The indulgent grandmother

That's me. And just what does all this have to do with 30-inch long zippers? Easy. I spent less than an hour and over sixty dollars at Jo-Ann's, where you can buy everything from fancy knitting yarns and a dizzying variety of stuff for the seamstress to exotic papers and craft supplies of all sorts. The occasion was compiling a gift for the Alaska granddotter, who loves to do wonderful things with colors, paper, scissors and glue.

The excursion brought me face to face with these bright, shiny new quilts -- made locally or imported from a third world country as decor -- I wondered.

Also knitting samples and a classroom to encourage folks whose modern grandmothers neglected their needlework lessons. (A pity that these arts have to resurrected by marketing people, but I guess that beats losing them entirely.) Besides, members of the modern generation are much more used to learning in a classroom setting than at any relative's knees as I did and my mother before me did.

Our shopping for the granddotter's present, however, began in the fancy papers department, where we found a grand book of samples. Thence into the crafts supplies.

Here's the sixty dollar basket, which also included yarn and a crochet hook for that all-important needlework lesson from GD's mom, plus colors which incorporated glitter, as well as punches to create heart and flower shaped holes -- and other goodies. The dotter looks overwhelmed by the experience!

Most remarkable discovery of all -- a magazine for bloggers, if you can imagine. (And, yes I can -- as a one-time magazine editor, I'm only too aware of the specialty magazine biz. If it involves products, there's a magazine for every interest -- and I mean every.) Don't know how it's going to fare in the current economy, however. For the record, the "blogger's" magazine is basically about decorating one's blog artistically. Go figure.

A Couple of Links for the Day: Rich went looking for a ghost town down in Stanton and what did he discover: modern prospecting groupies. And, I don't know how this blog found me, but it did and I was fascinated: the World of the Indian Woman -- primarily about modern handicrafts from the subcontinent.

Junk by the wash

Any local who travels the county road between Skull Valley and Kirkland knows this cottonwood, located at the bridge over the wash as you enter Kirkland. For long years, it housed a major hawk nest, though the nest is gone the past few seasons. I wanted a picture of this venerable tree and so dotter and I stopped by the Skull Valley wash on our way to visit the Santa Maria River.

Not much to see: no water, although in winter, the stream sometimes nears the bridge. We did happen across a fine pile of mesquite pods -- good food for several critters, including people.

It was also a stopping point for people who are inclined to shed unwanted bits and pieces of their lives. A Ford hub cap.

Glaring white plastic pipe. And the prize: a dead truck bench. Very dead.

Why is it that when you have something to dump, in Arizona it goes into the wash (or the river bottom)? You would think that people would, at the very least, pile their junk in the middle of scrub to hide it. But no: into the wash it goes for all to see. At least the amount of Stuff at this particular location was limited.

Linkage: I was busy, busy this afternoon, updating my links over at the right. Take a look -- I've added a good 15-20 new blogs for your reading pleasure. Also, may I point you in the direction of the dotter (OmegaMom), who has poured her frustration with family, flu and below zero temperatures into a series of haiku.

Corrugated construction

Visiting Louisiana, I was surprised at the number of respectable houses in upscale neighborhoods with corrugated steel roofs. Lasts longer in a wet, semi-tropical climate, my Sson explained; "eminently practical." Not so, here in the egalitarian west, where corrugated says shed, unless it's on a river bottom tar paper shack.

Certainly the case here in Prescott, where there's a fair amount of corrugated iron to be seen if (and only if) you occasionally prowl the alleys as I do. Some in good shape, some that has seen much better days.

Corrugated iron was good enough for older garages or workshops, though the desert dew really brings out the inherent rust.

Of course, these old-fashioned iron structures are a photographer's delight. Not just the rust, but also a good dose of paint, peeling artistically.

Not to overlook the pattern possibilities of all those parallel dark and light lines. One of these days, I'll show you some of the Louisiana corrugated.

Sunburst plants

Have you ever noticed plants that become sunbursts if you stare at them long enough and in the right way? They are favorites in semi-arid landscapes which I see frquently when I take my local walks; many are natives.


Too bad -- a bunch grass, though quite neat in the ground, is too thatched for its sunburst effect to show up in a photograph.

On the other hand, this plain, everyday weedy crab grass grows into its own small sunburst. The effect is especially effective once the frost has hit (below).

