Everywhere Stickers

That is what they are, isn't it? My inclination is to call the blasted things "decals", but a quick check with the dictionary says not. What I'm talking about are a grown-up's version of those dreadful little sticky pictures and such that kids paste on the refrigerator door (and everywhere else.) The first one I sighted when I went walking toward town was this stock model skull on a workman's vehicle.

The phone booth in front of the Dinner Bell is a favorite place for stickers. Above, a remnant of elections past...

Even the phone gets plastered.

As I pointed my camera at this non-decal on a nearby newspaper dispenser, a scruffy young man said "you know who that is, don't you?" "Uhuh," I shook my head. "That's Bob." "Huh?" "You know, the Church of the Sub-Genius. That Bob." OK. You can read all about Bob at the Wikipedia.

This newspaper dispenser on the other side of the Gurley Street bridge is a veritable newspaper of stickers -- here promoting the Mural Project and the Interfaith Alliance.

Opposite side: more mural promo and the website for the Gigglebubble, what ever that might be. All right, I'll go have a look. Tain't what I expected. Not at all -- it's all about a book for kids!

Now that is one B-I-G sticker, that is. Promoting our very own, local dot.com business. Based in Chino Valley, eatstayplay.com provides all sorts of information and links for recreational travellers. Hope they're prospering. Makes me wonder if GrannyJ should be planning her own sticker campaign!

Spring Is a'Comin' In

I couldn't resist shuffling through this heap of leaves -- a leftover from autumn -- yesterday. Won't get many more chances. A remnant from last year.

As is this cool display of sycamore pompoms.

And these ornamental cherries (or berries of some sort.)

But the jasmine are blossoming! An absolutely, sure sign that spring will be with us soon. And I suspect that the early-blooming manzanitas, along the White Spar winding down into Wilhoit, are proving once again that they are members of the heather family!

This evergreen shrub is putting out new leaves.

And I noticed that the sap must now be running up the sycamores over on Park Avenue, if this stain running down the bark is any indication.

From wounds such as this, not fully healed after all these years.

If you look carefully at the sycamore twigs above, you'll see leaf buds.

Ditto for these apple twigs.

Here's an ornamental tree with blossoms almost ready to burst.

The Siberian elm leaf buds are not suddenly new -- but they are rapidly filling out...

...as this close-up demonstrates. Decisivly, I'd say.

Of course, it's only Feburary, but that's how it is up in the mountains at mid-elevations. We might dry out completely. We might have a foot of snow. In May. You never know. Just don't count on getting apricots.

Hurrah note: I should get my own comfy, easy to use computer back tomorrow.

Granite Creek in Winter

I suspect that moderns and newcomers have no idea how central Granite Creek is to the history of Prescott. In fact, I had to be reminded by this bleak picture, from the Sharlot Hall archives, which is on the historic information plaque on the Gurley Street Bridge. Our creek was once a free-flowing (and free-flooding) stream that provided water for the townspeople and gold for early prospectors.

Today, the creek (looking south) is confined by concrete walls. Happily, the snow up in the hills continues to keep the creek well watered.

Looking north from Gurley: a jungle of twigs, branches and limbs.

Also north of the bridge, there's a new set of stairs leading down to the creekside trail. They're part of the new patio project at the back of Prescott Coffee Roasters.

Water is moving slowly enough that the reflections are serene pictures.

As I was photographing the creekside mural from the walkway to the Dinner Bell's back room, I spied these neat hanging bags of bird food. There was also a hanging platform feeder for other birds.

Another item that caught my attention (for the first time, tho I've been here many times) -- the big beam supporting the bridge. I wonder when it was installed, tho I vaguely recall that there had been some discussion of the necessity of shoring up the old bridge way back when in the
Courier.

And, while I was at the creek and not on a schedule, the timing was right to document the long mural depicting Prescott's history. Look for it on the east side of the creek south of Gurley. And catch it before the trees and scrub leaf out, hiding half the artwork.

If I'm not mistaken, the project was the work of Prescott High School students.

The Airstream is a neat symbol for modern tourons -- though I guess we're still supposed to look out for big cats that lie in waiting.

The authors and, perhaps, members of the touch-up team, too.

For some reason or other, painting walls and the sides of buildings is a popular pasttime in Prescott. Thus far, I've recorded the White Spar murals (both versions, here and here), as well as the four seasons painted at the back of the shops on Gurley. I've yet to catch up with the current state of the mural project next to the city parking garage ... I intend to redo my pix of Prescott College's new mural... and there are those history-of-Prescott windows at the high school in my files. Not to mention art I've found on smaller buildings (here and here.) Does anyone remember the two-storey solar system occupying the side of one of the old four-flats on South Montezuma Street? Too bad it was painted over in a fit of maintenance. It was cool.

Treading Mud

Without all those pretty greens and blossom colors of spring and summer, one's winter eye must look elsewhere for interesting patterns. On today's walk, I was lucky enough to hit a patch of ground that hadn't dried out completely from our last snow. Better yet, truck drivers had been there recently enough to leave a mark.

Makes me wish I'd been out earlier this week before there had been so much drying -- but it's been cold. I'm a wimp about chills these days.

I like the way those little stones and that single pine needle have been embedded.

And here's a pattern in one of the unpaved neighborhood streets that gets a layer of special, very fine and very grey soil every time the city sends out the blades. This pattern is on a surface that is nearly dried out.

