CAT IN THE BAG: December 2011

Friday, December 30, 2011

Well, afterall, it is the Friday before New Years so I'm not surprised our model is ready to party the weekend away. Wake up next year! Many folks, including yours truly, couldn't think of a worse year to say good-bye to. Follow this blog for some fun items all weekend. And if you make your way to a Pub, hoist a few for Me, not Zoey, she's not allowed spirits.

YOU'LL NEVER MAKE IT

I saw the PBS show Global Warming which tracked Bears in the wild. This could be a shot from that show. It was both fascinating and scary at the same time.

Pine Tree Candle Buckets

The first time I saw a display of these type of candle buckets was in Olde Town Alexandria, Virginia and I often looked for them in stores to buy. Still can't find them but was happy to find this picture. I think they are great and would look really nice lining my front porch. Maybe next year.

EXACTLY! HERE HERE!

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

We See them Daily and Gringe

Wonder What's Behind this Pink Door

NEW HIT IN DENMARK

White Polar Bear Cub is being hand fed milk because his Mom ran dry. What Zookeeper wouldn't want that job?

Suki

THANK YOU MARY VALLE

Happy Hopkins Eve
by Mary Valle

This being Baltimore, we’re celebrating Christmas Eve morning by gathering around the grave of Johns Hopkins. He’s buried in the expansive Greenmount Cemetery, which is now located in the so-called “Station North Arts District.” Doctors tell tales of great men and women and their muscle, bravado and intellect. We hear about Mary Elizabeth Garrett, whose grave is in eyeshot of Johnsy’s (I think of him that way). She was the daughter of a railroad magnate, and she made John Hopkins Hospital admit women to the medical school on a completely equal basis. When John Singer Sargent was commissioned to paint her portrait, he liked being in her presence as to a mouse being in the company of a boa constrictor. “A Woman of Quietly Realized Enthusiasms” reads her grave marker.
I’m not a doctor at these things, but I am a cancer patient, still. I was just in Johns Hopkins Medical Oncology a few days ago and I have a lot on my mind. I’m existing in a strange space where, for all intents and purposes, I’m out of treatment but the doctors still refer to the cancer in the present tense, whereas civilians tend to think of me as being “well.” No one really knows for sure if I have cancer or not, but odds are that I do, so what can be done or not done to stop the cells from dividing and massing once again? My body and its functions have become completely unpredictable. I’m taking pills. I’m considering my options.
I place a coin on Hopkins’ grave and ask him only to think of me. A photographer from the Washington Post appears and snaps a photo of my daughter doing the same. I consider the vestiges of civilization, and how graves give people a place to gather and speak. Then we’re off to see where John Wilkes Booth is interred, and hear an impromptu lecture on him and the Booth family. Having touched the past and shaken hands with each other, we can now continue with our day. My doctor is going to call me the day after Christmas.
As with most things, the circles repeat, infinitely.

SOURCE