Bring Me That Horizon

Welcome to jennyweber dot com


Home of Jenny the Pirate



This will go better if you

check your expectations at the door.


We're not big on logic

but there's no shortage of irony.


 Nice is different than good.


Oh and ...

I flunked charm school.

So what.

Can't write anything.

= Jennifer =

Causing considerable consternation
to many fine folk since 1957

Pepper and me ... Seattle 1962





Belay That!

This blog does not contain and its author will not condone profanity, crude language, or verbal abuse. Commenters, you are welcome to speak your mind but do not cuss or I will delete either the word or your entire comment, depending on my mood. Continued use of bad words or inappropriate sentiments will result in the offending individual being banned, after which they'll be obliged to walk the plank. Thankee for your understanding and compliance.

= Jenny the Pirate =

Hoist The Colors


Insist on yourself; never imitate.

Your own gift you can present

every moment

with the cumulative force

of a whole life’s cultivation;

but of the adopted talent of another

you have only an extemporaneous

half possession.

That which each can do best,

none but his Maker can teach him.

= Ralph Waldo Emerson =



The Black Velvet Coat

In The Market, As It Were






Columbia Cemetery

To read my articles, click HERE! And don't forget to subscribe.


Contributor to

American Cemetery

published by Kates-Boylston

A Pistol With One Shot

Ecstatically shooting everything in sight using my beloved Nikon D3100 with AF-S DX Nikkor 18-55mm 1:3.5-5.6G VR kit lens and AF-S Nikkor 50mm f/1.8 G prime lens.

Also capturing outrageous beauty left and right with my Nikon D7000 blissfully married to my Nikkor 85mm f/1.4D AF prime glass. Don't be jeal!

Dying Is A Day Worth Living For

I am a taphophile

Word. Photo Jennifer Weber 2010

Great things are happening at

Find A Grave

If you don't believe me, click the pics.


Dying is a wild night

and a new road.

Emily Dickinson



When I am gone

Please remember me

 As a heartfelt laugh,

 As a tenderness.

 Hold fast to the image of me

When my soul was on fire,

The light of love shining

Through my eyes.

Remember me when I was singing

And seemed to know my way.

Remember always

When we were together

And time stood still.

Remember most not what I did,

Or who I was;

Oh please remember me

For what I always desired to be:

A smile on the face of God.

David Robert Brooks



 Do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many.


Keep To The Code








You Want To Find This
The Promise Of Redemption

Therefore seeing we have this ministry, as we have received mercy, we faint not;

But have renounced the hidden things of dishonesty, not walking in craftiness, nor handling the word of God deceitfully; but by manifestation of the truth commending ourselves to every man's conscience in the sight of God.

But if our gospel be hid, it is hid to them that are lost:

In whom the god of this world hath blinded the minds of them which believe not, lest the light of the glorious gospel of Christ, who is the image of God, should shine unto them.

For we preach not ourselves, but Christ Jesus the Lord; and ourselves your servants for Jesus' sake.

For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.

But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.

We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair;

Persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed;

Always bearing about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our body.

For we which live are alway delivered unto death for Jesus' sake, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our mortal flesh.

So then death worketh in us, but life in you.

We having the same spirit of faith, according as it is written, I BELIEVED, AND THEREFORE HAVE I SPOKEN; we also believe, and therefore speak;

Knowing that he which raised up the Lord Jesus shall raise up us also by Jesus, and shall present us with you.

For all things are for your sakes, that the abundant grace might through the thanksgiving of many redound to the glory of God.

For which cause we faint not; but though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day.

For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory;

While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.

II Corinthians 4

Freedom is a fragile thing and is never more than one generation away from extinction. It is not ours by inheritance; it must be fought for and defended constantly by each generation, for it comes only once to a people. Those who have known freedom and then lost it, have never known it again.

~ Ronald Reagan

Photo Jennifer Weber 2010

Not Without My Effects

My Compass Works Fine

The Courage Of Our Hearts




Daft Like Jack

 "I can name fingers and point names ..."

