Doing What Crows Like Best

Day 90: Today, I told myself I could do whatever I darn well wanted to do, and to that end, I stuffed the tripod, macro filters, jacket and a small bottle of Gatorade in my daypack and headed down to Pack Forest with the idea that I'd find the end of the 1400 Rd. Ah yes, I've done this before, and it's one of the reasons I never file a crowflight plan with friends. The closer I got to Pack, the less interesting the end of the 1400 became, and the Plan started undergoing revision. What if I went up the Hugo Peak trail to connect with 1400? That'd give me a nice view. And what if it doesn't look like there's going to be much snow on Hugo? Well, I could go all the way to the top, and then if I wanted to, I could explore the 1400 on the way back down. As it turned out, my only contact with the 1400 Rd. was pacing off its eight-foot width where the Hugo trail crosses it. I wound up on top of Hugo.

Ah, but the Plan was still under revision! From the top of Hugo, I normally walk back on the road, a hunter-gatherer's transit. Today, however, there was no possibility of Chanterelles to tempt me. As I walked toward the five-way intersection at Kirkland Pass, I said to myself, "Hmmm...maybe I should go out the Reservoir Trail," a variation which would add approximately another mile to the trip. Down the Reservoir Trail I went, and when I reached the junction with the Wildlife Trail, I took that instead of connecting directly to the road.

For somebody who was going to do a quick couple of miles up the 1400, I managed to rack up about seven in the end. It was a great way to celebrate the day before New Year's, a day when I ought to be allowed to do anything I darn well want to do.

Keyed In

Day 89: Some days, you just can't get keyed in. You can't find the key element for a project. You're keyed up, off-key. You can't fit the key in the lock. The key to success eludes you. We all have days like that, and today was one of mine.

I took pictures of lichens. I took pictures of cats. I took pictures of ice and snow and the Mountain. I wasn't happy with any of them. In desperation, I started pulling drawers open, hoping for the key. I found it..."them," I should say...a trio of skeleton keys for forgotten doors. Where did they fit, once upon a time? I have no idea, but at least today, they unlocked a small corner of my mind.

That Time Of Year

Day 88: It's that time of year again, time for me to resign myself to imprisonment by grey weather, time to do projects and time to put together jigsaw puzzles. There are several dozen on my closet shelf, most of the 1000-piece variety, and almost without exception, they have been chosen for difficulty of assembly. I like them hard, and I prefer natural scenes to those with evidence of humanity. No bridges, barns or tree-lined lanes for me! I want birds and mountain landscapes and flowers, all the things I miss in these dreary months of Pacific Northwe't winter.

With a sewing project also underway these last few days, I've been working on quicker 500-piece puzzles, things I can complete in an afternoon to free up the table for the machine in the evening. That said, I no longer have that excuse. I put the last eyelets in a new pirate shirt today, and when I get this Cardinal put together, my next puzzle will be a big one!

Fish-Face

Day 87: Rivalling Hoya bella, "Goldfish Plant" (Nematanthus "Black Gold," or "Fish-face," as I like to call it) is one of the most rewarding houseplants you can find on the market. Mine was given to me as a slip from a friend as an exchange for a piece of Hoya bella I sent her way. It sets blooms at frequent intervals (mine nearly always seems to have a couple of flowers) and branches nicely if pinched. It is tolerant of forgetful watering and although it benefits from strong filtered sun, it will still thrive in lower light conditions. The novelty of the "goldfish" flowers makes this plant a favorite in my kitchen window.

It's The Little Things

Day 86: Seriously, anybody can make this stuff, right? Even kids can make it. Well, I can't, or at least I can't make it tasty. Mine is either bland, not salty enough or too salty, too oily, burned, limp or otherwise unsuccessful. How can snack mix be unappetizing? Trust me, I know at least two dozen ways to make it so.

Friends make good snack mix. They've shared their recipes with me. I could stock a mom-and-pop grocery store with the boxes of Chex and pretzels I've wound up feeding to the birds. And the worst of it is that I really like snack mix...so much so that there isn't going to be any of this left to share with Kevin out of the container labelled, "For work." I already polished off the one labelled, "For home."

This delicious display was brought to you by a really good cook! Thank you, Patty!

