The Periphery returns from its hiatus with pictures to entertain you. What would a vacation be without food and animals? My Anonymous brother and 'sister-in-law', Nonny Moose kept us well fed and entertained.
Introducing the new King of someone else's castle, Gunther.
And the new Queen, Minnie. She did not like the paparazzi stalking her.
It's that time of year, when garden tomatoes abound. They're great to eat fresh off the vine with a little salt, or--
made into fiery salsa with garden peppers and onions.
Sink kitty approved all meals and their remains.
Meanwhile, at a Fiber Festival, we ran into this llama, who had a lot to say. Much of it seemed to be, "You need to buy more yarn, you don't have enough yarn ...."
This alpaca meditated before his fan, thinking deep thoughts about fiber blends. I bought some of his lovely wool.
Nonny Moose and I swooned over this fluffy fellow. Angora, so, so soft, and so, so expensive. Fifteen pounds of rabbit doesn't yield a lot of wool to play with. He seemed to enjoy being plucked, however.
What vacation would be complete without Birdy Kreep and his sonic squawks?
Because I promised to write a glowing, positive, just-this-shy-of-gushing post about the awesomeness of my big brother, Anonstrodomus, I won't tell you (right away) of the interesting array of feelings I had when I opened the brown paper wrapped package hiding in my post box.
But first, some backstory. *Cue Lost-esque whooshing sound*
As some of you well know, I have an interest in taking things apart and putting things together (and blowing things up, but that's another story). I come by this interest naturally, my big brother used to do things like dismantle my clock or radio and leave it in pieces for me to put back together. Because of my brother I learned the joys of dismantling, destruction, and how to play dumb when someone yelled, "What happened to my _______!" Anon usually got blamed anyhow, because what little girl liked mucking about with tools and experiments and dirt?
This one.
Sometimes for fun, sometimes for necessity -- Like when my brother 'traded' cars with me in high school, leaving me the car with a flat tire to change -- I'm sure it was some of his influence that helped when I decided to join the Army, where, despite my solid C- average in high school math, they made me an engineer. And guess what? I discovered I liked math when physics was involved, or formulas, or blowing things up... My bridges didn't fall down, my buildings stayed upright, and none of my runways swallowed any airplanes. Thus began a covert love affair with science in general, physics in particular. With no real background in either I settled for reading about them.
My latest acquisition is a copy of How To Teach Physics To Your Dogby Chad Orzel
I've been reading Chad Orzel's blog, Uncertain Principles ("features the miscellaneous ramblings of a physicist at a small liberal arts college") for quite a while. I knew about the book, but just hadn't gotten around to getting a copy yet, when I read Chad was going to be at a book signing in my hometown, in the far off distant land of upstate New York. Since I doubted Chad would ever make it out to Wyoming, I immediately whined/begged/cajoled my brother into trying to secure me a copy, complete with autograph.
Brother Anon came through and a week later I found a brown paper wrapped package (should have been my first clue) in my post box. Upon opening it... I didn't find quite what I expected. Seems Anon felt the urge to rub in that he gets to eat delicious white garlic pizza on a regular basis. Nestled inside the (sadly empty) box was the prize. My signed copy of How To Teach Physics To Your Dog. My brother didn't want monetary payment, just a "moment of acknowledgment" expressed here on The Periphery - where he is harassed on a semi-monthly basis should he dare comment unprepared.
Please.
You think by now, after all these years, he would have learned. Never give your little sister an opening and expect to emerge totally unscathed.
So, in keeping in the spirit of the bargain, here is my expression of gratitude to my awesome big brother, Anonstrodomus, set to music and in condensed movie form. And here is the second: Thanks for going to the trouble of getting me the book, Brudder Dear. (And thanks to Nonny Moose for encouraging him to do so.) Enjoy!
(Book review to come later. Painting, poem, or mini-movie? Who knows...)
A collection of prints for my Anonymous brother, who has owned and loved German Shepherds for a long time (and who could have a Corgi if he'd only ask...).
For his birthday - only a little late - Hey, the prints are in the mail. Or will be. Soon. Honest.
Woodblock print, 4x6 inch, carved from Shina plywood, printed with lamp black water-soluble ink, hand-rubbed on Japanese Masa paper with a bamboo baren.
(Excuse the crookedness and cut off side of the prints, they were a tad too big to fit on my scanner. Only nipped a half inch of the GSD's tail, though)
8x10 inch Lino print carved from Battleship linoleum, printed with lamp black water-soluble ink, hand-rubbed on Japanese Masa paper with a bamboo baren, hand colored with watercolors.
Because one, or even two German Shepherds are never enough...
8x10 inchLino print carved from Battleship linoleum, printed with lamp black water-soluble ink, hand-rubbed on Japanese Masa paper with a bamboo baren, hand colored with watercolors.
And a GSD head, uncolored.
8x10 inch Lino print carved from Battleship linoleum, printed with lamp black water-soluble ink, hand-rubbed on Japanese Masa paper with a bamboo baren.
No, it's not another Corgi post. This one is birthday wishes for two May 22nd boys, my brother, Anonymous, and my eldest child, Son One.
Born on the same day, 32 years apart, they share an awful lot in common.
Exhibit A - Anonymous
Exhibit AA - Son One
Kind of scary, huh? Of course Son One has longer hair now, and a fixation on musical instruments: Here he's working on staining the body of his latest electric guitar for his coursework at Roberto Venn School of Luthiery.
Since I don't have any recent pictures of Anonymous, you'll have to pretend the awesome extended fork, banana seat with spoiler bike in this picture is his BMW motorcycle. (Ignore the girl on the right, her bike was fairly utilitarian . . .)
