where I explain a photo

It seems my filing system is perhaps the most boring on the planet. I've been tagged by Sistertex to show the fourth photo in the fourth folder of where I store my pictures. I have a haphazard system of moving photos into folders that are named such things as "blogger pics" and "violet's pics" as they are posted. I have no idea at the moment whether I thought there should be a difference in these folders, as they both seem to hold photos that have been posted to my blog. I also have a folder named "family pics". Since I rarely think to take people photos, most of these are a collection of photos that other people have taken and sent on to me. Bless them for that.
Thereafter most of my photos are listed by date uploaded. Which makes it difficult to find certain ones at times. I think about reorganizing, but am a) lazy and b) overwhelmed by the fact that I haven't deleted any unless they were truly bad. Some are not even in folders and I still have not figured out why.

I was feeling a tad worried about this tag thinking, maybe I should just randomly open my pictures and keep looking until I found a nice picture with a story attached... but, I played by the rules and it worked out nicely without any covert cheating on my part.

So, before we begin, here are the rules:
1. Open the fourth folder where you store your photos
2. Go to the fourth photo in that folder.
3. Explain the photo.
4. Tag four people to do the same.

Hmmm, so consider yourselves tagged: Geewits, Susan, Oliag, Jazz.

Now, back to me.

So, since I bought my camera to take with me on my first, and so far only, trip to New York City, my 4th folder is the first dated one in 2008 (after the three 'named' ones I mentioned above). The 4th pic is this:

And the story is (partly) this:

I went to NYC in January to meet up with an Australian friend who was stopping over on her way home from Peru. It seemed a long way around to get back to Melbourne, and it involved a few days in Portugal, where quite frankly, I would rather have gone to meet her. For some reason, New York did not hold much interest for me, especially in late January. My friend, Fiona, really wanted to go shopping on Fifth Avenue, and I really did not. I thought we'll have to go to Central Park because we were staying right there, but it being in the dead of winter, I figured a quick peek in and out would suffice.

I was so wrong. I spent more time wandering through and around that Park than anywhere else. I could not get enough of it. The bare trees only enhanced the view and reaffirmed its immense size. People were friendly and helpful in giving directions. Even though the weather was warm enough to feel like an early spring, I ever so briefly thought it might be fun to go skating. I was a little surprised to discover you had to pay for the privilege (on top of the skate rental) and since I hadn't skated in far too many years to know if I still could, I contented myself with more walking. I found some hot pretzels and sat on a rock and watched the skaters before wandering the streets of Manhattan. Alone. Because somehow I lost Fiona.

That is another story, unrelated to this particular photo.

a stressful golden win

BEIJING - The greatest wheelchair racer in Paralympic history added another first yesterday as Chantal Petitclerc of Montreal won gold medals 80 minutes apart in front of a roaring crowd jammed into the 91,000-seat National Stadium.
A crazy athletics schedule had the women's T54 200 and 800-metre races run not only on the same evening, but just a short time apart.
But it didn't faze the incomparable 38-year-old Petitclerc, who just keeps getting better with age. She won both events in world record time, smashing her own marks in the process.
"I told my coach never again, this was a stressful day," said Petitclerc, who now has won four gold medals in Beijing after sweeping all five events she entered in Athens in 2004. "I think when I go back to the village and get into my room with those two gold medals and think about it ... it's just amazing."

Nobody is mentally tougher or physically as strong as the broad-shouldered Petitclerc, who now has 20 Paralympic medals from five Games in her outstanding career.

Petitclerc will go for her fifth gold medal tomorrow in the 1,500 metres, then call it quits on her Paralympic career to concentrate on road racing and marathons.
-Gary Kingston, National Post.

So where, you might well ask is the TV coverage of these incredible athletes? These sports are just as exciting - if not more - than the 'regular' Olympics, which got blanket coverage. The stories of some of the athletes are inspirational to the nth degree. Their struggles and accomplishments are far and beyond what most of us able-bodied couch potatoes could imagine. Farther than what most able-bodied athletes could imagine, I assume, but I not one of those, so I will only speak on behalf of those of us who get excited over the thrills and spills of those who will endure anything for their dream.

The Paralympics are treated as an add-on to the Olympics. As a humouring of the athletes. Held afterwards, as if an afterthought. It is insulting to the Paralympians competing.

I Kick Ass, in an unspectacular way.

I have been a little neglectful.

But really, it was all so overwhelming.

It seems that even while I'm on holiday, I can still Kick Ass. And I should acknowledge it before Urban Animal comes to find me and actually kicks my ass for not mentioning my NEWEST AWARD.

Also, while still on holiday, I got tagged by Frogdancer over at Dancing With Frogs.

TWO Recognitions! I think I actually squealed when I read them. Abby looked up at me from her sleeping post on the footstool, and I could just tell by her eyes, and the strange curve of her mouth that stifled a yawn, that she was thinking: oh god, please no, she's going to want to tell me about this, whatever it is and I'll need to go find somewhere else to sleep. And off she ambled to another room. I followed her anyway and tried to explain my excitement but she was having none of it and took a sharp right turn to the litter box, turning to glance my way with a look that could only say: privacy, please. I knew better than to continue following. She's a quiet, wordless cat, with a potent litter box.

Anyway, thank you Urban Animal. And I know, I'm supposed to pass it on, but after my last post, probably no one wants to know about my ass kicking abilities!

But, from Frogdancer, I need to list 6 unspectacular things about myself.