Orbital Dance

Day 85: Even if I do lose 'em all, I have friends who send me new marbles from time to time! These are two from the dozen I found individually wrapped in a great ginormously huge bag under my Christmas tree, and I laughed out loud as I unwrapped each one. I picked these two for my blog shot today because the glass is so beautifully clear, unlike most modern marbles which are made with recycled materials.

Like most kids of my era, I always coveted cat's-eyes and marbles with swirls of color in clear glass. I had a particular passion for white cat's-eyes which in those days were quite unusual, likewise those with white swirls. I never played "keepsies" because I didn't want to risk losing one of my treasures, but on one notable occasion, I traded several marbles just to get one white cat's-eye. For years, it was the pride of my collection.

Alas, my original tin of marbles went by the wayside when I left home and grew up, but in number, my current collection surpasses the old by thousands. Most "commons" are kept in a five-gallon glass pickle jar and a large fruitcake tin. A few special treasures are kept behind glass on a shelf, as these will be when I get done playing with them. Thanks, Mousie! :wink:

Happy Christmas

Day 84: Happy Christmas, everyone! I've had a mix of rain, snow and wind this morning, and the power has been out for the last couple of hours. Now I'm on the run to get to my fishing buddy's house for Christmas dinner!

The Present

Day 83: Young Master Cardinal is a very thrifty lad. From his small allowance, he puts back a little each week, saving diligently for the Christmas gifts he's selected for his family. No credit cards for that smart little fellow! In fact, his father has been heard to remark that "the only limb that boy will go out on is on the tree."

"Oh, Dad! Dad! Open this one next! You're gonna love it! C'mon, pull the ribbon off!" His wings are all a-flutter as he entreats Father Cardinal to unwrap the best present. And Father Cardinal knows that whatever is inside, it can't possibly match the love which accompanies the giving.

May your Christmas be kept in the heart of family, whether human, furred or feathered. Season's Greetings from Crow and the kitties!

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas

Day 82: Only about 36 hours now before I allow myself to open one and only one gift on Christmas Eve! The rest are held until Christmas morning, and may not be touched until light begins to brighten the sky. I will have been up for several hours, sitting in a living room illuminated only by the tree lights and a few candles, enjoying the magic of Christmas as surely as if Santa had paid a visit.

The tradition of opening one present on Christmas Eve was observed by my family from my earliest memory, and the choice of gift was limited only by the stricture enforced by a "Do Not Open until December 25th" tag. Rules are rules, and one would not wish to incur a black mark at the top of Santa's list to start the following year!

On the morning of Christmas, soft carols will be playing in the background as the anticipation is extended by a strong desire to save the best for last, to savour the moment for as long as it may reasonably be prolonged. But breakfast can wait! Christmas comes but once a year, and I hope you may delight in what it brings!

The Christmas Concert

Day 81: Ladies and gentlemen, tonight's performance is brought to you by the Bird Can Gang. They will be presenting their annual selection of traditional carols and lively modern pieces for your listening pleasure. Please be seated and enjoy the concert!

The Bird Can Gang gathers together once each year for a brief appearance in my living room. Cats being the creatures that they are, it is not safe for them to remain free for more than a day or two, and even at that, I have occasionally had to retrieve one of the smaller members of the group from under the bed. During the year, certain privileged individuals are allowed to live on either of two plexiglass-fronted shelves. The remainder occupy the Bird Can, a restaurant-sized tin capable of holding at least fifty pounds of sugar. I have to sit on the lid to tie it closed securely.

If you are wondering if there are any singers absent from the chorus, the answer is yes. Age and declining health prohibit a few from making a showing, and of course the Christmas Concert pieces must be tweeted, so moose, bears, mice, sheep, frogs and such were unfortunately excluded from the official stage photo. Rest assured that each and every participant received proper attention before being ushered back to the Can.

Solstice

Day 80:
May the fire of friendship burn brightly at your hearth,
May the candle of good spirits illuminate your comings and your goings;
May all of Nature bless you with its beauties.
Be rejuvenated in the returning Light, and bring it to all creatures in peace and insight;
Its gifts of empathy and love of fellow are yours to distribute.
Dance the holly, dance the mistletoe! The Light is returning, and dark nights quickly go.

A good and glad Solstice to you!