And We'll Sing It All The Time
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    Dream With Me
    by Jackie Evancho
  • Danny Wright Healer of Hearts
    Danny Wright Healer of Hearts
    by Danny Wright
  • Dreams
    by Neil Diamond
  • Standing Ovation: The Greatest Songs From The Stage
    Standing Ovation: The Greatest Songs From The Stage
    Syco Music UK
  • A State of Wonder: The Complete Goldberg Variations (1955 & 1981)
    A State of Wonder: The Complete Goldberg Variations (1955 & 1981)
  • Bach - The Complete Brandenburg Concertos / Pearlman, Boston Baroque
    Bach - The Complete Brandenburg Concertos / Pearlman, Boston Baroque
    by Johann Sebastian Bach, Martin Pearlman, Boston Baroque, Christopher Krueger, Marc Schachman, Daniel Stepner, Friedemann Immer
  • Lead With Your Heart
    Lead With Your Heart
    by The Tenors, The Canadian Tenors
  • A Musical Affair (Amazon Exclusive Version)
    A Musical Affair (Amazon Exclusive Version)
    by Il Divo
  • Rachmaninoff plays Rachmaninoff
    Rachmaninoff plays Rachmaninoff
  • The Pity Party: A Mean-Spirited Diatribe Against Liberal Compassion
    The Pity Party: A Mean-Spirited Diatribe Against Liberal Compassion
    by William Voegeli
  • The Dictionary of Cultural Literacy
    The Dictionary of Cultural Literacy
    by James Trefil, Joseph F. Kett, E. D. Hirsch
  • The Gorgeous Nothings: Emily Dickinson's Envelope Poems
    The Gorgeous Nothings: Emily Dickinson's Envelope Poems
    by Emily Dickinson
  • Till I End My Song: A Gathering of Last Poems
    Till I End My Song: A Gathering of Last Poems
    by Harold Bloom
  • On Writing Well, 30th Anniversary Edition: The Classic Guide to Writing Nonfiction
    On Writing Well, 30th Anniversary Edition: The Classic Guide to Writing Nonfiction
    by William Zinsser
  • Green Hell: How Environmentalists Plan to Control Your Life and What You Can Do to Stop Them
    Green Hell: How Environmentalists Plan to Control Your Life and What You Can Do to Stop Them
    by Steven Milloy
  • The Amateur
    The Amateur
    by Edward Klein
  • The Closer
    The Closer
    by Mariano Rivera
  • Malice Toward None: Abraham Lincoln's Second Inaugural Address
    Malice Toward None: Abraham Lincoln's Second Inaugural Address
    by Jack E. Levin
  • Where Are They Buried (Revised and Updated): How Did They Die? Fitting Ends and Final Resting Places of the Famous, Infamous, and Noteworthy
    Where Are They Buried (Revised and Updated): How Did They Die? Fitting Ends and Final Resting Places of the Famous, Infamous, and Noteworthy
    by Tod Benoit
  • Whistling in the Dark: A Doubter's Dictionary
    Whistling in the Dark: A Doubter's Dictionary
    by Frederick Buechner
  • The Black Bard of North Carolina: George Moses Horton and His Poetry (Chapel Hill Books)
    The Black Bard of North Carolina: George Moses Horton and His Poetry (Chapel Hill Books)
    The University of North Carolina Press
  • Righteous Indignation: Excuse Me While I Save the World!
    Righteous Indignation: Excuse Me While I Save the World!
    by Andrew Breitbart
  • 11 Principles of a Reagan Conservative
    11 Principles of a Reagan Conservative
    by Paul Kengor
  • Curtains: Adventures of an Undertaker-in-Training
    Curtains: Adventures of an Undertaker-in-Training
    by Tom Jokinen
  • Talking Heads: The Vent Haven Portraits
    Talking Heads: The Vent Haven Portraits
    by Matthew Rolston
  • Mortuary Confidential: Undertakers Spill the Dirt
    Mortuary Confidential: Undertakers Spill the Dirt
    by Todd Harra, Ken McKenzie
  • America's Steadfast Dream
    America's Steadfast Dream
    by E. Merrill Root
  • Good Dog, Carl : A Classic Board Book
    Good Dog, Carl : A Classic Board Book
    by Alexandra Day
  • Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation
    Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation
    by Lynne Truss
  • The American Way of Death Revisited
    The American Way of Death Revisited
    by Jessica Mitford
  • In Six Days : Why Fifty Scientists Choose to Believe in Creation
    In Six Days : Why Fifty Scientists Choose to Believe in Creation
    Master Books
  • Architects of Ruin: How big government liberals wrecked the global economy---and how they will do it again if no one stops them
