Funky Friday, Metaphorically Meteorological Edition

We had some heavy weather here in Bubba County Wednesday night. No sooner had I fallen asleep, just after midnight, when that line of storms that kicked ass in Alabama meandered up through East Tennessee and Southwest Virginia, giving my house a good shaking along the way but fortunately doing no nearby damage except downing some already dead tree limbs and decorating the neighbor's yard with trash can lids from all around the block. It was pretty scary nonetheless. The real destruction took place a few miles west of me, where a tornado touched down and rearranged not just folks' furniture, but their whole houses. And their lives. This small community is mourning the loss of two residents, and who knows what else.

My heart goes out to all who have been dealt a blow by the relentless Spring weather this year. Let's hope we can catch our breath before....hurricane season arrives!

Wienerdog Wednesday

Via Weimar:Art and Modernity
Dynamism of a Dog on a Leash, by Giacomo Balla (1912)

Monday Meh, by Munch

Norwegian painter Edvard Munch is surely the master of meh.

Looking Inward

First things first: my wonky knee seems to have decided that, as long as I treat it with respect and lots of TLC, it just might behave. Fortunately, the orthopedist I met with this week agrees. Since I've been mostly pain-free for the past several days and can now pretty much walk any distance so long as I've got the time to get there, I'm willing to pursue self-care and alternative therapies. Hence the illustration: I'm visualizing a healthy, happy knee joint. If I can see it, it will BE!

My intuition tells me that treatment should also include oral administration of several ounces of vinum rufus daily. (Since overdosing can adversely affect balance, I do need to exercise caution!) (Oh, and I need to cautiously exercise.) It goes without saying that I'm happy the S(urgery) -word wasn't recommendation number one. I understand that rehabbing a knee is not an overnight accomplishment, but I'd just as soon skip the cutting and scraping and 20% co-payment if letting time heal yields the same result, anyway.

While various medical practitioners have been peering into the innermost workings of my left knee, I've been also been looking inward -- and backward. A family friend, the man who introduced my parents to each other, has been going through his massive photograph collection and sending me pictures from the past thirty years or so. Ron was the self-designated documentarian of every social gathering he attended, and even if his ever-present camera was sometimes mildly intrusive, I am really touched that he has saved all his photos and is sharing them with the subjects now. His latest batch to me included a photo of my pregnant-with-intellikid self and TMFKAH*, which I could have done without adding to my collection, but the rest of the pics are priceless. (* = The Man Formerly Known As Husband)

Because my father is a subject in many of the shots, and because his death occurred around this time some seven years ago, I've been prone to bouts of melancholy this week. Why now, after all these years, does it feel like I need some sort of closure, and how the heck do I go about getting that? Maybe it's the sudden flood of photos and memories bringing it on, this feeling of not having done enough while I had the chance. Yet I know that my father was an adult, made his own choices with a more or less lucid mind. Still, I am angry that one of those choices was to let his phone bill go unpaid and cut off the one means of communication my sister and I, living 400 miles away, had. I'm also angry that his friends and brothers who lived nearer to him didn't intervene when they saw the hoarding getting out of hand and the house literally falling apart around him.

Last but not least, I'm unsure of what role I might have played in my father's decline. He and I weren't especially close, but we hadn't had any fallings-out, either. I suppose I should have seen his addictions as a symptom of something larger, rather than as an extended mid-life crisis; then again, what could I have done differently?

Deep down, I know the answer is, "Probably, nothing." My father was a notorious marcher to his own drummer, and of course his individualism is one of the traits I loved about him. I guess that Ron's photos and memories that accompany them are just making me realize that I still miss my dad, and of course that's an okay thing. Even if I wasn't expecting it.

"Harald with kitten in pocket, 8/30/79"

(This is weird - I just realized that I'm older now than my dad was in this photo.)

Funky (Good) Friday

...and Happy Earth Day, too!

I've not been in a very bloggy mood lately, but I'll get over it. Meanwhile, I've got a 3-day weekend to begin squandering.

Wienerdog Wednesday, Rich and Famous Edition

A young Elizabeth Taylor, possibly on the set of National Velvet, taking a break with her wienerdog buddy.

The question on everyone's mind by now must be, "What famous person has not owned a dachshund?"

Monday Meh, Limited Visibility Edition

Tree in Fog

While searching for an image to convey the foggy conditions here this morning, I discovered the work of North Carolina artist Jerry Lee Kirk. The fog is definitely causing vision problems for me. I can't see myself going to work today. I'd rather stay home and look at art on the Web.

Funky Friday, Globalize Yourself Edition

An "Acoustic Africa" concert is happening on campus this evening; African guitarists Habib Koité (in the video above), Oliver Mtukudzi and Afel Bocoum will no doubt have me tappin' my toes.

I think that from now on, we should require that all of our politicians be musicians as well. Then we would be reasonably assured that soulless bastards would be ineligible for office, and our representatives would already be acquainted with the concept of playing well with others.

But if they went on tour, I still probably wouldn't buy the T-shirt.

What the flock?

C'mon over to Hen's Teeth, where the chicks are clucking over matters taxing. My alter-ego, Layla Eggers, weighs in on the deductibility -- or not -- of family pets.

Last one there's a rotten poultry progeny!

Wienerdog Wednesday, Pre-Raphaelite Edition

Via Dog ArtDog, Laura Sotka reinterprets the work of Frederic Leighton.

(A similar scene, single dachshund version, can be found at the intelli home on Sunday afternoons.)

Funky Friday, It Happened One April edition

I think I've got the US Blues, too. There's probably no approved treatment for that covered under my health insurance, though.

I did get word today, however, that I finally have an appointment for an MRI on my knee. At 6pm Saturday. Not sure if it's worth shaving my legs for -- what do you think?