Hoya Bella, Hoya Filter

Day 79: Perhaps my mind was open to suggestion when I decided to purchase Hoya macro filters rather than some other brand. After all, Hoya bella is my favorite houseplant. Conveniently, it was in the process of producing a couple of fragrant, pendant umbels when I ordered the filters, so today I got up close and personal with one of them using the 4x magnification. The flowers were illuminated by a hand-held LED flashlight.

Bloodlines

Day 78: There was a strong temptation to allow Morgan Corbye's biographer the rights to this story, but it is unusual enough in its own fashion that I have pre-empted that privilege for my own task, largely because I have known of Capt. Corbye's piratical lineage for a very long time now and the historian would be compelled to present it as new information. That said, this particular document was a startling discovery when it came into my hands this morning, the product of a search for a box of sewing patterns which turned up a trove of my mother's things instead. Until the moment when I put my hands on the canvas scroll shown here, I did not know of its existence.

My mother and her best friend Carol were adventurers of the Tom Sawyer-Huck Finn kidney as teens, always into some sort of reasonably harmless mischief from which my grandfather invariably had to extricate them at some cost. One of the most notable occasions manifested when the two girls ran away from home intent on purchasing a sailing vessel "for to go a-pirating." They had the whole sum of $26 between them and hitchhiked from Washington to San Francisco, there to swim out to a schooner in the harbor (or maybe it was a sailboat...I am simply relating the story as my mother told it to me). After hauling two drowned rats aboard and giving them dry clothing and a meal, the owner of said vessel set about attempting to contact Grandpa. The two erstwhile pirates soon were returned to home port and put in figurative irons until they repented of their evil ways.

Their friendship persisted into adulthood (a double-date arranged by Carol was my mother's introduction to my father), and always between them was the Pirate's Code of loyalty:

"Inasmuch as this is the 15th day of Dec., in the year of our Lord one thousand, nine hundred and thirty eight, I hereby inscribe this document to my bosom companion and mess mate, (my mother's name). / My years with you have been and always be among the happiest of my life. We have been thro many storms together, but we have always drifted into calm, still waters. We have cast anchor here in these sheltered, cloistered harbors, but always we would up anchor and go on to further adventures. / Now we have just passed thro one of those storms and you are leaving me for a while; but during your absence I shall not forget you for a minute. / Please keep this document forever as a sign of my ever-lasting love, and as a stimulus to your memories of me. Your Best Pal, Carol Wilson 'Czar' W."

Atholl Brose

Day 77: His name was Grendel Red Troll, and there was nothing he enjoyed more than brewing mediaeval beverages to share with his friends unless perhaps it was in getting my mother so soused she couldn't find her own pavilion. We were all in the Society for Creative Anachronism and Grendel, for all of being a Norseman, was a dab hand at the manufacture of such delights as Wassail, raspberry beer and Atholl Brose. My mother being a Scot, the Atholl Brose was her favorite. There was many a night when my mother went off with Grendel, only to return at some ungodly hour unable to walk a straight line. I have to admit that I also partook of a variety of Grendel's beverages, though in substantially greater moderation.

One year, we prevailed upon Grendel to share his recipe for this traditional Scottish libation. It has taken me this long to get around to making it. I probably should have waited until closer to Rabbie Burns' birthday (for which, incidentally, I am trying to track down a genuine haggis) because Atholl Brose goes down quite smoothly, thank you, before it delivers a mule-kick to your head.

First make ye the brose by soaking one cup of slow-cooking oatmeal in three cups of water for 24 hours. Strain the liquid through a coarsely-woven handkerchief and set it aside while you cook the oats for your breakfast. You're a Scot, after all. Can't let them go to waste!

Combine
1 3/4 cups of brose
1 1/4 cup of heavy cream (half-and-half if you're on a diet)
1/4 cup of honey (heather honey if you have it)
and stir well until the honey is completely dissolved in the liquid.

Now add 1 3/4 cups of good Scots whiskey to the cream mixture.
Bottle, cork and refrigerate before serving.

Atholl Brose is similar to Bailey's or Carolan's Irish Cream, but of course by virtue of being the Scots version, it's much better.

Did I get all that typed right?

