Walking in the Rain, Jumping in Puddles.

I walked in the rain this morning to get my Sunday paper; jumped in puddles; caught raindrops on my tongue. I got thoroughly wet except my feet. Had on my LL Bean Duck boots/Maine hunting boots - you know the ones I mean. They are a god-awful orange and murky blue with gum soles, but do they ever keep your feet dry. It’s a love/hate thing.

I’ve never been hunting, never will unless civilization falls and I’m in dire need of food, but I’ve worn those boots in the rain and in the snow. If my feet are warm and dry, I feel invincible in any weather.

Mama always said if your feet get wet, put water on your head, so I imagine the reverse is true. Rather than wet my feet, I jumped in a steamy shower and got wet all over, while the coffee pot worked its magic. Outside, it’s a chill 54 and still raining. I sit curled into a corner of the couch by the window. Still warm from the shower, wrapped neck to ankle in my thick, black Victoria Secret robe; Jazmine lounges on the leopard throw; the Sunday news waits for me to hit post and put my laptop aside, and a steaming cup of spicy coffee is close at hand........ phone's ringing - Sunday 'mom call' - post later.

I love Sundays.

Winter Southern Style

I walked in the snow at sunrise to get my Sunday paper. The clouds were so low, dark, and dense, I could not see the top of that small rise the natives call Red Mountain. I caught snowflakes on my tongue, and was grateful when I turned the corner and the wind was behind me. The outward journey had near frozen my nose and cheeks - the only exposed parts of my anatomy.

I’d put the coffee to brew before heading out, so on my return the aroma met me at the door. I warmed a quarter cup of chocolate Silk soy milk in a large mug and filled the rest with my spicy coffee (I add a dash of cinnamon and cayenne to my fresh ground beans).

The kitchen was warm as I’d turned the oven on to take the chill off, but I wanted more, so I started some black beans with garlic, onions, cumin, coriander and a bay leaf on the back burner - there’s nothing like the aroma of a bubbling pot on a cold winter’s day.

I sat on the bar stool of my kitchen bar and sipped my spiked chocolate silk coffee. As I pulled out the funnies and parade, I opened the window just enough to inhale the crisp air and feel the falling snow a fingertip away. I sipped my coffee and looked at Vulcan just barely visible in the distance. The paper could wait. It would still be there when this fleeting wonder of nature stops and fades to memory and a few digital photographs that cannot begin to capture the magic of it all.

The sun is out now. The street below my aerie window is almost dry. Where this morning, I needed hat, gloves and scarf and heavy coat to brave my morning walk, I just went to the store next door with a cardigan and beret.

It’ll be in the 60’s by Wednesday and the 70’s by Friday. Winter Southern Style – it's a fleeting thing.

© Perle Champion

Blogging for Money

Blogs. Some people make money at them. The thing about my Blog is it is a briefer version of my hand-written journal. My rambles on the page are better not aired to the world at large. Not that even a minuscule number of the world has read my Blog, but one never knows. My full name is unique and ‘Googled’, it brings up pretty much everything I’ve ever written on or off the web and some I know I erased.

The thing about Blogs is they should have a focus, and mine, alas, does not. Except for those know me and stop by just because, my Blog is obscure to the population at large.

The thing is, I’m a “Jack (make that Jane) of all…”. My interests range from quantum physics, Wicca, self help and biographies people, places and things to various genre of fiction: Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Mystery, Literary. My bookshelf is quite a mix. I’ve read the Self Aware Universe, The Elegant Universe, Spontaneous Healing of Belief, The Secret, and The Chariots of the Gods. I’ve read Amsterdam, Chocolat, Mother of Pearl, Mists of Avalon, The Harry Potter, Lord of the Ring, and Foundation (Asimov) series and so much more. In May 2007, laid off from Saks, I read all 12 of Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum series and all 11 of Laurie King’s Mary Russell series before year’s end.

