Rice Fields

I don't get too many beautiful pictures from our area of Texas, but I always enjoy driving by a few small rice fields near our house. And I love to run out the door to see what kind of cropduster is turning around over our house. And sometimes I see pinkish or white birds along the ditches in the rice fields. Some clever photographer needs to get a picture of them (cropduster, birds).

Michigan

A few pictures from our trip to Michigan in August. We visited some old friends there that we'd seen twice in 17 years. They have a lovely home and we had a lovely time. We relaxed on their back patio and saw wild turkeys. Al and Mr. Timmer had long conversations while Mrs. Timmer and I went to the beach and watched wind-surfers and a boat that takes passengers for a short jaunt (and also had long conversations).

Texas Memories

Do I need to label these?

Old Friend

I can't imagine a better dog than Juneau. Sometimes I see dogs here that look approximately like he did, but they have perkier ears, which makes them look too sassy. It's the partly-droopy ears that gave Juneau his appeal. And his ears would disappear instantly every time he saw my face, even at a distance. Putting ears down is a sign of submission and respect, and also says "I'm sweet, aren't I?"
When Juneau first showed up on our property in Indiana, we didn't want another dog. Jeshurun especially insisted we didn't need another dog, and I agreed, and assured him I wasn't feeding him. "But you're smiling at him!" Jeshurun replied. Then Jesh took Juneau down the road in his pick-up truck and dropped him off somewhere. Juneau got back before Jesh did. So we didn't adopt him, he adopted us. And we said no, no, no, yes.
Once he got hit by a car and broke all his ribs on one side. For several days after that he looked very very sad and walked very very slowly. After that he was fine, except maybe he didn't have quite as much wind as he used to.
On one pleasant Indiana night, I went outside about midnight and watched Juneau running fast in large circles in the moonlight. I think he achieved what Beethoven never did -- at least one moment of pure joy.
Juneau had one sad incident when he stepped on a bees' nest and they all started attacking him. He jumped up and down yelping and finally ran through the screen in our sliding door. I have to confess that I laughed seeing him jumping up and down. We never did replace that screen.
Juneau was a moderately smart dog, and could have learned a lot if he had had more training, especially when he was younger. When I called him, he would stop and sit in front of me. Then when I said, "Heel," he would bounce into position beside me. Since it was hard to walk with him beside me and keep him from taking off, I would walk a few paces, stop, expecting him to sit immediately, and then repeat the process. Soon he would look at me with a laughing face as if to say, "I know this game!"
He was always so good-natured, but he had a few naughty spells, such as when a kitten or a small dog got too near his food dish. He beat up and chased away a neighbor's dog, and afterwards walked around with his head high, so proud of himself, but not looking at me--he knew I was mad at him.
When he got older Ben took care of him and took him on long walks around the block (3 miles?). I had a feeling he wouldn't be around much longer when I went to Israel. He's buried without a marker, but I'll never forget him.

An old song:

Old dog Tray's ever faithful
Grief cannot drive him away.
He's gentle, he is kind;
You'll never, never find
A better friend than old dog Tray.