Three Stones

Day 76: Another day of playing with my Christmas macro filters, and again, I've used the 4x magnification for this shot. I am amazed how much "closer" I can get with them, very pleased with the lack of distortion at the edges. That said, I applied some heavy-handed post-processing here to get the "glamour" effect I wanted, finishing off with an "inner glow" layer effect to pull the attention directly to the rings.

Oh, you're curious about the jewelry, eh? My late husband was a skilled faceter and goldsmith and although he had a "day job," he also had a regular clientele for his work and expanded his hobby into a small sideline business. He often created pieces for me, even knowing that I had little occasion to wear them. Christmas and birthday nearly always turned up some exquisite piece of jewelry which he had made entirely by hand.

The large ring on the left is synthetic quartz set in sterling. The center piece is an andradite garnet mounted in 14 karat yellow gold. The ring on the right is my favorite: a 1.33 carat Montana sapphire in a Tiffany setting of 18 karat white gold.

Christmas-Present-To-Self

Day 75: Every year, I buy myself a Christmas present. It's not that I don't get enough presents from friends...because I do!...but I like to reward myself for leading a fairly frugal life the rest of the year. That's not to say that I buy anything expensive or extravagant, either. Oftentimes, it's something relatively simple which I just haven't been able to justify purchasing except on this special occasion.

This year, I came into a small windfall when Hyundai decided that they had overestimated the MPG rating for my new car. They sent me a rebate based on the number of miles I've driven. It wasn't a large amount (I've only owned the car since last spring), but it paid the tab for a set of three Hoya "macro filters" which attach to my Canon SX30 IS by means of an adapter ring which I already owned. The filters are rated at 1x, 2x and 4x and may be stacked in any combination for up to 7x magnification, although there is significant vignetting if more than one is used.

I spent an hour or so yesterday playing with them under quite an assortment of scenarios. I am quite pleased with the functionality of them, particularly in the way they gather light and also how they alter the depth of field to allow the foreground to pop even more dramatically with the lower f-stops. My sole objection is that they seem to gather dust all too readily, although that may be an effect of my forced-air heat. As regards that, the dust-gathering seemed to diminish somewhat when I was standing in the rain photographing lichens, the purpose for which I intended the filters in the first place.

This photo was taken using the 4x filter. It is only slightly cropped from the original. I'm having fun with my new toys!

Little Birds

For 20 bright little birds who will not be going home again.

For those who died with them.

For their friends and their families.

For those who in their time of trial, protected and comforted and shielded.

For those who now struggle to understand something which passes understanding.

Little birds, little birds, I cry for you.

Day 74

The Longest Night

Day 73:
"Dance the holly,
Dance the mistletoe!
The Light is soon returning,
And dark nights quickly go!"

A midwinter observance long before Christmas came into being, the Solstice is marked in modern times by a number of different cultures and religions, and in a wide variety of ways. The primary theme is the lengthening of daylight, an event which may initiate the beginnings of change in nature despite the fact that the increase is not noticeable to most people for several weeks. In many societies (ethnic and/or spiritual), it is a time of renewal and rebirth, of purification, of a positive flow of energy.

This year, the Solstice also marks the beginning of a new epoch according to the Mayan calendar. In a parallel to the Y2K predictions of doom, the end of the old era has led to a number of prophecies regarding the end of the world. If you feel the need to construct a tinfoil hat for the occasion, by all means do so. In the meantime, I will be celebrating the return of light as one of my favorite "personal holidays" of the year.

Growing Old Together

Day 72: Each year when I set up the Bubble Tree, I am transported across the sea of memory to a place of wonder and awe. More than any other thing, the Bubble Tree meant the coming of Christmas to the long-ago child. It was anticipated with a different relish than the arrival of Santa. Santa only brought presents. The Bubble Tree brought magic and light.

It took some persuading, but one year after a light had burned out and been replaced with a fresh one, I was allowed (with supervision, of course) to perform a dissection to see if I could figure out what made the bubbles bubble. I do not recall receiving any coaching or hints, although I do remember that I had to discard a preliminary hypothesis that the bubbling was caused by a chemical reaction in the glass tube. The reality was much simpler: a small, loosely-fitting plug of glass in the base of the tube allows boiling to occur beneath it, the bubbles then being released along the sides as the plug wobbles. Satisfied that I had discovered the physics involved, the Bubble Tree nevertheless lost none of its magic for me in subsequent years.