    Architects of Ruin: How big government liberals wrecked the global economy---and how they will do it again if no one stops them
    by Peter Schweizer
  • Grave Influence: 21 Radicals and Their Worldviews That Rule America From the Grave
    Grave Influence: 21 Radicals and Their Worldviews That Rule America From the Grave
    by Brannon Howse
  • The Undertaking: Life Studies from the Dismal Trade
    The Undertaking: Life Studies from the Dismal Trade
    by Thomas Lynch
Easy On The Goods
  • Waiting for
    Waiting for "Superman"
    starring Geoffrey Canada, Michelle Rhee
  • The Catered Affair (Remastered)
    The Catered Affair (Remastered)
    starring Bette Davis, Ernest Borgnine, Debbie Reynolds, Barry Fitzgerald, Rod Taylor
  • Bernie
    starring Jack Black, Shirley MacLaine, Matthew McConaughey
  • Remember the Night
    Remember the Night
    starring Barbara Stanwyck, Fred MacMurray, Beulah Bondi, Elizabeth Patterson, Sterling Holloway
  • The Ox-Bow Incident
    The Ox-Bow Incident
    starring Henry Fonda, Dana Andrews, Mary Beth Hughes, Anthony Quinn, William Eythe
  • The Bad Seed
    The Bad Seed
    starring Nancy Kelly, Patty McCormack, Henry Jones, Eileen Heckart, Evelyn Varden
  • Knuckleball!
    starring R.A. Dickey, Charles Hough, Phil Niekro, Tim Wakefield
  • Dodsworth
    starring Walter Huston, Ruth Chatterton, Paul Lukas, Mary Astor, Kathryn Marlowe
  • Act of Valor
    Act of Valor
    starring Alex Veadov, Roselyn Sanchez, Nestor Serrano
  • Deep Water
    Deep Water
    starring Tilda Swinton, Donald Crowhurst, Jean Badin, Clare Crowhurst, Simon Crowhurst
  • Sunset Boulevard
    Sunset Boulevard
    starring William Holden, Gloria Swanson, Erich Von Stroheim, Nancy Olson, Fred Clark
  • Penny Serenade
    Penny Serenade
    starring Cary Grant, Irene Dunne, Edgar Buchanan, Beulah Bondi
  • Double Indemnity
    Double Indemnity
    starring Fred MacMurray, Barbara Stanwyck, Edward G. Robinson, Porter Hall, Jean Heather
  • Ayn Rand and the Prophecy of Atlas Shrugged
    Ayn Rand and the Prophecy of Atlas Shrugged
    starring Gary Anthony Williams
  • Fat Sick & Nearly Dead
    Fat Sick & Nearly Dead
    Passion River
  • It Happened One Night (Remastered Black & White)
    It Happened One Night (Remastered Black & White)
    starring Clark Gable, Claudette Colbert
  • Stella Dallas
    Stella Dallas
    starring Barbara Stanwyck, John Boles, Anne Shirley, Barbara O'Neil, Alan Hale
  • The Iron Lady
    The Iron Lady
    starring Meryl Streep, Jim Broadbent, Harry Lloyd, Anthony Head, Alexandra Roach
  • Wallace & Gromit: The Complete Collection (4 Disc Set)
    Wallace & Gromit: The Complete Collection (4 Disc Set)
    starring Peter Sallis, Anne Reid, Sally Lindsay, Melissa Collier, Sarah Laborde
  • The Red Balloon (Released by Janus Films, in association with the Criterion Collection)
    The Red Balloon (Released by Janus Films, in association with the Criterion Collection)
    starring Red Balloon
  • Stalag 17 (Special Collector's Edition)
    Stalag 17 (Special Collector's Edition)
    starring William Holden, Don Taylor, Otto Preminger, Robert Strauss, Harvey Lembeck
  • The Major and the Minor (Universal Cinema Classics)
    The Major and the Minor (Universal Cinema Classics)
    starring Ginger Rogers, Ray Milland
  • My Dog Skip
    My Dog Skip
    starring Frankie Muniz, Diane Lane, Luke Wilson, Kevin Bacon
  • Sabrina
    starring Humphrey Bogart, Audrey Hepburn, William Holden, Walter Hampden, John Williams
  • The Bachelor and the Bobby Soxer
    The Bachelor and the Bobby Soxer
    starring Cary Grant, Myrna Loy, Shirley Temple, Rudy Vallee, Ray Collins
  • Pirates of the Caribbean - The Curse of the Black Pearl (Two-Disc Collector's Edition)
    Pirates of the Caribbean - The Curse of the Black Pearl (Two-Disc Collector's Edition)
    starring Johnny Depp, Geoffrey Rush, Orlando Bloom, Keira Knightley, Jack Davenport
  • Now, Voyager (Keepcase)
    Now, Voyager (Keepcase)
    starring Bette Davis, Paul Henreid, Claude Rains, Gladys Cooper, John Loder
  • The Trip To Bountiful
    The Trip To Bountiful
  • Hold Back the Dawn [DVD] Charles Boyer; Olivia de Havilland; Paulette Goddard
    Hold Back the Dawn [DVD] Charles Boyer; Olivia de Havilland; Paulette Goddard
That Dog Is Never Going To Move


