The latest doings at Thistlebright

Whisky treats from heaven, aka Scotland!!!

My friend from across the pond, also the author of the wonderful "Scotland for the Senses" and "Where There Are No Chickadees" blogs, sent me a veritable riot of WHISKY TREATS!

And now, a tour of said treats - starting just beneath the top hat and moving deosil (clockwise):

1. A lovely postcard from the Kelvingrove Museum in Glasgow



2. A DVD featuring the history of whisky ( whose name comes from the Irish Gaelic uisce beatha and Scottish Gaelic uisge beatha, both meaning "water of life"). For those of you who never knew it, "whisky" is from Scotland, and "whiskey" is from Ireland and America.



3. Moving down towards 3 o'clock, we have the Whisky Toddy packet, whose yummy contents are to be enjoyed in future, most likely during the winter!



4. At six o'clock position is a pair of vintage spectacles my mother gave me - I just thought they'd look cool in the picture.

5. Next is a chocolate bar packaged in a box which bears the story of whisky! A delicious inspiration to learn more!



6. Perched delicately on top of the chocolate box is the smallest bottle of whisky you can buy - happily completely undetectable by customs shipping, as you cannot discern its weight or hear it sloshing when you shake the package. An added bonus is carrying on a wee bit of the outlaw portion of whisky's heritage.



7. Just to the right of the world's smallest bottle of whisky is a Glencairn glass - perfectly proportioned and sized for appreciating a fine single malt whisky!



8. And, last but certainly not least, just to the right of the Glencairn glass is a Dewar's portable whisky shot kit for four! Sure to be taken along to the Long Island Highland Games this August, as Bear and I will be bringing two of our friends along for their first "taste" of the games.




To my friend and benefactress of this fine bounty, I shout a hearty

SLAINTE!

End of an era

I never bought a single album he made.
I never went to one of his concerts.
I preferred the songs his little sister sang.
I was horrified by the systematic,
surgical destruction of his face.
I was disgusted by the sordid details of his personal life.
I was confused by his marriages,
and saddened by his increasingly apparent mental illness.

But damn, the man could dance.

Gearing up

Bear and I, along with our friends/tenants, are gearing up for the advent of the latest Harry Potter film (The Half Blood Prince) by watching the first five, catch-as-catch-can, before it comes out.

Last night we watched the second one, Chamber of Secrets, ate Greek chicken and roasted rosemary potatoes, and snacked on junk food. It was wonderful!

Only 23 more days to go.

Night of the Lepus, or my "Harvey" moment?

The other night, as I drove home from work just past midnight, I was listening (as I always do) to one of my Harry Potter books on CD. It was a calm, temperate night, miraculously NOT raining, and I was almost home. I made several turns down small side streets as I neared my house, to avoid the late-night interminable traffic lights at the town intersections.



As I drove down one particularly cozy street, lined with small houses, my eye was drawn to the right side of the road, just by the curb.

Sitting there, very close together, were two of the largest rabbits I have ever seen in my life. One was grey and white, and the other was a dun color.

I made a mental note, "Hmm. Giant rabbits.", and drove on. For about ten feet.



Then my brain kicked in, and I slammed on the brakes. There is NO WAY that two rabbits of that size, and those non-wild-rabbit colors, belonged out on the side of the road in the middle of the night. Something was wrong with this picture.




I left my truck running in the middle of the street and got out. I walked back to the rabbits, who just sat there looking at me like I was the one out of place. They let me walk right up to them, but when I reached out my hand, they loped just out of my reach. I tried several times to get near enough to touch one, the whole time talking softly to them and looking around over my shoulders for the possible owner of these rabbits. The street remained deserted, except for several neighborhood cats wandering around (who looked more like kittens next to my long-eared friends), and the rabbits remained just out of my reach.




I don't know what I would have DONE with them if I could have gotten hold of them... they were so huge that I don't know if I could have wrestled one of them, let alone two, into my truck. And I'm not sure I'd have wanted two strange, very large rabbits in the cab of my truck with me while I was driving it. If I had put them in the bed of the truck, I have no doubt they would have jumped right out.


In any case, I never got to find out because the rabbits weren't about to let a stranger handle them. They loped away into the night, leaving me to scratch my head and wonder if I'd just been seeing things.

On returning home, the thought occurred to me: What if one of them was a male and the other was female?