Over time, the white paper "needles" of the Bubble Tree yellowed. My mom and I tried to redeem it with spray flocking, and what a failure that was! Still, I would not allow her to throw it away. However, I left home when I was quite young (12), and the next time I saw the Bubble Tree, I was nearly 30 and it had been stored in a steamer trunk in an unheated shed for all that time. The paper needles were badly mildewed, the metal armature was rusty and the wiring was plainly not to be trusted, but I was not ready to let go of something which had been so precious to me as a child. I held onto it, and one year, bubble lights again became available in strings of seven. I dismantled the Bubble Tree, sanded the armature, painted it with Rust-o-leum and dark green enamel, and rewired it with ten new lights cobbled together from two strings. I had not been able to find white garland, so settled for green which, although it doesn't show the lights as well, at least put life back into the Tree.

If the two of us are not quite the same age, the Bubble Tree may be my senior by a year or two. In any event, we have gone through a lot of transitions in the course of our acquaintance, growing old together and still friends after all this time.

Over The River And Through The Woods

Day 71: The snow has come to Longmire, and not just a scattered few flakes but enough to make a winter wonderland of the forest. A few flakes were falling when I went on my lunchtime walk today, the air crisp and the footing somewhat slippery unless you stuck to the boot-top deep verge. It's time to break out the creepers and gaiters, and don't forget your mittens and hat! Come enjoy the winter season at Mount Rainier National Park!

Amaryllis Fantasy

Day 70: This image came about as a result of an enjoyment of floral monochromes coupled with an irresistible urge to play with effects and a complete inability to choose a preference for one over the other. "What the heck," I said, "let's use 'em both!"

Every year, I buy myself an Amaryllis bulb as soon as I see them on the store shelves. My preference is for the candy-striped varieties, but every now and then, I diverge and go for solid red instead. One year, I bought a rather expensive one which was supposed to be a rich maroon, but the flower was somewhat disappointing.

I potted the bulb about four weeks ago and the stalk was already beginning to develop. It quickly shot up six inches and then gradually crept up to its present three-foot height, another smaller flower stalk beside it. At this point, the leaves are only six inches long and I think I'll have full enjoyment of the blossoms before they have a chance to go all strappy and sprawl out of the supports. Two of the blossoms are open this morning and a third is in bud. Color is just beginning to show on the second head.

Easy to grow, Amaryllis are a little difficult to bring into bloom a second year. I've had a fairly good success rate, although the flowers tend to be less showy. I think I'll just get a new one next year!

First On The Tree

Day 69: It is the tenth of December, and as is my custom, I spent the morning putting up the Christmas tree, a tradition which begins with the placement of one very special ornament which represents someone who was the core of my existence for many years.

Cocoa was a Goffin Cockatoo, smart and funny and full of play. He didn't talk much (Cockatoos are not the talkers parrots are), although he addressed me as "Mama" when he really wanted to get my attention. Having lived with a variety of other psittacine birds over the years, I figured I'd have pretty much the same relationship with a Cockatoo as with any other parrot, but I quickly discovered that it was more like living with a perpetual four-year old who was capable of anticipating your every move. There was no doubt in my mind that he understood every word I said, even to the point of grasping abstract concepts such as the difference between "don't do that because I don't want you to do it" and "don't do that because you'll get hurt." When presented with the former, he'd get a gleam in his eye and test the boundaries, but in the latter case, he'd give me the eye and then walk away, as if to say, "Well, okay, if you say so."

When I was home, we were inseparable. He would ride around on my shoulder or sleep held between my two hands on my lap (a situation which made reading impossible), and at night, he slept snuggled between my shoulder and my face.

My Christmas tree is decorated with dozens of birds from a tiny hand-carved Nuthatch less than an inch long to a larger-than-life Cardinal which serves as a spire. There are Parrots and Goldfinches and Jays and Grosbeaks and Hummingbirds and fantasy birds no eye has ever seen. And there are a few Cockatoos, but this is Cocoa's ornament...always first on the tree as he will always be first in my heart.

Yo-Ho-Ho For The Jolly Old Fellow!

