Words fail
buildings tumble
the ground opens wide
light came down from heaven
she stood before my eyes
she’s actual size, but she seems much bigger to me…

He which repents him not of his Marriage, either Sleeping or Waking, in a Year and a Day, may lawfully go to Dunmow and fetcha Gammon of Bacon. Mmmmmm….. a gammon of marriage bacon….

Do you like Olive Oyl? I mean really, really like Olive Oyl? If yes, then this fanpage, Oodles Of Olive Oyl, will be just your thing.

There’s a most excellent photo essay over at Tomato Nation titled And Then There Were Two -- the story of life with Sarah’s two cats.

The spheres’re in commotion
The elements in harmony
She blinded me with science
And hit me with technology

I’ve just had my first winning bid at ebay. I can now play croquet indoors when it rains. Once I get a dining room table, anyway.

I planted 24 tomato plants this year. I live alone. Any reasonable gardener will tell you that one person needs, at most, three plants. Probably fewer. Whatever. I like varieties of tomatoes, and so I’ve got four each of cherry, roma, big yellow, and an Amish heirloom. Those Amish know how to breed a tomato, too. But the cherries. Oh, the cherries. I planted a variety called “Sweet 1000s”. I’d assumed that the name was a marketing ploy, but it actually describes the nature and number of tomatoes produced. I’m glad I didn’t buy the “Sweet Millions”! On any average day, I’ve got at least a couple dozen fruit ripe and ready for eating. Half of those I’ll eat right off the vine, warm with sunshine. The other half I’ll bring inside to eat later. Lunches lately have been basmanti rice and cherry tomatoes, and it’s been heavenly. Sweet cherry tomatoes can fool you though. You have to be careful not to eat too many, else the tomato acid eat away at your stomach. Unless you’re my friend Kim, and then you’d wash a couple pints of fruit down with a few cans of Mountain Dew. The harvest has been so vast, and the fruit so tasty, that the horned worms have come to eat. And eat they have. They can strip a plant down faster than me with a set of shears. Out in New Mexico, the horned worms didn’t bother me. Here, I’ve got to be vigilant. Still, even after seeing damaged plants, it feels so nice to be out in the garden, tending to my crops. Here’s an article that explains why.

Have you seen the new ad campaign for discovery.com? When I saw the spots on TV,I laughed for hours. Maybe days. I wrote the discovery webmaster and begged for them to put the spots online so I could link to them here. He promised me they would be digitized soon, and I’d be the first to know. Well, AdCritic beat them to it. Three spots plus outtakes, all in Quicktime format. Worth the download time, even if you’re connecting via 14.4 modem!

This weekend, I introduced many people to the joys of croquet. And I got introduced to a kindred spirit, though that’s a subject for another time. My cast and crew and I capped off six hours of set construction with a cookout party at the theater. A good time was had by all, but the best time was had by those who played croquet. That’s just how it works, you know. My fabulous friend Steve took pictures, and I’ve put the highlights here, if you want to look. They’re high quality (meaning large – 400 kb or so). The first game clearly emphasized knocking balls around the course more than hurrying through the wickets. I got sent into the street early on, putting me on the bad side of a curb. Nothing a little improvised ramp couldn’t solve, though it still took four shots, and I ended up in the street a few shots later. The back of the theater had a big bed of rocks that was a deathtrap to any balls sent there. Of course, they tried to send me there when they got the chance. It didn’t work, and [paybacks were had. One of the most enjoyable aspects of the game was the cute hazard on the course. This little fellow, seen here emulating Dad, liked to chase balls around the course. He was particularly fond of his dad’s ball, and when one of us would hit it, before we could send it where we wanted, the little fellow would pick it up and go give it to Dad. Very protective, he was. Partway through the second game, the croquet pitch was shared with a wiffleball game. That added to the fun, of course. In this photo, wittily titled “The Pitch” (You see, it shows not only the croquet course, sometimes called a pitch, but also someone throwing a wiffleball at a batter, also called … I know, it’s a stretch at a witticism, but then, that’s me all over.), you can see me preparing to swing wildly at the big red wiffleball. That’s my newly-met kindred spirit standing near me, trying to avoid the wiffleball. A few seconds later, I hit her on the ear with a mighty foul anyway. Just call me Mr. Good First Impression. It was a fine Saturday evening all around, and a great way to relieve the stress that had been rapidly building.

There’s a cheesemakers’ web ring. I should have guessed. There’s 21 sites listed, ranging from professionals to people like me.