This town may not be ready for the results.

In which I giggle hours afterward, perhaps days

I loved this movie, in a one-night-stand way, and if I can stop giggling long enough, I can sum the whole thing up in two words:

THE NARRATOR

Honestly, buy a bottle of your favorite wine, snuggle up with your honey and a few of your closest girlfriends, and watch this. *wink*

Revolutionary Road

Bear and I watched this movie tonight. My motivation was that I love Kate Winslet and will basically watch her meditate on a blank wall if they film it. Sub-motivation was that she and Leo DiCaprio were pretty great together in Titanic, so why not give them a second look?

Without giving away the ending, for those of you who haven't seen it but might, I was left with a lot of questions to ponder. I am leaving shortly to work a midnight shift, and I don't doubt I will be pondering all night long - in between flights, of course.

1. Is freedom actually possible, or is the freedom we sense only an illusion?

2. Is the illusion of freedom all that's really necessary to enable us to be happy where we are?

3. What is it that people are so afraid of when they can't imagine breaking out of social norms?

4. Are people that break social norms really "crazy"? Are they running away? Or are they perhaps validating their own dreams?

5. Why is having children always an issue in stories and movies that deal with people feeling trapped in their lives? And if it's an issue, then why isn't it an issue that's dealt with in school before people start having children?

6. When people are in a relationship that is having trouble, what makes having an affair seem like a good idea, when we've all been to enough movies to know that IT DOESN'T WORK?

7. What makes one sort of life an ideal for some to live up to, and a prison to break out of for others? Is it all back to that illusion of freedom again?

8. If we dream of doing something and either fail at our attempt or we never get a shot at it, should that be enough to ruin our lives, or are we supposed to get over it and move on? And if we get over it and move on, does that mean that we were never really dedicated to the dream to begin with?

9. Is knuckling under to peer pressure ever the right thing to do?

10. Why are friends and neighbors unhappy when you're happy, and happy when you're as miserable as they are?

Staggering

Yesterday was my first of three blessed days off, and I spent it in a veritable flurry of activity. Well, a flurry of relaxed activity, if that's possible. And trust me, if it's possible, I'll find a way to do it!

I had a few projects in mind, and they were all the sort of thing that required stages - you couldn't attack and complete any of them in a direct manner. So I decided to stagger them and complete bits and parts of each of them in turn, until they were all done.

The Projects:

1. Roast a crapload of green coffee beans and store them in the freezer for future grinding and drinking pleasure.

2. Retrieve cases of wine bottles from the basement of the front house and wash, disinfect, and remove labels from said bottles for use in bottling the two batches of MEAD sitting in our storage room - (which we are going to do today - YAY!!!)

3. Shellac my latest steampunk project, which is hinged and needs special care so that the lid and bottom do not get stuck together with the shellac.

4. Make a meatloaf with potatoes as a special treat for Bear.


Happily, there was a huge bunch of 1940's B movies on Turner Classic Movies yesterday...

("I Walked With a Zombie", for starters!)

...and I was able to flop down on the couch and watch the best/worst scenes in between shifts on my projects. I put the surround sound speakers on and cranked up the volume, so that even when I was in the kitchen putting a new batch of coffee beans in the roaster or putting a new batch of bottles in the bleach bucket to soak or boiling a new pot of water to add to the bleach bucket, I could still hear what was going on and run back in time to see the demons attack. Ha! It was good fun.

It lightninged and thundered all night last night, and yesterday morning was a veritable deluge, but at around 2:30 in the afternoon, a strange yellow light burst forth from the heavens and turned my gardens into a sauna. I immediately ran outside, grabbed the broom from the shed, and swept the patio. Then it was back inside for more beans and bottles.

As it turns out, I ended up cleaning bottles well into the evening, and thus didn't leave myself enough time (or room in the kitchen) to make Bear's special dinner, and so that will have to be for today or tomorrow, instead. Sorry, Bear!!

For the viewing pleasure of those of you who have never roasted green coffee beans, here's what it looks like from start to finish - first to last - beginning to end:






Of course, with pictures, you're missing the yummy smell of roasting coffee beans which fills the house, and the enjoyment of billowing smoke throughout the house when you don't let the roaster cool down enough between batches, and the beans get burnt.

But I think you'll live.

Doesn't she?