Day 68: When your historian received a summons in the unmistakable handwriting of Capt. Morgan Corbye inviting, nay, demanding that I join her for seasonal libations aboard the Winged Adventure, I thought it best to forward to her a small overture by means of a messenger, our last encounter having left me somewhat in her disfavour. When the boy arrived at my apartments following the delivery with his ears, nose and digits intact, I felt it safe to assume that at least for the nonce, the good Captain had forgiven my transgressions. Not wishing to commit another social faux pas, I had decided (and wisely) to forgo presenting Captain Corbye with a better grade of rum; her preferences in that regard are carved in stone and no man dares offer anything but her usual. I sent along eggnog instead, a beverage for which the Captain has a great fondness (when liberally laced with the aforementioned rum), and one which does not keep well at sea. That I should suspect an ulterior motive never crossed my mind, demonstrating how easily we are lulled into false perceptions.

The Captain met me at the railing, handed me down to the deck with the gracious demeanor of a high-society dame and escorted me to her somewhat inelegantly appointed cabin where a single lantern illuminated the upturned trunk which sufficed as her table. It was then I saw the error in my assumptions, for on the table was the Swear Box. I had last seen it in the hands of our timid village parson.

Now it must be told that Captain Corbye has at her command a wealth of invective the likes of which is not often found even at sea. Her bold language was how she became acquainted with the Swear Box. The clergy had been making the rounds of the pubs whilst several legitimate vessels were in the harbour and the ships' crews taking liberty on shore, for sailors will swear and it was the cleric's purpose to fine them, funds thus raised to benefit the sea-widows of the town. Most sailors obliged him with prodigious and purposeful donations; benevolence is in their nature. Capt. Corbye, on the other hand, refused to pay up a cent for a particularly descriptive oath she had vented upon the innkeeper and all his antecedents. That was the last I had seen of the Swear Box, and now it was resting beside my gift of eggnog and the Captain's diminishing store of rum. I knew that I would be expected to respond in kind to each curse Morgan Corbye uttered, but only I would pay the fines she set. Oh, the parson would get his Swear Box back, no doubt about that, and the widows would eat well over the holidays, but my purse would be a great deal lighter before this night was through. Morgan Corbye had found a means to aid the needy in true piratical style.

Russian Tea Cakes

Day 67: You'll find Russian Tea Cakes listed as "Sandies" in many recipe books, but to me, that name lacks the elegance these buttery-rich bite-sized dainties deserve. No doubt the delicate crumb is what gives them their more common name, crumbling under the tooth easily. Bits of pecan add a light flavor and a dusting of confectioner's sugar provides just the right amount of sweetness to accent the nuts. They are my favorite Christmas cookie and I seldom make them at any other time of year. Пожалуйста, чай готов. Xотите присоединиться ко мне?

Portents

Day 66: The old gypsy cringed when the curtains of her sitting room were drawn back abruptly and a handful of silver coins were tossed on the wool shawl covering her divining table. The voice was one she remembered all too well, and though the payment was shabby compared to the contributions from her regular clients, she did not argue when she was addressed harshly. "'Tis naught but mumbo-jumbo, ye thievin' witch, though ye put mese'f in th' right quarter fer a tidy bit o' commerce last we met. I be thinkin' ye knows summat wot most ain't privy to, wot wi' cossettin' th' Guv'nor's purty new wife like she were a pet poodle. I thinks them ears o' yourn ain't quite so deaf as ye makes 'em out t' be, an' I'm wantin' t' know wot's afoot. Get on wi' yer hocus-pocus, ye canny ol' charlatan, an' be givin' me th' information 'owever ye wants t' dress it." Morgan Corbye sat down on the stool opposite the fortune-teller with a loud clatter of armaments. From her belt she drew her infamous black-bladed dagger and banged the hilt on the table. "Get on wi' it, I says!"

The gypsy woman drew the Queen of Pentacles from her Tarot deck and said, "Significator, a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman of power." She then passed the deck to Capt. Corbye who shuffled and riffled it until the old woman feared the cards would be damaged. Then the pirate cut the cards into three extravagantly unequal piles and placed them face down, barely within the gypsy's reach. In the manner of hundreds who had gone before her, the fortune-teller dealt the cards into an ancient Celtic pattern, speaking a formula as she did so.