Columbia's Finest Chihuahua

Simple. Easy To Remember.

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One Word, Luv: Curiosity


Ticket please

I once heard a story about a lady who had a particular method of preparing ham.

The first thing she'd do is lop off one end and set it aside. Then and only then could the cooking commence.

One day someone asked the lady why she did that.

Because that's the way my mother did it, she replied.

Curious, the lady's mother was queried as to why she lopped off the end of the ham before cooking.

Because that's the way my mother did it, she replied.

The second lady's elderly mother was sought out and asked why, before baking a ham, she had always lopped off one end.

Because my pan wasn't big enough, she said.

Aha. How easily we believe there is only one way to skin a cat.

So it was with me and my -- unfounded, as it turned out -- belief that it was impossible to secure a ticket to any part of The Masters golf tournament held each April in Augusta, Georgia.

For frame of reference as to why I chose to natter on about the Masters again today, read this recent post.

TG has told me for all thirty-six years of our marriage that the Masters is the "toughest ticket in sport."

(And it is. If you wish to read up on how arcane the process of gaining entrance to Augusta National as a mere mortal can be, feel free. Block off at least six hours and get your googling fingers ready.)

But my assumption was, a ticket to the Masters was unobtainable. Although for thirteen years we have lived a mere seventy miles from Augusta National, I've tried only once to get TG in the gate.

It didn't occur to me to challenge the paradigm. (Takeaway: Always challenge the paradigm.)

So how I arrived at a website a few weeks ago which had Masters tickets for sale -- and subsequently found at least a dozen other websites with Masters tickets for sale -- will forever be a mystery even to me.

As in, I wasn't looking for tickets. I didn't bother to look because I never imagined they were plentiful, and readily available. They are. So it was that by accident, I discovered hundreds of them up for grabs.

The only hitch is, what's in your wallet.

As in, it had better be a lot. Unless, of course, you know someone who's willing to simply give you a ticket, or sell it to you for a song. Which we don't, more's the pity.

Now, I knew (because I'd done it before, once, a decade ago) that one could apply to Augusta National Golf Club itself for tickets to both practice and play rounds, via its annual lottery.

But I did not know that, if you have enough in the way of ready spondulicks, you may walk through the gates every single day of that tournament. 

Knock your lights out, as it were.

That's because of the thousands of folks who have Masters tickets -- usually passed down in families -- several hundred are willing to make them available to the general public. For a profit.

That's where ticket brokers come in. Can you come up with the cash? They'll sell you a ticket. (Fore a mere ten grand you may attend the entire week of festivities.)

