who knew? The spa also offered the hair dryer and the flat iron and the curling iron and the hot rollers. And more fresh soft white towels than Macy's.
I found mango tea candles at the Fairchild Tropical Botanical Garden.
First step to home spa accomplished!
For years I've kept potpourri in a Lenox bone china bowl that I bought for nothing at a flea market in Paducah or somewhere. It's filled with water, now, waiting for ice, cucumber slices, and water to soak the hand towels in. I noticed the hotel room bathroom had a lovely silver tray that held the shampoo and lotion. Finally, an everyday use for the wedding gifts of silver bowls, trays that have slept for years in the dining room hutch. And orchids! Don't forget the orchids. I've killed two in the last two years. Better to buy artificial ones in pots that last forever and look more real and never drop their leaves. Every bathroom needs an orchid.
The memory of the Ritz spa is etched in my mind. Each pore and cell of my body remembers the creature comforts of the otherwordly environment. May be a slight problem in creating the time I'll need to lock myself in the bathroom at home and light the tea candles.
Next post: I hope I'll have photos downloaded and ready to share.
Last week I died and went to the Ritz Hotel on an island off the coast of Florida for four days. In addition to lounging by the waterfall at the pool, I enjoyed the spa amenities. The first thing I noticed is the scent of the entire spa and fitness area. A quick look in the gift shop and the nose found mango candles. Ah ha! The smell of the spa.
Entering through the spa doors, I walked down a long, softly lit, softly carpeted, well appointed hallway, through French doors surrounded by the hint of mango. The door to the women's spa opens into a warmly lit and cozy lounge where each guest is greeted by the hostess who gives you sandals and offers you a key to a locker. I thought the lounge was cool enough just to stay right there! An inviting couch, magazines, botanical prints, live orchids, healthy snacks, water or light cranberry refresher or hot herbal tea whisper, "relax, time has stopped, be here, be you , be now." Filled with an other worldly Zen-like transcendental peace I sipped my lemon water, slipped into the spa slippers, and floated through the next door to the locker area, which is nicer than most people's bedrooms. Much!
I changed into my silky robe with terry lining and ascended into the mango scented spa area. First, the steam room, then more water, then the jacuzzi, then more water and five minutes of sinking my body into the cushions of the wicker chair. Ready set go...into the sauna. Ah, but I brought with me a fluffy washcloth, folded and chilled in cucumber water to place on my eyes.
How can I recreate this in my own bathroom? I wondered. Well, the sauna and steam rooom will take a major rehab. But the mango scent and soft lighting, cucumber towels and robe are an easy addition to any home. Chilled lemon water with a splash of cranberry can be stored in the fridge for spa day.
The locker room [really far to harsh a description for the lovely environment] was complete with hair products, disposable razors for the shower, lotions, conditioners, body gel soap, and personal hygiene products. Silly me; I brought from home in my 1 quart zip locked baggy for the plane all those personl items! Who knew? The spa also offered the hair dryer and the flat iron and the curling iron and the hot rollers. And more fresh soft white towels than Macy's.
I found mango tea candles at the Fairchild Tropical Botanical Garden.
First step to home spa accomplished!
For years I've kept potpourri in a Lenox bone china bowl that I bought for nothing at a flea market in Paducah or somewhere. It's filled with water, now, waiting for ice, cucumber slices, and water to soak the hand towels in. I noticed the hotel room bathroom had a lovely silver tray that held the shampoo and lotion. Finally, an everyday use for the wedding gifts of silver bowls, trays that have slept for years in the dining room hutch. And orchids! Don't forget the orchids. I've killed two in the last two years. Better to buy artificial ones in pots that last forever and look more real and never drop their leaves. Every bathroom needs an orchid.
The memory of the Ritz spa is etched in my mind. Each pore and cell of my body remembers the creature comforts of the otherwordly environment. May be a slight problem in creating the time I'll need to lock myself in the bathroom at home and light the tea candles.
Next post: I hope I'll have photos downloaded and ready to share.
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