"The Ten of Rods covers you." She paused for effect, as if she thought her divination skills might be able to read a reaction from the pirate. She was awarded a glare which left no doubt that she was to continue and quickly, or be at peril for her life. "The Tower reversed crosses you." Of all her patrons, Morgan Corbye was the one who most frequently had that particular card turn up in that particular position. The gypsy suspected her of having marked the deck. "The Seven of Cups crowns you. The Four of Cups is beneath you. The Six of Swords is behind you." This latter card was reversed, another frequent occurrence when Capt. Corbye sat opposite. So far, there had been no surprises. The gypsy could have told this portion of the Captain's fortune without any cards at all, but now she had to venture onto shaky and dangerous ground. "The Nine of Rods is before you." This was a momentary reprieve. Now she knew that Morgan Corbye's inner strength was not in question. Surely it would carry the day in the remaining cards.

The diviner laid out the final column from bottom to top: Four of Swords, Seven of Rods reversed, the Empress reversed and the Five of Cups. She paused to read the portents for only a moment, but was yanked from her meditation by the Captain's abrupt, "Well?" and the bright sound of silver against silver as a cairngorm brooch was slapped down among the paltry coins. The stone alone was worth half a year's visits from the Governor's wife, and the silver setting would stock the old woman's larder with a plentiful store of dried beef and flour, should she happen to survive her interpretation of the cards. Drawing a deep breath and marshalling all her skills, she read the augury.

"You come to me uncertain, emboldened by some success and yet finding too much opposition in your ventures for your liking. You want to know if you are in a bad patch, if the circumstances which go against you are out of your control. You want to know if you have the strength to endure what is being handed to you. I will tell you what I see.

"You desire change, Morgan Corbye. You are dissatisfied and bored. You want adventure. You have something behind you which is as yet unresolved, something you long to bend to shape by force of action. I tell you now that you have the strength to do this, and it is easily within your grasp. Take action, but be discreet and cautious with your time and resources. Do not expend them hastily or without careful consideration. Indecision is your enemy. It will lead you into the maze of anxiety and confusion which you already know and therefore fear. Do not let fear master you, and do not be distracted by small losses which shall pilot you to greater gains. Do these things, Captain Corbye, and you shall have fair sailing."

The knuckles of the hand gripping the haft of the black dagger whitened, but the point did not move as Capt. Corbye picked up the cairngorm with her other hand. The gypsy's eyes widened at the uncouth retraction of a proffered stipend. The pirate's expression hardened as she brought the dagger to bear on the point of the diviner's nose. "Ye bloody fraud!" she burst out, and gave the gut-shuddering croak which served her as a laugh. "I paid ye fer a dark an' dangerous man in me life, an' all ye've got t' offer is a bit o' me own 'istory recited? Dry up!" With a final gesture, she knocked the table to one side, scattering the cards, dealt and deck alike. Had she looked back, she would have seen the Knight of Swords upright beside her Queen.

Microbial Necklaces

Day 65: My late husband was an excellent "hobbyist" goldsmith and faceter of precious gems. His hands were large and you might have thought he would be too clumsy to effect the delicate details he turned out so easily, and I envied him. My hands are small, dainty if rather coarse, and although I do fine needlework, when it came to making jewelry, my silversmithed pieces looked as if they'd been crafted by a third-grader. I cut cabochons because I was a rockhound, but Bruce...Bruce was an artist. Eventually, I found a medium which allowed me to create things I wasn't ashamed to give as gifts: beadwork.

Most of my beading falls into the category of needlework rather than jewelry manufacture. I love working with tiny seed beads and complex stitches. Still, when the gifting season arrives, I turn to making more traditional necklaces and bracelets for the friends who enjoy them. They may not be as elegant as the pieces Bruce created, but I think they'll brighten someone's Christmas morning!

Another Day At The Office

Day 64: The first four hours of my workday were spent listening to a series of fascinating student presentations, the culmination of a course-cum-volunteer experience developed by The Evergreen State College. I was delighted with the variety of approaches the students took in examining the human interface with Nature. That said, we had a bit of it going on both outside and inside the Longmire Community Building. It had been snowing most of the morning, Mount Rainier hidden somewhere among the clouds. The snow stopped as we were preparing to take a short break between panels, and a shout from one person brought most of the group outside to see the Mountain's new finery, those of us with cameras rapidly clicking away. It was good to be up and active, since someone had neglected to turn on the heat in the building and the indoor temperature had barely crept above 55°. I was glad to get back to the office in the afternoon, first priority a cup of hot coffee. The students split into small groups and went hiking, thoroughly enjoying this conclusive chapter in their studies.