So it was that I suggested to our four kids that they pool their racehorses and buy their dad an early Father's Day present.

And they did, and although I didn't get a picture of it, a look of incredulity came over TG's face that one does not often see there, when it sank in that he is going to the Masters.

Strictly entry level this year: Monday's practice round. But hey. It's Augusta National.

And TG has a ticket credential. He's an official patron. (Don't ever call them fans; you won't be invited back.)

Oh and the ultimate irony: it says Not For Resale right on the credential which bears a face value of sixty-five dollars.

The kids were obliged to pay -- ahem -- significantly more than that.

TG's going alone. We could not afford two credentials and besides, we thought he'd enjoy it more this first time, by himself.

(I wasn't able to contribute to the purchase of TG's Masters credential. I'm obliged to set aside all of my pin money to pay for Javier's surgery later this week. He has to have his teeth removed, which costs way more than a Masters credential. Let that sink in.)

(The canine elective edentulism saga will be Friday's post. Stay tuned. Meanwhile, keep Javy in your prayers.)

No one is allowed to take a cell phone into Augusta National during the Masters. Only on practice days are cameras allowed. I'm arming TG with the Nikon and I hope he brings us some pretty pictures.

He won't need much spending money; concession eats are cheap. Augusta National declines to gouge its esteemed patrons. 

Keeping it classy in the three-oh-six.

No doubt TG will taste one or two of their signature pimento cheese sandwiches.

So on the day after Easter Sunday -- on which I am fairly sure we'll consume baked ham with both ends intact -- I hope you'll take a moment to picture my handsome TG in Augusta. 

He'll be excited and happy, roaming for an entire day the pristine grounds of the most well-known golf course in the world, upon which, later that week, will be held the most prestigious tournament in all of golf.

Next year he'll go on a tournament day. Or at least Wednesday's practice round, with its popular par-three contest. We will see to that, or die trying.

And that is all for now. I leave you with the genteel words printed on the reverse side of TG's Masters 2015 credential:


In golf, customs of etiquette and decorum are just as important as rules governing play. It is appropriate for spectators to applaud successful strokes in proportion to difficulty but excessive demonstrations by a player or his partisans are not proper because of the possible effect upon other competitors.

Most distressing to those who love the game of golf is the applauding or cheering of misplays or misfortunes of a player. Such occurrences have been rare at the Masters but we must eliminate them entirely if our patrons are to continue to merit their reputation as the most knowledgeable and considerate in the world.

Robert Tyre Jones, Jr.

President in Perpetuity :: Augusta National Golf Club


Happy Wednesday


Thirty-two seconds over Columbia

How many of you remember what you were doing exactly thirty-two years ago to the moment?

I do. I was getting acquainted with Baby Audrey. She was one day old.

Sometimes it seems to me that I lived that day thirty-two seconds ago. Other times, it may as well have been thirty-two million years ago. 

It's a mystery.

Yesterday -- a rainy Sunday -- we celebrated Audrey's birthday in our typical way: a delicious meal (plus cake made by Erica) and presents after Sunday morning church.

Andrew came home for the occasion. His birthday is next Sunday and he won't be with us, so there were presents for him too.

One of the things TG and I gave to Audrey was a set of espresso cups and saucers from Café Bustelo. She loves to mix Café Bustelo espresso with another Latin coffee and serve it demitasse-style.

Lament: I never take enough pictures, or the right ones. And the ones I do get are almost never of the quality that I envisioned or wanted or planned.

But I share them here with you because they show how Audrey and her baby looked on the birthday.

Why was Dagny wearing white? I have never learned how to light white! But she looks smashing in white, so there's that.

Baby Dagny was fractious by the time Uncle Andrew got ahold of her, and he concluded she doesn't like him. But we know that's not true; babies just sometimes need a nap.

Dagny's at the point where it's pointless to hold her with her front facing your front, classic baby-in-arms position.

When you try that, she immediately begins to twist -- if not shout -- until she's facing all the way forward and you have no option but to hold on around her middle and make the best of it.

She wants to see what's going on around her.

