Oklahoma is OK!

At the museum of art in downtown Oklahoma City Dale Chihuly exhibits his wondrous work in glass art. The photo above shows part of the ocean hallway. Here and there he includes cheruby angels, and in my photograph I include a human angel who admires his work. Dale Chihuly's exhibit provides a visual and visceral experience to the visitor.


Not far from downtown stands an historic mansion where the community-minded fellow Mr. Oberholser lived during the early part of last century. The windows depicting musicians caught my eye.


Nearby, the Harn Farm, donated by the Harn family to the city, still maintains the buildings used some decades ago. I took a photograph of the inside of the Stoney Brook schoolhouse, which closed in the mid-1950's.


Of all things I saw, the small space between two rooms upstairs in the Oberholser Mansion seemed the most inviting to me: a painting; a bookcase with encyclopedias and a dictionary; and a chair to sit in while I read them.


Later in the day, walking around Bricktown I came upon a sculpture of an apparent African-American pushing a large sphere up two parallel metal rails. I thought it looked beautiful. Did it symbolize Sisyphus and his struggles to reflect the struggles that our black people endure in our predominantly white culture? I do not know, and nor could I discover the name of the artist, which gives me a second reason to re-visit the sculpture sometime in the future.

Gnome at An End

This morning a dove took flight. I felt happy for her, except that she needs to remain in her cage to recover from her head trauma. She surprised me with her nimble and sudden escape; the moment I opened her little cage door, she jumped from her perch and flew under my hand. Second thing I thought: Close all three doors. Third thing: She seems safe under the table, so I cleaned her cage, brought fresh food and water, then proceeded to thinking about action number four: Capture her. So I gently walked toward her, which frightened her, of course, so she jumped up and flapped her wings to move away from me. She stopped at a corner. So I had to then proceed to action number five, but I didn't know how to capture her. I thought of myself as MUCH smarter than this -- plunging into things not having thought them through. Just then, instinct over-powered me; my hands zoomed toward the dove and grasped her gently. I held her by her legs to allow her to flap her wings. She soon calmed down and returned to her cage with nary a flap or chirp.

The crisis of the week began a couple of days ago when BirdManBob found a case of pox in Flight Room A. The birds in there -- several mockingbirds, a few bluejays and some sparrows and doves -- must remain quarantined in the same room for the next couple of weeks.

Rosemary Rumbly

Rosemary came to visit us today. Her name sounds . . . alliterative. At one point during her speech, she began to sing a song from 1927 -- something about acquiring things for free -- and some in the audience sang along with her. I felt my eyes become teary. I wished I could have remained for the rest of her speech, for she seemed clever and fun to watch. Only my handsome Mr. Mallory could make me leave, especially because of what he wanted to do this evening: Fly in the darkness.

Monks in Dallas

The Buddhist monks began the construction of a mandala yesterday at the Crow Collection building. The deep and touching chanting lasted about thirty minutes. I swooned a bit by their vocal vibrations and the very thought of the deep faith in their god. During the next week, they will pour millions of colored grains of sand into the design. After they finish the construction, its dismantling will reflect change, impermanence, and its grains distributed in a body of flowing water as blessings for healing and health.


A grandmother explained things to the little girl whose attention, in turn, seemed consumed by the exhibit of another culture. Love the dude in the photograph.


An artist sketched some of the colorful scene.


I felt blessed for everything and for a lovely day in Dallas with my Mr. Mallory. So inspired did he feel that he chanted as we strolled under these trees.


A fellow and his young daughter agreed it was a perfect day to bring out the 1971 Triumph, top down, of course.


Another pretty day in Texas.
For information on the construction of the mandala this week, visit www.crowcollection.org

Gnome's Pen Digs Deep

It makes no sense to me now to worry about *not* writing a poem every week to hand in to my professor. I awoke at three o'clock in the morning with a few phrases swirling inside my head. Despite fatigue and clever warnings about writing something that has come to my head seemingly in a flash, I made my way to the other room and started tapping on the keyboard. The result seems a nice poem, ten per cent good, and the rest of its excellency depends on anyone else's taste. Taste brings me to another concern of mine these days: Define the term "taste."

Another Woman Having Fun: Fourth in a Series

Top medical gal at Duke, Dr. Nancy Andrews.

Farewell to the Feisty. We Will Miss You.

Toby Talbot's image of Grace Paley for the Associated Press.

Gnome Soon to Exhibit

I have begun my preparations for an exhibit at the public library. My theme will be "Women." Other members of my photography club will exhibit their work along with mine.