One of my favorite bloggers, Joan Perry (above, right) just got published in a magazine article titled "White Haired Warriors", and it occurred to me that she looks like Bette Davis. I've been on a bit of a Bette Davis kick lately, but even so - I just call 'em like I see 'em.

My heroes

I can't remember exactly when my love of fighter jets started (probably when my dad took me to my first air show) but I was always irked that female soldiers were not allowed to fly fighter jets in combat.

I'm happy to say that this has changed over the years, and so I dedicate this post to some of my personal heroes - chicks that are doing what I would love to do, if I had another go-round.

Note: It's worth it to click on some of these, as the larger images give you a much better look!


Four F-15 Eagle pilots from the 3rd Wing walk to their respective jets at Elmendorf Air Force Base, Alaska, on Wednesday, July 5, for the fini flight of Maj. Andrea Misener (far left). To her right are Capt. Jammie Jamieson, Maj. Carey Jones and Capt. Samantha Weeks.


Capt. Jammie Jamieson went on to become the first combat-ready female F-22 Raptor pilot in the world. Above, she stands on the ladder of her gorgeous flying machine.




Major Nicole Malachowski served in Operation Iraqi Freedom, and is the first female pilot to fly with the Thunderbirds - the U.S. Air Force demonstration squad.





In a "first among firsts", here are the only three female F-117 fighter pilots, standing in front of that awesome beast!

Cans (prior F-15C), Kirby (prior F-16) and Shaq (F-16)

Kirby (top), Shaq, Cans



Here's a whole passel of chick fighter pilots
at Seymour Air Force Base!

And it's not just America that's woken up - here are some shots of female fighter pilots from around the world:

Pakistan

China

Denmark's first F-16 pilot, Line Bonde

Major Deanna Brasseur's career in the Canadian Forces has been both historic and unique. Truly an international aviation pioneer, Dee was one of three women to earn their wings as pilots in the Canadian military in 1981. Eight years later she became one of only two female pilots in the world to fly the highly sophisticated, supersonic, CF18 fighter aircraft.

Major Brasseur is now retired and travels the world as a motivational speaker.

Melting days

Days are running together, as I am working 4-12 shifts all this week. Bear is up and gone before I get out of bed, and I am gone to work before he comes home. It is raining, raining, raining here, never-ending rain, just soft enough to make it near impossible to get out of bed before noon, and as I keep working overtime (didn't get to sleep until after 3:30am last night) I am sleeping later and later. And the rain drones on... and I begin to wonder what Bear looks like with his eyes open... and I have time for a cup of coffee and a yawn before it's time to get ready for work again. Every minute seems to melt into the next, the only difference being that with each day, I get a little closer to paying off the late bills, and perhaps a little closer to starting a savings account. Which, in truth, is worth all the soft edges.

Ranting

I'm so pissed off right now, I'm going to rant a bit. I posted the above picture on the pipe smoking website that I belong to. It features a pretty new pipe and pipe tamper that was gifted to me by another member of the site, as well as some tobacco he sent me, and in the background is my latest steampunk project.

I am not religiously affiliated, nor do I discuss or promote religion of any kind on the pipe site, yet the moderator asked me to remove my picture because some of the members did not like it. It is a piece of art, and it is my own interpretation. It's not done sacreligiously, nor is it done with intent to promote any religion. It's just art. I use clockworks and other bits and bobs to beautify the pictures, I frame them in antique frames, and the intent is to create an aesthetically attractive finished product.

It's not like I'm painting upside down crosses on them, adding devil horns, or tattooing them with profanity. I don't see my art as any different than the wire, plaster, stained glass, or any other medium out of which people have created religious art through the ages.

Every single time I have ever joined a group of any sort, it's come down to this sort of controlling crap. Makes me so mad. It's like people are not adult enough to look at a piece of artwork, decide they like it or don't like it, and move on with the rest of their day. Oh no! Someone doesn't like something! Shut it down, cover it up, cancel it, erase it! Shite heeds.

Whatever. This is MY blog, and this is a picture of MY ARTWORK. Like it, hate it, it's staying.

Bah! Humbug!

Now, see, if I was really trying to rile up the fundies, I'd post pictures from Type O Negative's album covers...

LIKE THIS:

Angelina got her lips honestly

Angie as a very little girl:





At about 9 or 10 years old:




Around 12 or 13, in junior high school:




And at around 15 years old:

Happy Birthday Angelina!