And that's a good policy because the years are melting away so swiftly, we'd better all be paying close attention.

I sat for a moment last night and tried to imagine Audrey celebrating her own daughter's thirty-second birthday, thirty-one years from now.

I don't reckon I'll be around to see that.

All the more reason to keep a sharp eye.


Happy Monday ~ Happy New Week


SkyWatch Friday :: Staying Alive

I nearly died this week.

Yes! You read that correctly!

In the wee hours between Monday night and Tuesday morning, things got dicey.

I barely survived.

So on the off chance you were wondering why I've been unnaturally subdued all week? That's why. Coming abreast with mortality gives one pause.

However, as sure as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, reports of my demise were premature.

And I'm fine as frogs' hair now. False alarm. Thank you for asking.

But on Monday evening, before I knew the buzzards were circling, when I was still firmly in the land of the living, I spotted the vivid colors of a particularly bright sunset beglowing the front room windows.

Naturally I grabbed the Nikon and rushed out onto the porch to capture the drama.

For you.

It was an impressive day-fade, made more mysterious -- don't you think? -- by the silhouette of our massive oak's thick branches snaking across, and the thousands of far-away skinny branches acting as a lacy screen.

I trotted several times from one side of the porch to the other, photographing the branches reaching for both the left and right sides of the frame.

Then only last night, I remembered I'd taken the photos. A lot happened in the interim.

So here are three versions of the same riotous very-late-winter sunset.

This last one, you'll want to click to embiggen. Or not. Your call.

Life goes on for a little bitty while. Don't miss the pretty parts.



Happy Friday ~ Happy Spring


Wordless Wednesday :: Peace


SkyWatch Friday :: Her Majesty

TG and I were tooling through Sparta, Georgia, last Friday, on our way to Macon for the weekend, when he saw her.

To clarify any pronoun confusion: TG saw Her Majesty, on our left as we drove past.

And it was The Golden Hour, that being the time photographers covet a view and a camera, when the light is buttery at the near-conclusion a pretty-sky day.

So naturally TG, at my request, pulled a U-turn.

Her Majesty is the name locals have affectionately given to the once-imposing Second Empire style Hancock County Courthouse, built circa 1881.

She is currently under extreme renovations due to having burned nearly to the ground last August.

The building's once-gorgeous bell tower is a thing of the past, and so -- at least temporarily -- is its roof.

Her Majesty has air in her hair. And it's a stunning sight.

The courthouse was still in use when the blaze broke out. An extensive reno was in the nascent stages at the time of the fire, but did not cause it.

I plan to keep tabs on Her Majesty's progress and go back to take her picture again, when she's had time to pull herself together.

Meanwhile, long may she wave.


God Bless America

Happy Friday ~ Happy Weekend ~ Happy Skywatching



Have a Kitchen Sink

Hey you should click on the video at the end of this post and listen to the music as you read. Just a suggestion.

So last weekend TG and I were cruising through Augusta, Georgia, ultimate objective home, when we decided to make a stop.

I'd spotted a Fresh Market on the way to what had been our intended destination when we reached Augusta, which turned out to be someplace we couldn't go because the gates were LOCKED -- three guesses what kind of place it was -- and I said:

I want to go to that Fresh Market back there because remember the fresh-not-frozen pizzas we used to buy when we lived in Knoxville a long time ago?

Oh those were really something, said TG.

Yes, we have a Fresh Market in Columbia and yes, I've been there -- although its location is not convenient to where we live -- and I already knew they don't have the pizzas anymore.

But hope springs eternal in the human breast. Nostalgia is one of the most powerful forces on earth.

So it was agreed and we had pointed our auto toward The Fresh Market at National Hills Shopping Center on Washington Road in Augusta, and were in fact all but there, when it happened.

TG glanced to his left and exclaimed in a voice gone momentarily dizzy with awe:

That's Augusta National!

And it was. Turns out TG had only ever seen it on TV.

Augusta National Golf Club, dream and legacy of Robert Tyre "Bobby" Jones, Jr. (whose name is synonymous with the game of golf but who never took a dime for playing it), revered invitation-only institution where The Masters is held every April.