Back to Normal

Blogspot seems to have gotten over its bugs, although that last post didn't post till sometime later, and who knows what this one will do.
Life is starting to return to normal. It took me a long time to get over jet lag, partly because I didn't try to, but stayed up till unreasonable hours every night.
Then I decided to work on a quilt project, which involved working out a pattern for some pieces that I brought from home. More pieces will have to be cut sometime; and sometime in the unforeseeable future, maybe I will start sewing them together. But that's a back-burner project now, since I have to put my composer-linguist hat back on. My hat says composer on the front and linguist on the back. Unless I turn it inside-out (which might be right-side out, I forget which is which), and then it says linguist on the front and composer on the back.
After reading a book on getting things done, I got into a getting-organized frame of mind, which may have been partly successful. If I am going to get an electric piano, I am going to have to make space for it. And if I am going to be pianolating or pianifying or pianolyzing, in addition to what I do now, I'll have to regulate my time better. I hope to get something accomplished day by day, without always getting burnt out to keep from being bored or burnt out to keep from feeling guilty.
I hope to finish reading through the book of Psalms in Hebrew (with English alongside) by the end of October. In evening worship we've been reading Genesis in Hebrew. The problem with that is that in the evening I am getting so sleepy that I can't make my eyes focus on Hebrew letters. About bedtime I get a second wind, and then I like to stay up late because it's nice and quiet. Not a good idea really. I need to get up with the sun.
I discovered a website with many children's books, originally written in English, all converted to pdf's and translated into Hebrew. I was surprised to find how few good books there are, or have been, for the last 50 years. The artwork is often terrible, and some of the stories are too much into weird fantasy and magic. And the artwork is terrible. Seems like that I need to say that twice. I can tolerate a lot of fantasy and a lot of different styles of art, but even so I find many children's books ugly and intolerable. But reading children's books is a very good way to learn Hebrew. You learn language relating to everyday situations. I'm not interested in politics or current events (however there are planes flying overhead and I wonder what's happening in Gaza about now). I just need to know about home life, plants, animals, and people doing ordinary things, speaking ordinary language, and having ordinary thoughts. A book helps you catch up on what you didn't run into in real life because you just happened to be on a different continent.

It Did!

I don't get it.

But this one won't post either.

And it won't save.

So what if I set it to post in two minutes?

It didn't.

Would Pooh Bear have a wise comment at a time like this? Or maybe Snooopy?

blogger wogging

what's the trick here
I can't get it to edit
it won't post either
it won't save
it says it posted and nothing posted
I check options
I sign out
I do this and that
and this time it's going to work, right

wrong

it did auto-save for some reason so maybe it's ok now

nope

I'll set it to post in two minutes
it won't, of course

Writers and Artists

Sharon says that she wants to be able to say, "I write." Here are a few of my thoughts on that subject.
Everything that you write on a blog has to suitable for those who you know read it, and also for those who might read it. Maybe "walk circumspectly" applies here -- with a view to things all around. I don't want to put on a different face for one person, and another for another. But the truth is, I have more than one face, and more than one hat, though I try to see that they are all honest and to some extent line up with each other.
I enjoy the writing of anybody that can write better than I can. Especially if they also happen to write on a subject that I am interested in, or have experiences that I can relate to. I'll never forget reading a blog by a woman who had to put ear-mite medicine in her cat's ears. It couldn't have been funnier, or more realistic.
I labeled myself "composer-linguist" at one point. Maybe I should qualify that and say "I would like to be a composer and a linguist." But you could look at it this way: If I am an artist and spend most of my time painting, and I'm not really satisfied with my painting, and no one likes my paintings and no one buys them, and it never gets any better, I am still going to call myself an artist, because that's what I am at heart, and because that's, well, what I do. Compared to another artist, I may be nothing. But compared to a non-artist, I am an artist.
So I am a composer and a linguist. Today, at least. I did indeed compose two songs several years ago that several people liked and I would like to get them printed out and/or recorded sometime. Er, yeah, sometime.
I have stayed away from Facebook, for obvious reasons, but I do feel like I'm missing something. I like to know what's going on. Blogging for me takes a lot of time, because I have to re-write every paragraph several times to make it sound right, and then maybe I change my mind and write something else. I would rather be brief, spontaneous, and somehow instantly be able to decide what is useful or edifying or necessary, without always concluding, as I most often do, that silence is safer, and therefore better.