Only 6?? I came up with 35. Oh well. Here's my list:

1. I am nervous around dogs. More afraid of being licked than bitten.


2. Once a year, or so, I remember that I have pierced ears and will wear earrings to see if the holes have closed up.


3. I will not eat mushrooms. Or olives. Ever. If you order a pizza with those on it, I will studiously pick out every mushroomy, olivey (and green peppery, just in case) looking bits on each slice before taking a bite.


4. Sleeping is a favourite pastime. I wish to be a pampered cat in my next life.


5. I talk about drinking much more than I actually drink. Alcohol. Not coffee. That I do drink more than I talk about.


6. Until 5 years ago I had the same prescription for eye glasses as when I was 12. But not the same glasses.
   

Now, the rules are that I also tag 6 others with a reason for choosing them. Well, my reason is the same for all of you. I'm interested in your writings of your little world you live in and am nosy enough to ask for more.

• Grumpy Old Ken because you tell such great stories of your life
• Sagittarian for your great Kiwi videos you share
• Whim because you have so much honesty in your life story and will soon be famously on a billboard
• Gwen for the amazing art you do which almost tells a story by itself
• Robin for your descriptions of your neighbourhood and work, the good and the bad
• Mr Nighttime because you also want to be a writer, so must share all.
  

Now I'm off to spread the good news.

cheeky wee bissum

Something in the crisper, autumnal night air makes the stars shine that much brighter.

And in Iceland, this little feature was on the tv. I found this link on Alda's blog and just had to share it with you all.

Don't tell me you haven't always wondered...

http://dagskra.ruv.is/streaming/sjonvarpid/?file=4431207/1

The accent and translation are a little baffling (unless you are Scots or Icelandic).
Commercials follow the display ...

BTW Scotland won 2-1.

flirt not that ye shall be seen as ...

There is a night concierge at one of the condos I deliver to. He sees my car coming up to the front of the building on his monitor, and he rushes up from his desk to open the door for me. He is always friendly, smiling, joking, flirting. He pays me little empty compliments, commenting on my t-shirt with the deer on it, how I always have a smile, how my eyes sparkle in the moonlight, how lovely my hair looks, how he likes it long. But, when my mother died, he made a point of expressing his condolences (I gather my co-worker told him why he had to deal with her instead of me, the smiling one, for a few nights).
I look forward to this bright spot in a dark night of working alone. His routine is what makes me smile when I get to that part of my route.

On Friday, I had my hair done. It is much shorter, a little different shade.

He didn't notice!

A flirt should pay attention to their flirting comments, don't you think?

spiralling into a calm

So, I have this friend....

With a heart of gold. Who would offer to do anything for you. Expect nothing in return, except your happiness. Who is always blindsided when his generosity is not appreciated because sometimes what he wants you to have is not always what you want.

I fly out on Thursday with a 75 minute layover at JFK and arrive for my cousin to pick me up at 6:55 am. She will be so excited to see me she won't mind getting up at dawn...

I have no idea what this has cost my friend. He refuses to say. He is just happy that he thinks I am now happy. And that he was able to make it all better.

It's a complicated relationship.
I am biting my tongue. I am too exhausted to do anything else.
Thanks for putting up with my venting.

Name That Person

Hands up how many of you do not like your name? How many of you spent your childhood dreaming of a more suitable or romantic name? Or of a less silly or hard to pronounce name?

I am not old enough to remember the days when foreign born pupils would arrive at school and have a "Canadian" or "English" name bestowed on them from a list in the teacher's drawer but I do remember teachers, and some kids themselves, simply anglicizing some: Pavel, you are now Paul; Ruqqiya, we'll just call you Ricki; Krysia, you'll be Christine. Thankfully that doesn't happen anymore. Though a friend of mine, who teaches in Mississauga where there is a very large East Indian population, says it takes her months to learn some of her pupils' names due to the complexity of syllables and sounds and not having any English reference point for the names.

But that is altogether different than what some parents will do to come up with a unique name for their child which is seldom appreciated as much by the so named. Take Talula Does The Hula From Hawaii. Please, she begged, take it and just call me 'K'. The news report does not mention what her New Zealand parents names are. Quite possibly Ann & John.

Some names seem to garner far more ridicule than they deserve. I have no problem with Apple. It is a little odd (though Peaches [Geldof] is odder). Really, what is the difference between flower names and fruit names? Why is one more acceptable than the other? Soap operas were always good for geological names like River, Stone, Ridge, Brooke, Lake, Leigh, Sierra. And geographical names are now common: Montana, Dakota, Denver, Madison, Logan, Kingston. I rather like the sound of Alaska, though I doubt it would ever become a popular name.

I personally know a Sandy Beech and a Sandi Whyte-Beach (she is constantly having to give the correct order of the vowels). And I had a friend with the unfortunate moniker of Phyllis Diller. Her parents had never heard of the famous comedienne, and in fact she grew up without television so it was years before she fully comprehended just why so many people snickered when they heard her name.

The name I grew up with was very common in my day. There were four of us (boys and girls) on our block and seven others of us in my grade 7 home room in my first year of junior high. Later, I worked in an office where there were five of us out of a staff of 28 all with a variety of spellings.

I longed for an unusual name, but one of my own choosing. I loved baby name books and would collect names for myself, my imaginary friends, my unborn children, my pets. Some of them, I look back on now and wonder: what was I thinking? Did I really want to have a name beginning with 'Q'? And the obsession with Welsh and Gaelic names - especially since I later found out my pronunciation of some them was way off. A while ago I found an interesting site, a Baby Name Map, which I now share with you to find the popularity of names in your area of the world. Or someone elses area of the world. Choose wisely.