Posts tagged ‘Freshly Pressed’

“The cure for boredom is curiosity…”


“…There is no cure for curiosity.” – Dorothy Parker

Boredom brings on a quick post about goats! Hopefully, my readers will enjoy the side-step.

Our friends, Will and Jenny had a few fainting goats, until they recently moved house. Since the goats and I seemed to be on the same sleep schedule, I was able to shoot a few pics of the capras while visiting. They are adorable. I must not have frightened them, as they didn’t faint once. Oh well, that would probably have made me feel awful anyway.

Steve, my husband, is afraid I will amass a small farm when we get our own place with a bit of land. He has good reason to worry, bless him. *wink*

“Uncertainty and mystery are energies of life. Don’t let them scare you unduly, for they keep boredom at bay and spark creativity.” R. I. Fitzhenry
 
All pictures ©Carol A Bourns 2010

To Market To Market…


Just a few more pictures from the BFM. Enjoy!

All pictures ©Carol A Bourns 2010

Bellingham Books


Today, I became an official ‘hamster, so to speak. I went to the Whatcom County Central Public Library and acquired my library card! I am like a kid in a candy store, when inside a library. You can’t believe the excitement I feel when walking into a library or bookstore. My automatic response is “So Much Knowledge! I want to read it all!”

That’s all for now.

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I MUST be a geek. I get excited about library cards. Sheesh…

We No Speak Americano


Excellent entertainment from Cleary, Harding and Reed at Up and Over It.
Check out their site. It is well worth your time!

Scooter Love: Vroom Vroom


As you probably guessed, by seeing some of the links on the sidebar and my avatar, I LOVE scooters. You know, the two-wheeled, gas-engine kind. Think Quadrophenia and Roman Holiday with the wind in your hair (or rather rushing past your helmet, of course), and feeling more in contact with your surroundings than a “cage” (aka four-wheeled vehicle) could ever allow you to feel…ever.

My Scooter Love affair started when I was sixteen-years old and never died. But the love affair had to be more of a crush, a fan-based crush, for twenty-four years, as I wasn’t allowed to obtain a scooter for various reasons. First, my parents feared, as any good parent would, that I would kill myself on two-wheels. Then, as I grew into adulthood, my worry replaced theirs and financial reasons got in the way. I drooled over others’ scooters, the green-eyed monster rearing its ugly head. And I could only dream about owning and riding my own. Or so I let myself think. The power of thought is a fantastic tool, for good or evil.

I had been to scooter rallies in the U.S. and the U.K., rode pillion (on the back) of scooters and motorcycles for years and then, finally, at forty-years old, I met a few local scooterists and decided that it was “now or never” time to purchase my own scooter. I had to or I felt like I was going to regret it until the day I died.

My cousin, Barb, lives her life to the fullest. While I was going through a personal crisis in my thirties, feeling like I was wasting my life, she told me that forty was even better and not to worry. She truly lives her life: rides a motorcycle; became the president and CEO of her family company; the first female president of the local contractors’ association; and goes on adventures when she can fit it in her busy schedule. She is an inspiration and an incredible woman. She was correct about turning forty.

Maybe my love of two-wheels also was ignited by my mother. I remember my parents going out into the wilderness, when I was a child, to ride dirt bikes with their friends. Mom’s dirt bike was purple, if I recollect correctly — with a matching, sparkly helmet, of course! Hey, it WAS the 70s! She often would let me ride on the back of her bike during short, slow, and safe rides.

Only having flashbacks of standing in a dusty clearing of the woods, waiting for the other riders to return, I had forgotten all about the riding along part. But one day — during my drive-everyone-to-insanity scooter search — she smiled, kind of chuckled and reminded me of those rides. Laughing, she said it was probably her fault that I had such a passion to find my OWN scooter, not just ride on the back.

Fast forward to 2004, I met and fell in love with a mod/scooterist in England at the first ever Modstock, while on vacation. He owned (still owns, hopefully) two beautiful scooters: a P-series, T5, 172Vespa and a Lambretta 200 Special (SX200),  both faithfully restored and GORGEOUS. Sadly, I only was allowed a few rides on the Vespa, as a pillion, before we parted ways. There are not enough words to describe riding through the English countryside, your arms wrapped around a cute guy, feeling connected and alive with everything whizzing past you. You can smell everything, feel the wind on your face, the rumble of the scooter below doesn’t hurt, and people SMILE at you as you ride by. Now try that with about a hundred scooters riding together, during a rally, and people stop and take pictures. It’s magic!