It is the same with music. This morning I have Habib Koite’s “Maya” coaxing my muse. Sunday, it was Pavarotti and Bocelli followed by Nina Simone. My CD shelf is a mixed as my bookshelf, but you get the picture. I am not just one thing, so I’ll probably never have one of those money-making Blogs. Those Blogs, near as I can figure, make money by teaching others how to make money Blogging by in turn teaching others how to make money Blogging and so on and so on. The ultimate pyramid, except your payment to your up-line is a one-time deal.

At least with SMC, Nutrilife, and Amway, there is something tangible, for all those who pay to learn the how-to of it, but never do get a round to it.

Now it's time to go work on the Novel.

Chinese New Year in Birmingham, Alabama

There was a dragon in Linn Park Saturday morning. The youth held the traditional dragon up with poles and paraded him undulating through the park, preceded by a baton-wielding majorette and followed by drummers and a group of small children in costume and others in jeans.

The procession made its way through Linn Park, down the sidewalk and into Boutwell Auditorium to further perform on the stage. The gathering crowd was grateful to be inside as it was 30something outside.

There were tables set up all around the room.

Some were selling lanterns, parasols, jewelry. There was also the Birmingham Asian Cultural Center & Chinese Garden Foundation, the Chinese School, and my favorite The Birmingham Chinese Church where a gentleman, whose name I could not understand, wrote my name in Chinese.

Birmingham has many faces, many cultures. It was great to see so many of these enjoying the morning's Chinese New Year Celebration.


© Perle Champion

Obama: Writing History

There are times when we know and feel history, as it is being made. It is tangible as it swirls around us in the eddies of current time. It walks with us on the DC mall; it sits beside us on the couch, stands with us near the tracks watching the train; and it will stay with us for all the years of our lives. Take note, for the historians rarely put history to the page as we the people recall it.

Citizen journalists - take to your blogs and Twitter away, so there will be no doubt about the fabric of these times.

This history - let us write it right.

© Perle Champion

The Ball - and the band plays on

Should Obama really have an extravagant inaugural Ball? YES, HE SHOULD!
Should the President buy $300 a bottle wine for a state dinner? YES, HE SHOULD!

Note to the Media: Enough with the negative vibes, already! I am tired of the media’s broken record, “in these tough economic times, should (fill in the blank) be spending so extravagantly:

Yes!!! They should spend it if they have it. If the haves of our world hoard what they have, the times will get tougher. I assure you of that.

Too many are too quick to judge badly the extravagance of a person, event or thing. Why? They envy the thing, and the people who can afford it, so they assume that ‘holier-than-thou posture’ I so hate.

Consider how many people, who drive the economy, benefit from the Ball.
• The entire food industry.
• The wine industry.
• The liquor industry.
• The florists.
• The venues for the Ball and peripheral events.
• The caterers.
• The truckers that deliver everything.
• The servers, bartenders, cooks.
• The retailers that sell the gowns, shoes, tuxedos, jewelry.
• The cab and limo companies and their drivers.
• The police officers on overtime.
• The extra security staff.
• The maids and janitors that clean the premises when the party’s over.
• And on, and on,
• etc.,
• and on…
Consider further that every person who earns spends, so the ripples go far beyond the pool of jobs directly involved in this historic event.

By all means, spend it and bless you for not hoarding it. Give people the opportunity to earn their way and most will take it quickly and gratefully rather than put their hand out for a dole.

I often think the naysayers who denigrate extravagance are just jealous that they have neither the means nor the inclination for such generosity. They want to take from the haves of the world and give it to the have-nots, as if being wealthy is a crime and poor a virtue.

I am unemployed at the moment, but I don’t now, nor will I ever want a redistribution of wealth. I want the right to create my own wealth. It’s the American Way.

© Perle Champion

Pansy - Not such a Lightweight

Why do they call a wimpy person and/or effeminate man a Pansy? Slang dictionaries say that inference is first recorded in 1929. Don’t know who coined the term. It could not have been a gardener, nor does anyone who uses the term thus, know anything about a 'Real Pansy'.

On my morning walk a few days ago, the weather was a balmy 30-something, and I noticed that the landscapers had been out replacing summer plantings with Pansies.