Gnome's Friend from another Dimension

So, this morning I was thinking that I needed to read aloud the poem I had started a couple of months ago while in Delphi, so I printed it, stood in the middle of the room, and began to read it out loud. At the same time, the volume of the stereo increased and I started to hear, loudly, Chopin’s Etude #12, so loudly, that I stopped my reading. It’s my friend Jeff; I know it’s him, because the poem is about him. The music ended when my poem ended, and the volume has now decreased. I sit here shaking my head and delighted, too, that Jeff likes my poem, and has even put it to music.

Gnome and Maasai Warrior

Here I am pointing on my digital camera at the image I took of him, but he wouldn't look at it, though he hovered over me the whole time. In two vastly differently cultures, humans remain the same. This photo was taken by Mike Davis during chuckles.

Great Women of the World: Wangari Maathai

In reading Wangari's memoir, I came upon something she told to a reporter in 1992: "A woman politician needs the hyde of an elephant." Likewise, in the United States, women such as Elizabeth Dole, Geraldine Ferraro, today Nancy Pelosi and most notably Hillary Clinton, develop methods to shield themselves from the jabs of their detractors. With time (one of many true friends) and persistence, a woman develops a "thick skin" -- perhaps thicker than the skin of some of the men around her -- that enables her to proceed with the equanimity she needs to make weighty decisions, to sleep well during her naps and in the evenings, and to maintain emotional and physical health.
I consider Wangari's memoir relevant reading for everyone, environmentalists especially.
"Unbound, One Woman's Story," published by William Heinemann:London. 2006.

London Seems All the More Wonderful in the Company of Friends

At home, my Mr. Mallory's grandfather clock, which is as old as I am, chimes in a similar manner as Big Ben. Admiring Big Ben from my hotel window, I noted that its ninth chime sounds as flat as my Mr. Mallory's clock. There is a difference, of course, in that though much older, Big Ben's chimes sound as if it pounds harder, as if it demonstrates the feisty courage of the people who live and grow all around it; yet its ninth note sounds as improbable as the one made by the grandfather clock at home. Having heard the Big Ben, the all mighty of Westminster chimes, I will return home to hear our grandfather clock, and rather than wonder why the Clock Doc gives me a puzzled look when I ask him to fix that note, I'll cherish hearing it for having to sound flat at all.

I sat on one of the front steps at the entrance to the British Library. Occasionally, I raised my camera to look at a scene through its lens, composing, make adjustments to its settings that depended on the lighting created by the passing cumulous clouds; or I sat feeling perfectly content to watch the people around me. People walked past me in a determined manner. Perhaps they headed toward the same exhibit I went there to see with my friends. "Sacred" is the largest gathering of holy books in one place, beautifully exhibited by the British Library and the reason that took me there.

Lovely cumulous clouds gave a picturesque background to possible images: the spires of the Pancras station reaching above the conference center wing of the library; a young woman wearing a "peace and love" t-shirt munching on food from her bowl; an older couple sitting on a bench to rest from their journey to the library before entering the building; and then, there they were, my friends Jim and Lynn walking toward me, making another image to remember, with the sun shining on their faces and their arms up and waving at me as I looked in their direction. For the first time I was able to put into words something I have long noticed, that they both have beautiful smiles beaming under bright eyes. What a treat that they joined me to view the exhibit of holy books.

The exhibit seemed as remarkable as I had imagined. So was, I thought, sitting at a sidewalk cafe sipping coffee and tea with Lynn and Jim. It seemed, and I'll always remember it this way, a marvelous interlude in my journey to Kenya.

Gnome on the Way

I phoned my Mr. Mallory three times this morning on my way to DFW airport. I just could not say "I love you" enough, and I relished hearing him tell me he loves me -- we cooed together all morning over the phone.

Going through security seemed easy, compared to what I expect on Tuesday at Heathrow on my way to Nairobi.

One fun and grand part of this trip will be to see Lynn at the British Library. We will meet tomorrow at 1:30 p.m. to study the exhibit "Sacred."

Gnome Loses Friend

Bye, Babe, and thanks.

Albert Ellis, 1913 - 2007.

Girls Having Fun: Third in the Series

Click the title above for the direct link. I copy/pasted this report -- this small report -- from the New York Times Online:



Newly Elected Indian President Pratibha Patil in New Delhi, Saturday, after the announcement of poll results.
India Elects First Woman to Be President
Prakash Singh/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images

Another Woman Having Fun

Gnome's London

Keeping and eye on London . . . via London Cam on the EarthCam site: http://www.earthcam.com/uk/england/london/

Dress for Success

The woman pictured here caught my eye with her fashion. She's obviously one who believes in having fun. I say, indeed, let us enjoy life as well as we can, while we can. My heroine.