Browsing the Middle East

Cat Max is about to go into bedtime exile. But more about that later. I mention it only because that is why I was enjoying the Great SR 69 Shopping Scene. PetSmart (for a comfy cat bed) and then the mall, finishing with a good hour at Barnes & Noble. I was curious to see what one could learn about the Middle East, past and present, as a Middle American. So I looked first amongst the books labelled "history" and then "current events."

Historically speaking, not much. English royals are always good for the American market, China remains exotic (and photogenic) and Africa is dark and mysterious. These were on the display racks.

More books getting the display treatment. Ancient Rome. Egypt (dynastic only.) Miscellaneous stuff such as druids and ocean exploration. I saw lots of WWII and Civil War. Oh yes, pirates are hot.

Now the under current events label there are some polemics of various persuasions having to do with the current war in Iraq. However, I wouldn't expect to learn much about the history that we aren't supposed to repeat from such tomes.

Digging a little more carefully, I did find the above titles somewhat of interest, especially the Oren (above) . And Friedman (below) might be a cut above current events pot boilers. There was also a Karen Armstrong over in the part of the history collection that requires you stand on your head to read titles on spines.

But what approach to learning more about the Middle East could be right up there with apple pie than a Complete Idiot's Guide -- and if you look carefully, also a Dummies book. I suspect that either or both probably contain more good data/references than most of the current affairs polemics I saw on other tables.

I am immensely curious about the Middle East and Islam and I do have some web sites that I visit regularly to recommend. For starters, Eteraz.org presents commentary on a variety of issues by various writers who call themselves centrist Muslims. To get Egypt/Lebanon/Jordan/Palestinian news from a flaming Egyptian libertarian go to his blog, Rantings of a Sandmonkey. An American woman married to an Iranian gives a better picture of that country in her blog than do any newspapers I read; she also contributes to Mideast Youth. To give you a taste, she wrote this about the recent religious holiday in Iran:

"The sun should never set on Ashura," a woman told us as we discussed the best Ashura events in Iran. She had traveled the entire country observing them. Her favorite was in some out of the way corner of Iran and was, by her accounts, different from all others.

I imagined her standing by the procession in a black scarf and a black manteau crying as the battle of Karbala was recounted in chants. Now, here she was, vodka in hand, listening to music and watching the young people dance. This is what people mean when they tell you that you never know what to expect in Iran.

Another Muslim woman writes about poetry and feminist topics here; she gets an impressive collection of comments. Umar Lee's perspective is that of a white American male convert to Islam. And then there is Michael Totten, the free-lance journalist who has paid for much of his Lebanon/Israel/Kurdish Iraq travel from donations by his readers. Totten's reportage is Very Good Reading indeed.

Assisted Uplift

There we were, about to enter the restaurant, when I spied a tall beam. What the heck was it? Eminently photographible so friend Georgene and I walked over to scan the scene.

Nothing was up yet, but a large air conditioner was about to be hoisted somewhere.

Still no landing spot obvious.

Ah -- a big swing past the brick building to land further back.

Interesting: man's physical doings are far better photographic subjects than man's cerebral doings. Perhaps they're more valuable, too, than a lawyer's arguments, a senator's laws -- or my words. That may explain why I married an engineer -- a remarkable man who combined the abstract with a very practical approach to the physical world.

Seasonal Greetings...

...and please buy our beer. (Wasn't that from a Pogo-style Christmas carol? I'm not sure.) However, I apologize for not getting the Super Bowl promos. The sign above caught my attention instead ... somehow I couldn't help thinking "the narcs are coming...the narcs are coming."

The occasion was my first visit to a supermarket since just before Christmas. A pretty good record, if I do say so. But though I wasn't there, the marketing people were out in force. They made it very hard to forget one's Valentine upon entering Fry's. In fact, between the thoroughly heart-ed entrance and the chocolate/goodie niche (below), the beer folks' Super Bowl display didn't stand a chance.

Then at the back of the store, I spotted this display of the latest appliance toys. Look at the top row. Is nothing sacred? The commodified chocolate fountain, yet. Just in time for Valentine's Day, of course; for sure, it's the next major $10-15 item in the Salvation Army's small appliance department.

Footnote to the Partridge Creek petroglyph post (1/20/07): The Google has started sending inquisitive people to my piece about the three weird critters pecked into the rocks at that site. Being inquisitive myself, I checked out Google. Turns out that Elderhostel has scheduled a rock art recording session starting at Partridge Creek and working westward, primarily on private lands. Time: April -- a good month; not too cold, not too hot. I'm tempted. One other reference Google turned up was somewhat amusing -- my favorite upside-down creature was shown twice -- carefully turned right-side up. Wrong, guys!

80 -- Count 'em -- 80

February 1, 1927. That's the day I came along. The Crash hadn't happened yet. Politically, Herbert Hoover was the future, albeit a short future. The place was Riverside in a California that was wonderful; which few moderns would believe ever existed.

I was just reading a blog by a woman musing on the meanings of her 40 years. I'd buy 40 in a nanosecond. On the other hand, one of Mom's friends assured me that the 80s were fine. "It's the 90s when things start to go wrong." She's in her 90s. All I can do at this point is prove her right or prove her wrong. All of those years of heavy smoking are playing catch up.

This should be the occasion to break out an old picture or two. Unfortunately, my ailing computer, tho repaired, sits in the shop in Sedona waiting for a ride; my loaner refuses to connect to the printer/scanner and isn't capable of reading the DVD full of pictures that I created as a backup. Therefore, a birthday blog that is completely wordy. I think I'll go toast GrannyJ with a wee tot of brandy! See you tomorrow, one day older.