If you did not hear the news story that inspired today’s post, please see Rick Perry Suggests Global Warming is a Hoax.
(Click twice to see it full-size)
If you did not hear the news story that inspired today’s post, please see Rick Perry Suggests Global Warming is a Hoax.
(Click twice to see it full-size)
The rainmakers have undeniably taken an extended holiday this summer, and the sparkling fountain surrounded by grapevine-shaded tables tucked behind Firehook Bakery offers a welcome retreat from hot city sidewalks.
Drops in rain language have not yet begun to stutter in the cloud throat. The thunder mouth is toothless and lighting has not yet flicked the spotlights on in the pupil of the eye. Until the stoves are lit, sleeves will be rolled up on the arms of the sun, another demonstration will erupt in the clandestine curves of the girl who in a Trieste piazza has wet her lips with wine and the summer will send gangsters to repulse autumn’s gunmen from the border of its waves. —Ronny SomeckJulia McWilliams Child (1912-2004) would probably be horrified at the departure from classic cuisine depicted herein, but I post it in a spirit of unequivocal admiration for her blend of the classic and the unconventional that made her both compelling and beloved.
Today is the birthday of the woman who probably did more than any other individual to open the eyes and broaden the palates of American cooks. I recall my mother and her best friend watching reruns of The French Chef and using their families as guinea pigs for meals drawn from Mastering the Art of French Cooking. For which we were not entirely grateful at the time—children being creatures of habit—but which inevitably expanded and uplifted our tastes. Happy Birthday Julia, and merci mille fois.
Today is also the Feast of the Assumption, one of the the many holy days which the French honor in sacred traditional fashion: that is, taking off from work and heading out of town for some R&R (if they are not already there, it being, after all, the month of August). For a comic, please see Assumption.
This year, the evening of August 12th is the peak viewing time for the Perseid meteor shower. Congratulations, you lucky folk who happen to be in the mountains, on the prairie, at the beach, or in any location far from city lights! Set your alarm clock for midnight (if you are not still awake at this time), spread a blanket outside, lie down facing the northeast, and watch for shooting stars. Unfortunately this year the Perseids coincide with the nearly-full moon (of August 13th), so you may miss the faint ones. But even lying under a big golden moon at midnight is a treat.
For a larger picture and a little more about the Perseid meteor shower, please see Night of the Shooting Stars.
In honor of the birthday today of Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892), I post this painting and poem—also suitably celebratory for Trish and Jason’s anniversary.
Move eastward, happy earth, and leave Yon orange sunset waning slow: From fringes of the faded eve, O, happy planet, eastward go: Till over thy dark shoulder glow Thy silver sister world, and rise To glass herself in dewey eyes That watch me from the glen below. Ah, bear me with thee, lightly borne, Dip forward under starry light, And move me to my marriage-morn, And round again to happy night.—Alfred, Lord Tennyson
On this day in 1858, Julia Archibold Holmes became the first woman to reach the top of Pikes Peak. For a sketch and a story, please see Mountain Woman.
(Click on it twice to see this larger.)
For a view of the Teaparty folks in childhood, please see the comic Li’l Patriots.
In honor of the birthday today of Frédéric Auguste Bartholdi (1834-1904), sculptor of the Statue of Liberty, please see the comic Illegal Immigration.