Gnome Steps Off Boat, Steps Into Stream

Take me to a stream, a river, a slowly flowing body of water where the trout can cavort with one another, spawn, and later sip my fly from the surface of the water. Matt drove us to Bartlett Lake this morning. We boarded a small, metal boat, and slowly made our way around the bank. I cast toward the edge of the weeds that live under the surface and provide hiding places for trout and other critters, in addition to a good place for feeding on insects. Initially, the trout ignored my Chernobyl ant pattern. And three other patterns we tied on my tippet. For a couple of hours I did not do much more than cast to the edge of the weeds , watch and wait. Fishing began to seem less torturous when I saw some jumping into the air. I cast in that direction and mostly caught them. Other times I cast and watched . . . and hoped a trout would pass somewhere near my fly, happen to glance up, and decide to open its mouth. All the fish we caught today were Brown trout – beautiful Browns. Since I release my fish, Matt did not touch them. I kept the fish on my line until it felt too exhausted to fight any more, then Matt would reach down and hold the tippet, and with his hemostats take the fly and with a quick twist of his wrist flick it off the lip of the trout. I prefer not to touch the fish, and as my hero Leo Wulff used to say, "A good gamefish is too valuable to be caught only once. The fish you release is your gift to another angler." After a while the wind became troublesome for Matt because it pushed the boat as easily as it would push a sail. Matt moved us to the opposite side of the shore where the lake had more protection from the wind provided by the mountain, but the trout had hunkered down for a while and I cast . . . and watched . . . and waited . . .
Thankfully, time passed and we had our lunch at the picnic table where more chipmunks came to see if they could have a chip from Matt, and some lettuce from me.
Thunder and lightning looked remarkable in the distance. Somehow we avoided the strong rain, but hail fell on our vehicle as we drove to the Governor's cabin for a quick photograph and then headed back to the lodge.
I look forward all the more now to stream-fishing now that I have a boat fly on my fly fishing hat.

Between Trout Catching, Gnome Bears Treed Bear

My guide, Matt, drove our Ford F250 to Munn Lake. We arrived there during a moment when the water looked like glass, and it reflected Ash and Vermejo Peaks. I cast a Chernobyl Ant before anything else, then changed to several different patterns during the next hour or so.
Something on my neck, crawling and feeling moist, distracted me from my fly. I reached behind my neck and took between my thumb and index finger the little insect that had somehow come to my neck. It was a Blue Damselfly nymph. I showed it to Matt, who then tied on my tippet a damselfly nymph pattern, and then the trout began to bite. I had seen cruising around me two Palomino trout, so when I saw one again I cast at it. After a third cast it took the damselfly nymph pattern. I had said to Matt, "We should try to catch one of those," referring to the Palomino, which is an un-godly cross between a Rainbow and a Californian Golden trout.
"We should catch any trout," he replied.
Across the lake, while I tried to identify a clump of brown as a beaver house, I pointed at it for Matt, who right away, with his trained eye spotted a Cinnamon bear several yards from the clump of wood. For the next hour or so we glanced up at the bear as it made its way around the lake. Eventually, though, it decided to turn around and walk around the lake to disappear into the woods at the foot of the small mountain called the Wall.
Another bear, a much smaller one, sniffed a bear catcher near the trucks. It frightened a woman who fly fished along the bank with tall weeds. In a panic she flung her fly rod into the tall weeds, removed hastily her fly fishing vest, and began whistling madly at the bear. The bear, startled, began to move away from her. At the same time, Matt sprung into action – he ran toward the bear yelling, "I'm going to tree it! I'm going to tree it!" He ran towards the startled bear waving and yelling. If I were a bear, I would run away, but it lept into a large Ponderosa pine and climbed it half-way. Matt still rushed toward it, and the woman still blared her whistle in between saying, "BEAR! Won't have any of that!" "BEAR! Won't have any of that!" The bear climbed the tree farther up the trunk. I approached feeling distraught about the bear. Obviously we had caused it some distress by harassing it up the tree. I did, though, lower myself to aim my 80-200mm f2.8 to photograph a bear in a tree – and took a couple of bad images. We climbed into our truck and left to find a stream to continue my fly fishing. I do not care to know what people did to that bear after we left. I hope they left it alone to climb down from the tree and continue its routine sniffing for food somewhere far from humans.
At Costilla Creek I fly fished for the Rio Grande Cutthroat trout. I used a small hopper pattern successfully. The trout are beautifully colored.
We drove farther up the mountain. Our mission was to reach the top above the tree line. Since the road is less travelled, we were thrown around in the truck, sideways and upwards. We saw perhaps three to four hundred elk on our way up there. The skyline looked stormy over Colorado, and lent interest to photographic images.
I felt exhausted when I phoned my Mr. Mallory, but my loving interaction with him re-energized me enough to present myself at my dinner table, set for one, and enjoy a good meal before collapsing in bed for a deep sleep.