Today is, bien sur, Bastille Day.
It is also the eve of Annie's birthday, and Iron Girl, a triathlon for all of the Solid Gold Bookers bunch of girls created by Yours Truly.
Made cassoulet after comparing and contrasting about a dozen recipes for it and then just wung it. Did recall quite vividly the cassoulet made by Pahts many years ago - his homemade baking dish he made in Maine, the confit that was aged, the cassoulet served to about a dozen friends along with an appropriate wine.
He would, to be sure, look askance at my version with breasts of duck only and trimmed of fat to boot, sausages removed from casing.
Tried it, it is Revolution-worthy.
The girls will be here at 5 and at 6:30 we will be on the lanes of Voelker's.
Then roller blading/skating.
Then karaoke splendorizing.
Then perhaps to see the loungey version of Terry Sullivan's band.
Then the triathlon, Iron Girl, will be complete.
Designed the snappy shirt and we'll each have those on proclaiming that we're doing all the above events, and our love of fromage.
Yesterday was tree and yard maintenance day, performed with Fats and Pops, the parents of YT.
They make these tasks fun and of course all the slicing and dicing of Nature takes a fraction of what it would be if YT were out there solo chopping, mowing, and the like.
Afterwards, took Fats and Pops out for lunch, at McCarthy's down on Hamburg Street, a triumph of the historic Old First Ward.
Onwards for Iron Girl prepping.
Many details to follow, You can be assured.

Iron and Ironic Love.

Not to get like totally technical on You but there Yours Truly was, sowing seeds, watering seeds, and inspecting where seedlings should be gestating and appearing.
Nearly thought I was looking at etiolated crabgrass, if ever there could be a thing.
But, no.
This is the Japanese ornamental corn that I planted.
Yes, it is late.
But YT has an unending worklife and seeds need to be planted when there is no stress in the fingertips, my lifelong garden habit.
Never plant seeds when sad, distressed, frazzled.
You'll send negative vibes into that little dark hunk of Nature waiting to happen and in lieu of growing up to the Sun, it'll shrivel into something the size of a molecule.
Also planted wild columbine, nigella, nicotiana that allegedly smells like jasmine (!yeah!), more more more hollyhocks (another lifelong fav learned to be so via my beloved aunt Nancy's garden), and love lies bleeding. And something else I'm forgetting. I also bought more delphiniums - delphinia.
Speaking of plurals ending with -ia or -a.
The next installation of the Hallwalls members's exhibition (ever a summertime affair) pays homage of sorts to the sold-off Diana/Artemis and the Stag bronze that no longer figured into the ultra-post-post-modern m.o. of Albright-Knox Art Gallery.
This year's HW members's show is entitled Future Artemi, implying that what one makes is up for future auction at some venerable arts joint who sees fit to send it off to places yet unknown.
Future Artemi is the title.
YT has an idea and fercrissakes I might just stick to it.
Back to seeds of change, ideas, Nature.

Stuck in Love.

Reminded today of me and Dorota sitting on a jet heading for Roma, her stating that now would be a good time for the two of us to crack open our Learn Italian books.
I think we picked up a precious few other words in Roma for steering us in the correct direction for restaurants, sights, sites, and what YT came to call The Embassy, the Brit pub where we would confer with those who lived in Roma for a long time and who shared (somewhat) our language.
And when-o-when shall YT be Euro-bound next. Now there is a primo question.
After seeing La Vie En Rose wished for a nice walk through Paris, full of gorgeousness in the floral sphere in summer although way too full of travelers.
Lisa Forrest sent an mp3 of a new song she wrote and it sounded radio-ready and told her so. It was a poetic little domestic number. A love song of sorts.
Have been listening to a lot of Polly Jean and Patti these past few days, something that suits über-concentration in wondrous, affirming work frenzy.
Went to a garden store today after a work delivery, bought more plants and seeds, touching dozens of leaves to say hello to the Green World.
There is nothing quite the same as having perennials in the great outdoors that were chosen from an intoxicating seed display that creaks and groans as it turns laboriously from enthusiastic hand.

Enthused, handy Love.

Worked a gig yesterday, the ultra-auspicious 7.7.07, with documentary filmmaker Jon Hand - always up to some docu-project and with a wry wit that is a gas.
He said he saw my Ansel Adams exhib review in the Shiney Happy Mag and had liked it, another person inspired to make the somehow longish-seeming drive to Rochester off the Empire State's 90s ... 190 to 90 to 490 to there, nearly.
We talked projects - mentioned one I formulated that I ran by Catherine Parker at our tea date on Friday afternoon. She's in, Jon suggested I find funding before I lift a cam at the appointed subject-to-be.
At some point yesterday, observing a man with a bum leg, stated that I would like to ask the man what had happened to the leg. Jon said You're wonderful.
I rebutted that Yours Truly has always suspected a sort of grace, a relief when a bum appendage might be discussed rather than confronted with evasion, if done up in a respectfully inquisitive manner.
Plus the man with the bum leg had such an outlaw aura about him I could only imagine the leg had met with some tragic ending, or part of the leg, or the partial use of the leg.
This job was out in Youngstown, along the Niagara north of Lewiston, a strip of homes and shoppes. There are great and secret pockets of Manhattan Project-era sizzling waste sites nearby, as on various obscure Middling City blocks.
Speaking of obscure, yesterday missed a MapQuest finepoint, heading into Fort Niagara in Youngstown instead of Water Street to get to the YYC, the town's yacht club replete with cocktails, ropes, yachts, seasideworthy rose bushes, a few racist comments, and a smattering of striped sweaters.
Onwards.
Today is part two of the MC's Taste Of, this year emphasizing, according to media reportage and adverts, health. This strand of stands has always been noted for promoting lots of fried health antidotes but this is the new anti-war, anti-global warming, anti-saturated fats world.
Yesterday was Al Gore's lovely Live Earth 7.7.07 concert event on every continent. If I had had no all-day gigs yesterday, my ass would have been snoozing on a plane on 7.6.07 heading toward the Shiney Apple and then Giants Stadium although London had a far better lineup.
It is time for more non-day of rest making & doing.
The MC has a nice gray sky which makes those greens pop, no PhotoShop necessary.

Popping green Love.