What do I see from my workroom window? It depends on how far I lean out!
This is a view if I am just sitting there. That is a pigeon on the wires.
The upstairs of our house is under the eaves, not really a proper story, but high enough so that it is usable.
This is in response to Lesa’s challenge.
This was originally a boy’s bedroom. A lot of the stuff in there is his. It’s a room where I do things so they are not put away, they are being worked on – in other words, it’s messy!
“(The day) the sun (is scattered like) feathers of pavo
I (still) run (and meantime) I make a thousand (new) suns.
My Hand goes past, (It) extinguishes the suns, (it makes them into) mud;
(My Hand makes) the lights (of heavens) sink (like) (fish-)scales.”
The Revelation of ArÃ¨s XXII/12-13
When I heard talk of a new planet, I was not surprised. I think it is sort of what the Creator does for fun.
However all the clamor over changing a blob from one category to another I find to be a bit overdone. A group of people (how many?) somewhere have decided this and all the rest of us are to follow along?
The major worry of the experts so far seems to be coming up with a new mnemonic sentence. Is that trivial or what?
Some people are scandalized that what they were taught in school now seems to be declared untrue. How many more examples of that are there? How many things do we accept as true with no means of verification? How many things were once thought true and now it is no longer the case?
However, it does make me wonder which things are actually important for our children to learn? Which things are worth filling up our brains with? It’s hard to get something out of one’s head that one thought was true, but then isn’t after all.
I thought I had found an easy way to get more than one photo in a blog entry – upload them to Yahoo photos, open two navigator windows and then drag the photos into the blog entry. This worked fine for the gnocchi, but hasn’t worked since.
Does anyone have a better idea?
This is the chapel where God spoke -a small, simple place. The world hustles on around it, seemingly unconscious of what happened here, people honking their horns if you delay them for a millisecond, as in any other town in France. I suppose busloads of people visit Mount Sinai without doing anything about changing their lives, themselves. The Creator’s Hand is extended towards us. It’s our choice –my choice, your choice.
Arès beach in the evening
We are going to go down to Arès, near Bordeaux, the place where God spoke to a man in 1974 and 1977. Not very many people know about this.
Part of the message is that neither religion nor politics will “save” us. So you can readily understand why they’re like not gonna’ put this on TV. It’s up to each one of us to change ourselves for the better and thus change this world.
There was a bit of cosmic commotion at the time, talk of UFO’s, etc. The town put up a monument at the beach proclaiming it to be a UFO port.
Funny how people find it easier to believe in UFOs than in their own Creator.
The book is called “The Revelation of Arès” and can be ordered from any bookstore or at this site:
Excremental putrefaction! Does that count as foul language? I wish to express my dismay upon discovering that something bit off almost all the flower heads from my Bachelor’s Buttons that were just about to bloom. Husband says maybe a roe deer. He is a real dear, out in the garden rigging up a protection for the two buds that are left. The value of these flowers is sentimental — my mother sent me the seeds –I remember my grandmother growing them. Plus they are a beautiful shade of blue.
I found some consolation in the cinnamon buns I made. If you want cinnamon buns here you have to make them yourself, they are not in the French baker’s repertoire. When I was a student I saw something in a bakery window that looked like a cinnamon bun, and after splurging in spite of my tight budget, found out not only was there no cinnamon, there was some weird kind of yellow cream in it. Today’s buns turned out just like I wanted them, with those pull-apart flake-like sheets of dough that are my favorite part — I don’t know if they have a name, but they ought to. We accompanied them with a vin blanc moelleux. One would say sweet white wine in English, but that just does not convey all that the word moelleux does. Think of a down comforter that you could flop into, that’s moelleux.
I Love You Too!