Rain gets things wet

It was a good thing I decided to unpack last night, because I found out my suitcases were somewhat wet inside (the outside had already dried), due to their sitting outside a while in the New York airport. I had to hang some clothes out and throw away some soaked papers. Fortunately some photos I had were wrapped in plastic and were undamaged.
It is wonderfully quiet here. I expect that that will get old after a while, but for now I really like it. I can coast for a while, and think, and regroup (I hate that word! Please help me think of a better one!) You can think in a very fast, alert way when you're maneuvering in big city traffic; but there is another kind of thinking that is just as important, like when you're canoeing down a slow river, and you ignore deadlines, and you see everything beautiful around you, and all the other stuff goes to the back of your mind, and it's still there, but you're not fighting with it or trying to figure it out. It is vain to rise up early (or stay up late) to eat the bread of sorrows. How many sorrows we make for ourselves! Man is born for trouble, as the sparks fly upward. A spark doesn't have much say-so about anything.

But, "Fear not, I have overcome the world."

I like these words, though spoken by ungodly men: "Thou, O Lord, hast done as it pleased thee." Jonah 1:14
We wouldn't think it very good if one were to say of a man, "He does as he pleases." But it is altogether good for God to do as he pleases.
Job 37:23 "Touching the Almighty, we cannot find him out: he is excellent in power, and in judgment, and in plenty of justice: he will not afflict."

For the Children

When I was a little girl I had a book of 365 one- or two-page stories, and I loved it to pieces. And recently I heard from somebody that somebody wants me to write a story. So, having just read the story about the bald frog with a wig, I decided I should tell the one about the bald toad with a wig.

Bald Toad with a Wig
There was a bald toad who wanted to wear a wig. After all, friend Frog wore one. So he bought one and all his friends said, "Cool! You look just like a frog." But he didn't want to look like a frog so he took his wig off and lived happily ever after.

Moral #1: You can (sometimes) tell a frog from a toad by his wig.
Moral #2: Sometimes your friends will think you're cool when really you look like a frog.

Also: Wog and Tog
Wog was an average worm. Tog was a very special worm. He had it all together. That's why they called him Tog. Wog was a bit envious because Tog got all the attention.
But one day, matters changed. Tog got put in a can of worms! "Oh dear!" worried Wog. "Next thing you know he'll be on a hook. I'd better try and help him!"
So he wiggled and wiggled with all his might, until boy-with-can finally noticed him and put him in the can with Tog. Together they plotted how they would get out. They decided to tie themselves together. The boy saw them and said, "Wa-hoa! A double worm! I'll hang it on my hook by the knot." As soon as he did, Wog and Tog untied themselves, fell to the ground, and immediately disappeared into the dirt.
After that, they both made a point of not wiggling around except when truly necessary. And of course, they made sure to hide themselves deep underground if they heard footsteps of boy-with-can. The End.

I'll have to try a little harder if I want to write any stories worth putting in a book, but maybe this will do for practice.

On the Way Home (not LIW)

We left Houston at 11:30 for New York. It was beautiful approaching New York. I looked down on some very beautiful houses, each surrounded by a few acres of land with lots of very green trees. Then the houses got smaller and the lots got smaller, but they were still very nice. After that the houses were smaller yet, but still not small -- nice-looking two-story houses. Then there were blockier houses and apartments, and finally we flew over the city itself, and it wasn't bad.

We were delayed getting out of New York and the rest was the usual ordeal of flying west to east, listening to the roaring air, and sitting in a seat designed for someone with a hunched back or someone who can miraculously breath sufficiently in a very hunched position. We arrived in Tel-Aviv at 6 p.m. Houston time, and home in Jerusalem at 8 p.m. Maybe now I'll reset my watch, since I need to shed my Houston skin and emerge with my Jerusalem skin. Or maybe I'll stay in my cocoon until I get a night's sleep (I got almost none on the plane.)

I dreaded entering my very small apartment after being in a house with space, but when I walked into my nice, clean simple kitchen, I felt fairly satisfied after all.

However I don't feel like unpacking, since there's nowhere to unpack to. I brought back more than I went away with. Those "space solutions" they advertise don't work unless you have some space to start with. I can hang five shirts on one hanger, but then where do I hang the hanger? Maybe I should just stuff them into boxes and get used to ironing. Not a bad idea, really.