TG says that there, on the former-cow-pasture, now-pristine acres bequeathed by eternal-amateur Mr. Jones (I've been to his grave at Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta, by the way. It's sprinkled with dozens of golf balls and even a putter or two.), not a single weed is allowed to grow.

Anyway, as TG soon discovered even while I cautioned him to keep it between the navigational beacons -- as in, remain in our lane and please kindly don't overshoot The Fresh Market -- you can't see inside.

Not even an inch of space is left open around Augusta National for the curiosity-minded.

One would think they are determined to keep the riff-raff out.

Not so at The Fresh Market, where we were allowed to walk in even not wearing a green jacket or paying a fee equal to a year's wages, and nab a small cute rolling double-green-basket apparatus, and begin scanning the viands on offer.

We zeroed in on the fresh-not-frozen pizzas and even though it was again confirmed that they aren't the same as in the olden days, we put one in our top green basket.

Then I started thinking about treats to take home to (and share with, since we were going directly to their house upon reaching Columbia, because Dagny) our girls, and so naturally that steered me to the bakery section.

First I selected some Ancient Grains Cranberry Bread, a petite loaf. It later proved to be tasty toasted, but then that's a no-brainer. Also I have a thing for cranberries.

Beyond the festive breads an array of delectable house-made cookies were on display, and I began looking in earnest at those.

A tall sign had been placed on one end of the table and underneath it was stacked many transparent plastic boxes containing what was clearly all the same variety of cookie.

The sign proclaimed them (thought I) to be Cranberry Macaroons on sale, one-fifty off.

The treats over which the sign towered did not look like macaroons to me -- I think of a macaroon as a smallish blond-colored coconut confection that, when savored, being chewy and extremely moist -- nearly sticky -- comes across like a fusion of candy and cookie -- but they did appear to be studded with dried cranberries.

I wasn't wearing my reading glasses, though. The lighting at TFM is dimly atmospheric, not at all Krogeresque. Also my judgment is clouded by emotion when in the cookie aisle.

A box was plucked off the top of the display and placed reverently into our top green basket beside the fresh-not-frozen pizza that I knew was close but no cigar, but which I was buying anyway. We continued shopping.

Later at the till, a nice lady began scanning our selections.

It's my habit, throughout the checking-out process, to eyeball the screen where the prices come up as each item is scanned. And even without my cheaters I could see that the Cranberry Macaroons had rung up full price, not one-fifty off.

So without taking the time to think Just let it go, and to actually take said mentally-administered advice, I spoke up.

Oh dear. Large mistake.

The cashier looked stricken. It was the crickets of Augusta tuning up early.

How much were they on sale? She said.

Three forty-nine, I think, I said. But I wasn't sure.

Before I could protest, she called for backup.

The first cashier -- just doing her job -- wanted to believe that the cookies I'd picked were on sale. But she wasn't allowed to take my word for it.

Only, people were waiting behind us in line. I was embarrassed.

A second cashier bustled over and she was also very nice through her air of hurried authority. She picked up my box of cookies. She listened to what I had to say relative to their price.

But these are Kitchen Sink, she said, lifting the box high and reading from a tag on the bottom. Her reading cheaters were in place, and we were near a window.

Oh then that's my mistake, I said. I just saw the sign --

By now TG had gone back to the cookie table to confirm the price of the cookies we'd chosen, and had returned. According to the sign they're three forty-nine, he said.

But these aren't Cranberry Macaroons. They're -- do you know what a macaroon is? She said. Not rudely; like she really wanted to know how macaroon-savvy I was.

I don't remember what I said. I might've mumbled that I thought so. All I remember is feeling stupid and I'm sure I looked dumb too because that's easier for me than falling off a log. My embarrassment intensified.

These are Kitchen Sink, she repeated. They have everything in them.

Everything? I thought. As in, everything?

The lady in line behind us, holding an apple in her hand -- one apple, a honeycrisp the size of a softball, three ninety-nine a pound -- and maybe a bottled beverage, was studying the floor.

I looked at the first cashier. I'll take them, I said. It's my fault. Don't worry about the price. I'm sorry. I wanted so desperately for it to be over. 