The Pansy is deceptive in its fragile beauty. It is the choice of gardeners when the temperatures head toward freezing. I’ve dusted snow from the beauties more winters than I can count, and so have many a northern gardener. The blizzard of ’93, I carefully shoveled 3 feet of snow from the beauties in my front yard.

So, if anyone ever calls you a Pansy, say “Thank you. That is one beautiful and sturdy flower, and I’m thrilled you think of me so.”

Baby It’s Cold Outside

Jasmine feels betrayed, and lets me know it. The morning started as always. She dashed down the hall ahead of me and sat on the sill waiting for me to open her little door to our balcony. It’s early morning and my first tasks are all cat-related: put food in one bowl, pour fresh water in the other, and open the door to the balcony.

Moments later, she is back inside, and staring at me as only a cat can - it's 35 outside. The odd ‘meorrow’ seems to ask accusingly, ‘what have you done to the weather’. She stares out the window and ventures out once or twice more before walking haughtily down the hall to lie on the leopard comforter at the foot of my bed. I keep a heating pad on low there beginning with the first day that dips under 40, just for her between the covers. I never run the central heat, so the bed is pretty cold when I first get in it around midnight. I put my feet under the spot with the heating pad just long enough to take the chill off and allow the down comforter to return my heat to me. Jasmine curls up on top of it for most of the night. She’ll visit it throughout the day as she determinedly goes out to see if things have changed. This afternoon, she'll be rewarded, as 70 is the predicted high, but soon winter will settle in in earnest and I'll be in for some seriously disdainful looks.

© Perle Champion

Sunrise

Brrr – 30-something this morning, but I walked my 5 just the same. Had to wear my shorts over leggings though for the pockets. Left pocket holds a small tablet with pen clipped to it - It’s a given that wonderful thoughts and ideas come unbidden when we walk or shower or drive. The thoughts are so fleeting that if I don’t capture them in the moment, they’re gone leaving only a yearning behind for what I cannot quite define. I’ve learned the hard way, to stop what I’m doing and get it down on paper then and there.

The same holds true for pictures, so the other pocket carries my small digital camera. This morning it was the sunrise on 17^th Street that took my breath away. The streetlights were still on, as the clouds lit to brilliant gilt-edged pinks heralding the sun. The picture does not do it justice, but I think you get the idea.

Another Easter: Journal Entry

It’s Easter Sunday, and I sit here on my balcony, my aerie. It’s just me, the cat and the Sunday paper with our view of Barnett Street and Ponce de Leon Street in the distance. The sun arrived at noon and Sabrina, being a cat preens her star white fur in its warm brilliance. I sip the last of my morning coffee, take a bite of rye toast spread with Brie and read “Peanuts” first.

A young couple and their three little girls are walking down the street. Their clothing says church: suits, hats, ruffles, and bows. Across the way, an elderly couple gets out of their car. A young woman runs out of the apartment house, camera in hand calling out, “Mom, Dad, wait. Let me get a picture by the car.” She snaps them, then Dad snaps one of Mom and her, then Mom snaps one of her and Dad. They all go into the apartment. Her neighbor is watching from his front porch. He takes another drag on his cigarette, stretches in the sun and returns to his paper.

My sister is preparing ham and all the trimmings for her mother-in-law. This will be the last year she does that. The old lady is dying.

Last night at John and Judy’s house, we cooked out and ate and drank and talked and Judy dyed eggs. They have no children, but Judy always dyes eggs. It takes her back she defends, “Because, that’s what you do at Easter, isn’t it?” Today, she’ll be taking her husband, John, and the eggs to her Mom’s and Dad’s in Birmingham.

My Mom is in Birmingham, too, but she works today and my sister will spend the day with her husband and his dying mother. One of my brothers is in the Bahamas with his wife and her family, the navy brother is stationed in the Philippines and the oldest works nights, so I am sure he is sleeping as I sit here.

I used to dye eggs, too, and go to church and fix the Sunday ham, but the child is gone now. I have no obligations now, except a few phone calls. I take another bite of Brie on toast, sip my first Mimosa and read “Parade Magazine” next.

© Perle Champion