More commonalities - Anonymous makes a living playing with electricity, and wiring things to be loud and/or bright. Son One wires up an electric guitar, because after all, max decibels would make his uncle proud.
A last pic of Anonymous, because I can, and because he looked so thrilled to be standing out in the backyard, by a cornfield, getting his picture taken with his dorky little sister. Happy Birthday, Anonymous Bro.
Yeah, it's a little late. So sue me, or take away my poetic license. Or you can complain to Anonymous. It's his fault, after all. He instigated this little childhood conspiracy. I was too innocent to dream up such an evil plot. Honest.
The First Thanksgiving
In 1972 we made my dad eat turkey for the first time. Ever.
From 1960-1971 we ate lasagna and sausage for Thanksgiving.
In late 1970 my brother and I began to plot the holiday dinner menu— with no success.
At six months old, my mother said I ate ravioli instead of baby food.
In 1938 my great-grandmother chopped the heads off live chickens. My father was six years old.
Man landed on the moon in 1969, I stayed up late to watch. Anything was possible.
From 1965-1973 I was only vaguely aware there was a war. Mom didn't let me watch the news.
From first to fifth grade I drank tea after school with my grandmother at least once a week.
In sixth grade I was an Indian for the Thanksgiving play because I had black hair.
Nobody in our family had a birthday in November. Mine was 15 days before Christmas.
My other grandmother always fixed turkey/mashed potatoes/pumpkin pie. It was our second dinner of the day.
In early November of that year my brother and I discovered guilt trips.
In 1972 we made my dad eat turkey for the first time. Ever.
This just in. Pictures of the (in)famous "Anonymous" poster to my blog. Delivered by carrier Gnome in the middle of the night with utmost secrecy. Said Gnome promised more as long as the library paste kept flowing. (What can I say, gnomes are easy AND cheap)
First on our hit parade, the 1960's, era of bell bottoms, hippies, and banana seat bikes. "Anonymous" seemed to have missed the memo on the bell bottoms, however. Check out the highwaters on the kid on the left, the one with the slightly apprehensive look, as if he suspects popping wheelies on a banana seat bike will lead to no good. I know we lived a block from the river, but yeesh. And leather slip-ons? At least the Cuz on the right had the good sense to wear Keds, like a normal goomba.
That brings us to the late 1970's.
I know "Anonymous" will claimed he was framed, but I say he did it to himself with those disco Elton glasses. Another victim of involuntary parental photography, "Anonymous" grits his teeth and hunches his rather skinny shoulders in classic family mug shot pose.
Bonus points if "Anonymous" can identify A) the doorways he's standing between, and B) the picture his head so artfully bisects.
The 70's gave way to the late 1980's -- decade of epic disasters and benefit concerts, and apparently ushered in a era (ear?) of
Corn for the Unwashed Masses.
While "Anonymous'" mother stood in line for hours at the mall to secure a Cabbage Patch Kid for "Anonymous'" daughter, "Anonymous" ate corn. While millions watched the fall of the Berlin Wall on tv, so did "Anonymous". While eating corn.
One can only wonder if this fascination with corn outlasted the 80's. I would imagine it to be a lifelong obsession, stemming from an unfortunate covert incident on the Susquehanna River, involving a rubber raft, a cornfield, and an incredibly gullible little sister.
The late 1990's. A renaissance return to the eyewear of the 70's, a Gladiator haircut, and a Freudian beard. What message is "Anonymous" attempting to send?
--The layered look never goes out of style--
--I missed the Grunge generation and I'm playing catch up?
--Quick, bring me another Yuengling if I have to endure more photos!
--Help, my better half has a gun in my back and is forcing me to take this picture?
The world may never know, but one thing is for sure. There's more pictures where these came from, "Anonymous". I'm still waiting on some Stan Rogers CD's.
.
Don't make me use the Photoshop.
It could get ugly.
.
.
Brought to you by the Society for the Encouragement of Torturing Big Brothers, Western Chapter.
Some more pictures of the underworld dwellers. I've been trying to figure out who's in charge. The cape buffalo looked the meanest, but some of these others could give him a run for his money...
Grizzly Bear
Wild Boar
American Bison
African Antelope
There are some quieter residents down in the basement, next time I'll try and give the antelope herd its due. Of course, the cutest citizens don't live in the basement, but roam the high plains of the front yard. This one is for my brother, who is an advocate for MoreCorgi Publicity Photos.
What to do during those dog days of August? Loll in the front yard and watch the world go by, of course.
Dispatch from Tikrit Now that you're gone, our connection is reduced to paper, entrusted to strangers. Cuneiform without clay tablet. I unwrap each letter as if it were the flag of some rebel organization. I imagine you do the same. Sifting for clues, a pencil finger- print or gunpowder? Sweat or Tigris water? In the folds I find a grain of sand. 6000 miles and eleven time zones wedged between us. Our relationship filters through with- out dimension, a modern archeology.
This "neener, neener" goes out to my brother, without whose childhood torment I would have never grown up to be the psychologically warped individual I am today. Not to mention I would have missed out on the BB gun scar on the back of my leg, the scar on the front of my leg from when you disconnected the brakes on my bike, the fear of speeding hockey pucks from when you needed one more player and told me to stand in front of the goal and guard it... and your team sucked at defense... the scar by my eyebrow from when you convinced me to sled down Devil's Elbow, because making the 45 degree turn at the bottom was 'easy'. "Just throw your body sideways and shift the sled". Uh huh. Forgot to mention the ditch on the far side of the turn, didn't you, Bro?
When I'm out here on the back nine, I'll think of you. Probably as I'm trying to fight my way out of the sand trap. (I really wish you'd taught me to play golf, and not Marco Polo.) Ah well. Wish you WERE here. Then maybe I could collect that beer you owe me.