To be fair, my first ride on a scooter, as a pillion, was on my friend Nick’s Vespa. He named her “Vicky”. Cute, eh? Nick and I took off from his flat on a crisp, English morning and rode down some narrow, ancient streets, onto the motorway and made our way to a scooter get-together in the town centre of Birmingham. I still remember one stop where we had a quick snap taken by a couple of men standing on the sidewalk, and he leaned back a bit to yell over the engine’s loud putt-putt-putt, “Don’t you just love being a Mod?” I had the biggest grin on my face at that moment. Scooter LOVE! (Check out his amazing scooter art here. He takes commissions too!)
– Update 2012: Links broken – trying to get new info to link-up. If you would like the info now, remember Google is your friend.)

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Once Upon a Time …


Everybody was young, once upon a time; playing, hoping, dreaming. They figured for themselves a future that became their reality (if they were lucky and determined), maybe something to keep on their perpetual “to-do” list, or a weight to wear daily as their mantle of self-disappointment.

This is just something that I have been thinking about ….

The surest way to corrupt a youth is to instruct him to hold in higher esteem those who think alike than those who think differently
Friedrich Nietzsche (18441900.)

How beautiful is youth! how bright it gleams with its illusions, aspirations, dreams! Book of Beginnings, Story without End, Each maid a heroine, and each man a friend!” –  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (18071882)

…and I will leave you with this: “If youth be a defect, it is one that we outgrow only too soon.” James Russell Lowell

The Diva and The Jedi


Did I ever mention that I have a living alarm clock (LAC)? Yes, it is true. Somehow, I can never get it set to the appropriate time for my roll out. It has a mind of its own and it has decided that any time between 5:30 and 6 a.m. is a perfectly fantastic time to go off every single morning.

Even on the weekend, it refuses to let me use the snooze button. On the rare occasion that is doesn’t try to rouse me at the aforementioned time, somewhere in my (obviously, messed up) subconscious I get concerned that the LAC is broken. I then wake up at its “set” time anyway, just to check. The LAC knows how to “set” me, not the other way around.

Given that it is of the feline persuasion, I guess that is to be expected. Someone fed the LAC once, maybe twice, at 6 a.m. and now that is de facto breakfast time; no excuses. There are no “snoozes” without being bothered constantly. The torture can go on for hours. Trust me; I have tested various ways to shut my LAC off, to gain those few, extra, precious hours one might get to sleep in on the weekend, with no luck.

The LAC has a step-by-step procedure that ensures its success (a full tummy) and my grumbling first thing in the morning, every morning. It begins with the sweet “stare at mom intently right near her face” bit, then the famous “whiskers are for tickling mom’s face to wake her up” trick. Now, you have to give LAC credit for being gentle with me at first. That is a very kind gesture, but the torture progresses.

The previous actions are followed by the infamous “I’ll just give her a light tap on her nose, maybe her eyelid” and then (if the alarm clock is feeling extra-fancy) “If I add just a little claw to that pat thing, she will stir, I know it.”; both LAC patented moves. Lately, “Let’s nip at her fingers that gets her stirring.” has been added to the repertoire. Good one, LAC. Good one.

Sleeping with the covers over my head doesn’t work, as I can’t breathe under there and the LAC loves getting under the covers. Also, bumping (ahem,I meant gently nudging) her off the bed and saying (well, really, whinging) “Nooooo…Go awaaaay….I am trying to sleep.” never works. (Note to self: Yeah, like that’s ever going to work.) She just snuggles under the covers to continue the bothering or jumps back up and resumes her step-by-step attack at point one. Now, I may be complaining, but I wouldn’t give up my LAC for the world. I would feel lost without my living alarm clock. Even as I am composing this post, she is repeatedly begging me for a few of the treats “hidden” in the night stand drawer. Her name is Pandora and she has been my “baby” for sixteen years. Read more…