Definitely not a native (in fact photographed in Louisiana last summer) is this cycad. The shape of the plant certainly shouts that it is a close cousin to the pineapple.

A small reward: Thai take-out

For the past week, I've been helping Georgene launch her new site, Yavapai Central. She, in turn, is helping me come to terms with the Stuff Problem. (After all, she is the author of the best selling Complete Idiot's Guide to Organizing your Life -- that counts for a lot more expertise than I bring as a blog consultant!) What has this to do with these pictures? Simply that after clearing one small heap of clutter, I decided that a reward was in order this evening. Thai takeout. Good food. No cooking. No dishes to do.

Such a tiny little hole in the wall over at the Goodwin Street Plaza. Many, many years ago, an equally tiny coffee shop occupied the space, run by an interesting chap named Jason, who collected a fine following of opinionated locals. Unfortunately, he left long ago to follow his muse.

Tonight my dinner was a mild pineapple rice curry; I've forgotten what the noodle dish below was called. In any event, 'twas yummy.

The owner (right) and her young niece, only in this country for four years. The owner, in the states since 1975, has run the little take-out for five years.

A seated Buddha high in one corner presides over the premise. According to the niece, the Buddha has seven positions, one for each day of the week; her particular Buddha, determined by the day of her birth, is in a reclining position. Further, she said that the fat, smiling statues one sees are not the Buddha, but simply monks of one variety or another.

As for these fellows -- they are borrowed from the Chinese to bring good luck to a business. I trust that they are looking out for Tai Foon.

Linkables: What about a list of words and cliches, newly coined in 2008, that we can do without? Top of the list is my most unfavorite -- staycation, a marketing man's word if ever I heard one. Yuck! Speaking of words, Meggie laments the lost art of letter-writing. A newspaper article lets us know that house concerts are growing in popularity; it's a trend I heartily endorse. Over in some parts of Germany, Christmas celebrations include Three Kings Day; Steve has pictures, while BoxElder offers a splendid collection of frosty images to close out the holiday season. Finally, the new Festival of the Trees has been posted.

Left and right hand problems

Sometimes you gotta wonder. It was a wet, cold, slightly snowy December evening as dotter and I drove up to a local restaurant to give their menu a try. A sign, flapping in the wind caught my attention. Oops! Nobody had thought to bring in that sign a couple of months previously.

Then we figured we knew why -- this must be the ride of the employee in charge of patio signs. That lid stood a good chance of being picked up by the wind and blown away.

PS. The menu was good and we enjoyed our meal.

A tale of two wagons

Amazing the difference a little bit of paint will make. Well, paint plus some lumber plus more than a little elbow grease. Case in point: a pair of old buckboard wagons at the Sharlot Hall Museum grounds. (Those are buckboards, aren't they? Not being of the rural persuasion, I've no background in the finer points of passenger wagons.)

Admittedly, there are more than a few folk who like their farm equipment from yesterday thoroughly rust-ic. No doubt they would prefer this moldering heap of a wagon in a less conspicuous corner of the grounds (below). I actually did not see it til the other day, when I entered through the uphill parking lot.


Yavapai Central: After the election, what next for Georgene? News, that's what. This morning she posted the very first story on her new county news blog -- all about the big proposed expansion of the Granite Gate senior facilities. Be sure to take a good look today and stop by on a regular basis -- Yavapai Central will soon be a major player amongst local media.

White Spar road trip--rain...

Once upon a time, before Eisenhower had invented the interstate highway system, US 89 was a major north-south, border-to-border highway, originating in Arizona, ending at the Montana border with Canada. It was also the only paved road between the southern and the northern halves of Arizona.

The section of route 89, now down-graded to SR-89, most beloved of Harley riders and sports car drivers alike runs through the Bradshaw Mountains, between Wilhoit and Prescott. They like the curves. (If you check the map, you'll see only the major curves.) Today's road trip is a composite of several I've made in the past couple of years and is designed as an introduction only. Hang on to your hat, because it was raining on the first pass!

There! You made it to the pines near Prescott! How many curves? A visiting couple once made the count between Wilhoit and Prescott; their total was over 250, but I think that included the entering and departing ends of each curve. Stay with me. Next, we'll take the trip on a sunnier day (or two).