Isabella Bird Miscellany

frozen drip It’s a mystery, the drip, drip, drip, gush from our bathroom shower. Here’s the scoop:  I went to clean the downstairs bathroom about a month and a half ago – not an every week happening.  I’m not a cleaning slacker, far be it, I’m actually a bit of a neat-nik bordering on germ-a-phobia.  Truth is that bathroom is only used by overnight guests; now, back to the leak and bathroom cleaning chronicle. Company had come and gone.  It was time to go down to clean so things would be spic and span for the next visitors.  Turning the light on over the vanity, I was met by a dinner-plate-sized bubble in the ceiling, so not a good thing.  The gotta-figure-this-out in me took over.  Where was the leak coming from?  Duh, upstairs, but was it the tub, the shower or the other shower.  So many choices, not many answers, especially because water travels.  It’s like a no rhyme or reason maze. After inspecting, thinking, chec...

Thanksgiving is a verb.  Mind you, most dictionaries list it as a noun – you know the standard person, place or thing concept, and it is.  But, while Thanksgiving is a noun, it is also an active expression of something that should be happening in our ordinary routines. Heaps of words are busy little multi-taskers, describing a thing and explaining actions.  In reality, just looking around I spot quite a few.  There’s a roll of tape sitting on the kitchen counter.  Tape is a noun – it is sitting there ready to tape a package, which is a verb.  I have a bottle of olive oil from a place called the Olive Pit.  An olive pit is the seed – a thing, but to pit an olive is something to do.  You get the general idea. So, back to the holiday that is trending this week – Thanksgiving, is a time to come together.  We stuff ourselves just like the turkey arranged on the table and we take a few moments to share what we are grateful for. ...

captured in ice Collecting leaves is an obsession of mine.  In a park, the yard or out in the woods, I feel the need to pick them up or nudge them off a tree to have a look.  In fact, today, I was sorting through some stuff and found a bunch of leaves I pressed a number of years ago.  They were incredibly intact.  I was supposed to be cleaning things out, but kept my leaves. Autumn is full-on right now, except for last week’s shower of ice.  While unexpected for this early in the season – some talk about a polar vortex taking over – it left grasses and still dangling leaves with a sharp frosted layer.  Instead of gathering foliage to plunk in a jar, I simply gazed at how they looked like exquisite crystalized ornaments.  The intricate veining on the leaves was illuminated by the frozen shellac.  When I touched them – I couldn’t help myself – they felt fragile and glass-like.  As the sun rose, they glistened and the not-so-gentl...

broken gray skies Gray:  a nondescript color living somewhere between black and white; a mood or disposition that’s not quite foul, just rather dull and monotonous.   Skies are scrubbed in shades of gray.   Ashes in a smoldering fire are shadows of gray and my hair has subtle streaks of silver, a kind way of saying gray.  Heck, my furniture is a browned touch of gray, we’ll call it bark.  Doesn’t that sound better?  I wear the color - literally and figuratively.  It’s comfortable. gray skies are just clouds passing over Duke Ellington Hold on!  All is not lost in a biosphere of vague doom and gloom, Will Robinson (1960’s Lost in Space).  Danger, schmanger!   Gray drapes itself as an obscure background to play up whatever is dropped against it.  This Switzerland of the color wheel exposes design, shape and form; making junk dazzling and perky.  Much like that morning person who needs to be a tad les...

Sort of parked on the verge...at least it's mostly grass Living in Australia taught me many earth shattering things, like beets are called beetroot, but carrots are not called carrotroot.   You “ring” when you are phoning someone and to “call” is actually to stop by.    You can understand my American confusion at some of the Aussie ways and vernacular.   Fortunately, we had great friends that kept us straight on proper protocol in this once penal colony. Terminology tweaks set aside, there was the whole driving on the left side of the road.  What’s up with that?  Is it because they are on the other side of the world or just trying to be oh, so British?  I must admit, I never did relaxed when cars were careening toward me from the “wrong” lane.  Now, that we’re on the subject of cars, it is perfectly natural to park in the verge.  To be honest, I didn’t know what a “verge” was.  Oh, I knew the word as in “edge or limit” but i...

Crow's epic perch When we were road tripping this last spring, I caught what I consider to be an “epic” photo.   We were driving along California SR 1 and passed a wide spot in the road known as Westport.   There was a sweet little cemetery that had a killer (pun not intended) view of the Pacific Ocean.     We whipped over so I could snap a couple of pics.   That’s when my “this is the coolest, most epic” moment happened.   A big, wind-ruffled oily black crow landed on the cemetery sign.   O h, my stinkin’ goodness - this was absolutely beyond legendary… not to mention that I have a thing for crows and grackles! This photo has been sitting on my computer in a file labeled “April 2014” just waiting for Halloween to come around.   In the spirit of all things blustery, wild and autumn here’s a little story of the Edge Traveler… Periphery.  That’s where he chose to be.  Never quite revealing his whereabouts was bet...

Mr. KC's boots Over the years, I might have blown a speaker or two.  I like music loud!  You know the head-pounding, ear-ringing decibel level that concert-worthy speakers belt out.  Given that tidbit, Friday nights we regularly find ourselves at a local fish joint that has sweet blues bands gigging on the pub side.  It’s a bit of a dive bar, but in the best of ways.  There’s nothing fancy; just a comfortable, well-worn spot serving fish and chips that are off-the-charts good and cheap drinks.  Definitely not a swill-slinging bar, but not a slam-glam either.  Halibuts is a neighborhood spot where Jennifer, the gal behind the bar, remembers what we order, even if it’s been a couple of months since our last visit. So, we’re sitting there listening to Angel Bouchet rock the blues with blasting speakers –I need to mention the place is small and has had complaints from the next door tenants about the volume and how everything was shaking and rollin...