The second cashier did something with fluttering fingers on both her hands that told me, Pay attention 'cause I'm about to do you a solid.

Give them to her for that price, she instructed the first cashier. She provided an overrride code, then helped the first cashier to enter it in such a way that a dollar fifty dissolved off my bill.

But we'll have to do paperwork, she quickly added, allowing an amount of aggravation to enter her voice roughly equal to the view of Augusta National afforded the passer-by.

I thought: Paperwork. Paperwork? It's a buck fifty. We are standing one hundred yards from Augusta National where the weeds are bribed with green folding money not to dare show their faces, and we are haggling over a buck fifty?

Yeah, I connect dots tangentially like that. It's another one of my mental deficiencies.

Meanwhile the second cashier had produced a small official-looking piece of (white) paper -- right then and there -- and had begun writing on it as though the outcome of the 2015 Masters Tournament, yet to be played, hung in the balance.

I wanted to die. Seriously I was that shamed for mentioning a paltry dollar-fifty imagined overcharge at The Fresh Market in the shadow of Augusta National.

I was denied even the satisfaction of having been right, or of demonstrating the ability to correctly identify a cranberry macaroon.

Keep it classy eight days a week, Jenny the Pirate, I scolded inwardly.

Still guilt-ridden as we drove away and the longsuffering TG pointed our car toward the South Carolina state line not three miles away, just wanting to leave Georgia in the rearview, I remembered something.

I'd neglected to sign my score card.

I'll forfeit my winnings and furthermore, they'll never invite me back. 

Ah well. Green is not my best color.

And I learned a few things: Kitchen Sink cookies are a revelation. There is a hint of coconut, and almonds are involved. Those dark-colored bits are not cranberries but raisins, cheek-by-jowl with chunks of chocolate.

Also present is white chocolate, which I don't like (that's a really good story for another day), but which nevertheless works well here.

They're like music in your mouth. You don't have to be a millionaire to play.

Spring will come to Georgia. The dogwoods and azaleas will bloom in Augusta as planned, just in time for The Masters. My sweeter-than-a-Kitchen-Sink-cookie TG's eyes may once again briefly mist with a tear when he hears the first strains of the iconic and evocative piano-and-strings theme song.

And that is all for now.


Happy Tuesday ~ Happy Week


SkyWatch Friday :: Lemmon to lemonade

Staff Sergeant Andrew Weber, TANG, USAF, has been on assignment in Arizona for the last few weeks. That's him atop the rocky tor above.

Specifically, Andrew is briefly in residence at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base in Tucson, flying in-flight refueling missions most days and many nights.

In between gassing up Lockheed Martin F-16 Fighting Falcons out of South Carolina (of all places) on gorgeous Southwestern days ...

... Andrew had an opportunity to hike Mount Lemmon, the summit of which is the highest point in the Santa Catalina Mountains.

Mount Lemmon is part of the Coronado National Forest. You can take my word for that; I looked it up.

Being very much an East-of-the-Mississippi girl and not being any stripe of a hiker (my outdoorsiness is limited to walking to the mailbox, lolling in my pool, and graving), I don't know where my son got his vivid sense of adventure.

But he's got it. If he's not zipping along the terrain on something that's round, rubber, and rolls, he wants to be in the sky or as near it as he can get.

I don't know which Air Force photographer to thank for the photos of my son refueling the F-16's, but I'm glad they were nearby to catch the breathtaking spectacle of the workhorse KC-135 Stratotanker in action amid a formation of formidably fortified Fighting Falcons.

Thank you Andrew, for the perfectly grand photos of iconic purple mountain majesty beneath magnificent skies, and for the happy skies in which you serve your country.

God Bless America. Don't forget to Spring Forward tomorrow night.

And that is all for now.



Happy Friday ~ Happy Weekend


Branch out and soar

While in Charlotte for a family event in mid-December 2013, I took several pictures of Duke Energy Center reflecting a Carolina sunset in the waning days of autumn.

Metaphors abound in the big city.

In these images I see both challenge and triumph, the temporal and the eternal.

And that is all for now.


Happy Wednesday