Objects In Mirror...

Day 63: This marks the second time in my life I've done this, and today, the weather was a little better than the first time. At least this time, I had my cell phone in my pocket instead of being able to see it laying on the seat. At least this time, I had a phone number for Roadside Assistance. At least this time, I was on a major road where someone actually came by and stopped to ask if I was okay. At least this time, it didn't take three and a half hours to get back in the running car.

There is an up side here, if you look carefully. I was wearing a waterproof jacket. I have free Roadside Assistance through my dealership. I was near a town instead of being in the Back of Beyond. I was dressed warmly. I had the camera to keep me amused while I waited for help to arrive. That said, I suggest you read the text on the mirror carefully as you're chuckling at my predicament. Just sayin'.

Raven Bead

Day 62: I seem to be in a monochrome phase lately. I like monochromes, particularly sepiatone/albumen processing, but sometimes when one of these moods hits, I want to make everything monochrome. This is actually a compromise. The Raven Bead is a color layer. The bead is made of "imitation ivory" and the color rendition seemed richer than the albumen conversion and carried the detail of the carving better.

The bead was a gift from a friend many years ago. It is strung with green glass beads above the Raven and is counterweighted with two carved clay beads at the opposite end of the cord. A crow feather is tied in the center of the cord and the whole piece hangs at one corner of a picture frame. The scrollwork is the edge of the frame. Crows and Ravens fill many niches in my home, but this beautiful bead deserved a place of honor where it can be seen every day.

Cardinals

Day 61: The Cardinal, that iconic Bird of Christmas, does not occur in the Pacific Northwest, nor in many other western states. Why, then, do I always hunt for Christmas cards with Cardinals on them? Is it that Cardinals are so festive in their bright red feathers and their perky little crests? A Steller's Jay is just as beautiful (and bigger, I might add), and Cedar Waxwings are pretty too. How did Cardinals steal the show?

I remember seeing my first Cardinal on a trip back east a few years ago. I was utterly thrilled, and not just because I got to add a new bird to my Life List. Finally, the mythological Christmas symbol had proved itself to exist! I felt like I'd just witnessed Santa on a rooftop or Rudolph grazing apples off snow-burdened tree. A Cardinal! Never mind that the bird was much smaller than I'd expected, for what he lacks in stature, the Cardinal makes up for in vibrant color. I was surprised too at this bird's voice which sounds nothing like any other topknotted species in my acquaintance. It is melodious, a songbird's voice, and so unlike the raucous calls of the Jays.

The Cardinal, of course, is not a Jay. Nor is it a member of the corvid family. I had to dispel those illusions early in my career as a birder. A topknot does not a jaybird make, but perhaps the physical similarities are part of my fascination with "redbirds." In any event, there is no denying that a Cardinal signifies Christmas cheer, and thus I wish you the spirit of the season. Enjoy these delightful creatures if they come to your back yard, and let them sign my best wishes to you!

Ooooh, Shiny!

Day 60: Just like my corvid namesakes, this Crow likes shiny objects, and just as my cousins are wont to do, I collect them, play with them for a while, and then cache them away somewhere and promptly forget all about them. Occasionally, I revisit the spots where they're stashed for some other purpose and then experience a delightful moment of surprise as forgotten treasures are turned out into the light.

This cloisonné vase dates back to my late husband's jewelry-making days. He made purchases of raw gem materials, silver and gold casting grain and other professional supplies from a variety of outlets, some of which also wholesaled imports. Oftentimes, Christmas morning would be populated with an array of beautiful dust-catchers he'd gathered in his visits to the dealers, objects which would spend a year or so on display in our home and then be put away to make room for the next influx. Eventually, I had to weed out all but a few favorites. The cloisonné vase survived the culling, although it was wrapped and put into storage. Today as I hunted for something else, it resurfaced long enough for this photo. Some day, I'll "find" it again and be equally surprised.