Jeanna & Evan's Hurricane Hanna Wedding

Jeanna and Evan threw their own little hurricane party in the backyard of Evan's childhood home. Who knew Hanna would blow all the way to Bucks Co. PA? Road closures, impending wind and rain, and hunger didn't stop anyone; we learned the back roads, Mr. Clark and his son-in-law built a roof over the reception area deck and secured blue tarps over and around it (something blue?) and I found a very friendly little "by the slice" pizza place across the river when painting nails and giggling brought on hunger.

And The Bride Wore Birkenstocks

Just uploading pictures from Jeanna & Evan's wedding.

Will be posting more later but here is one for now.

Tilting at Storm Fronts

NPR interviewed a Texas woman yesterday who - along with her husband - decided to ignore the mandatory evacuation and stay at their home during the storm. Although they had boarded up their house, the couple couldn't help but crack open their front door to watch what was going on outside. "...And there goes part of the greenhouse roof..." she happily relayed to the interviewer.

What is it about storms that makes us want to be a part of them?

I remember living in post-Andrew south Florida and the urgent excitement that was in the air as people collected their batteries, candles and gallon jugs of water for an impending hurricane. When the storm veered away from the area and downgraded there was a strange sense of loss as people removed the plywood from their windows and went back to their offices and rush hour traffic.

Maybe storms remind us of the primal battles that we once fought for survival vs. something bigger than ourselves. Something that had the power to unify people in one collective, under qualified, underdog mass against it, vs. against each other. A chance to battle a more worthy and exciting adversaries than rush hour traffic. Or an automated 411 directory voice that insists, "You said, 'McDonald's'" when you request the number for "library."

The picture above is of my friend Nathan "Weatherman" Weathington, who is passionate fly fisherman. The picture reminds me of how we are often drawn out into the weather with fascination and quixotesque flirtations when self preservation should tell us to take cover, go inside, or follow a mandatory evacuation.

Benjamin August Rudman

The youngest son of Jacob. An inventor and statesman. A band leader with a wailing clarinet. A mischievous little bunny. "Benjamin."

What about "August"? Beside being the given name for young Gus's everywhere (a.k.a "somewhere"? Am I the only one who thinks the name can be used for those other than potential gas station attendants and orange cats?), "August" has a respectable history. The most prominent African American play write of the 20th century was an August. "Augustus" was also the name of Julius Cesar's adopted son who would rule in his place following his assassination. And then there is "Augustine" - the wicked saint and author of a very long book that I read in grad school. His younger days were spent in "loose living" (not my terms but http://www.catholic.org/ 's). His eventual conversion makes him "an inspiration to many who struggle with a particular vice or habit they long to break," as well as the patron saint of brewers. Interestingly enough, Adolphus Busch named his son "August" after teaming up with his father-in-law, Eberhard Anheuser, and starting a little brew company of their own. Since then, four boys named August have been born into the family beer business.

And then there is the month of August. Sleepy heat of late summer and last days of freedom before school starts again. This August snuck in just under the wire and exactly as predicted, on August 26th, 2008.

Hay Rolls, Virginia

As I try to work on oil painting, I am also looking for scenes to paint. In late June I pulled the car over to take a picture of this pretty scene.

A friend of mine from New England once scoffed when I said how beautiful I thought the Eastern Shore of Maryland is, with the farm fields and grassy flats that led out onto the tidewaters. I think his idea of beauty was a snow capped mountain.

But as a Chesapeake Bay girl, the vertical and horizontal hues of blues and greens equal lovely to me. With a an occasional county road view of a jelly-roll hay bale and a quietly aging red tobacco barn.

"Home."