
Harry Price. The Most Haunted House in England: Ten years investigation of Borley Rectory. London, New York, Toronto; Longmans, Green and Co., 1940.
via: The Internet Archive

Harry Price. The Most Haunted House in England: Ten years investigation of Borley Rectory. London, New York, Toronto; Longmans, Green and Co., 1940.
via: The Internet Archive
Yesterday, Paul Durrant was spot on when he suspected that
You left the lighting adjustment setting on incandescent lighting?
So here’s a few pics after I finally figured out what the problem was.
I’m making slow but real progress, but everybody and their dog keeps telling me to take it slow and I’m really trying to. But I also know that I’m far from “functioning normally”, not to mention that my current level of mobility is also due to generous amounts of anti-inflammatory drugs and painkiller. Anyway, one good aspect of German health insurance is that I’m entitled to a household aid for as long as I’m recovering. And my most wonderful sister organised everything with her care service and this morning the wonderful S. showed up.
Everything about my working class woman upbringing was uncomfortable. First of all letting a stranger in when my house is a complete mess. I know, I know, the woman came because there’s a mess and I can’t clean, but try to tell that to your subconscious. The other one is to have somebody clean your shit while you’re mostly watching. (I did help as much as I could). I know that many working class men have absolutely no problem with watching women clean while they’re lying on the couch, but for a woman? I’ve been both raised with some traditional crap about cleaning and quite some deep seated hatred against people who watch women clean, since I’m just two generations removed from women who had to go out and work as maids, being abused by master and mistress alike.
Still, I’ll need a household help after recovery as well because I think my body just told me that it is done with playing nice and putting up with my psychological issues of having to do all my cleaning myself.
The people who live in this house decorate their porch differently for each season and they always make it a splendid arrangement. It’s one of my favourite homes in the neighbourhood and it gives me a smile every time we walk past it. Their current display is quintessentially autumn in Ontario with brightly coloured, coordinating pots of mums, dried stalks of corn and pumpkins galore, big and small, in varying shades of orange. Soon the tree out front will add its yellows and golds, reds and rusts, tangerines and salmons to the show until there’s a riot of colour about the place. It’s one of a thousand things I love about the fall.
For the words fail me to express my thoughts and feelings, my anger and despair.
On Yom Kippur there was an antisemitic attack on a German synagogue, killing two people in the street and at a Turkish take away: https://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-49988482
And if you think I’m bitter, just yesterday the government decided to cut funding for initiatives that fight fascism and provide help for people who want to leave right wing structures.
Or “being too smart for your own good”. Many photographers have nice expensive gear and then set everything on “automatic” and wonder why their pics are not that nice. Well, I’d never do that but do most of my adjustments by hand so I can get the best results. Except for when I forget about something. So here’s the question for the fellow camera addicts: Why do Giliell’s pics have this annoying blueish tint?
Here you can see the different style of later architects who worked at the cathedral after Gaudi’s death: sharper lines, more influenced by cubism than modernisme.
Write your guesses in the comments and I’ll tell you if you’re right tomorrow.
Yesterday I mentioned that Jack has difficulty seeing in the dark. I forgot to mention that Jack also has trouble being seen in the dark. His coat is such a deep chocolate brown that when he steps out of the puddles of streetlight, he all but vanishes. That’s a worry because Jack has a nasty habit of eating things he happens upon, things that are probably not good for him to eat like garbage, poop and the occasional small dead creature. Last night he managed to swallow something before I could stop him. I have no idea what it was as there were no bits of it left to identify, but I’m sure it wasn’t a healthy snack. I jammed my hand into his mouth, hoping to fish it out, but I was too late. Jack smiled, licked my fingers and walked on, leaving me standing there dripping drool and hoping for the best. So far, so good.
From the days before misogyny ended. Oh wait…. that still hasn’t happened yet. Never mind.
Opus has sent us something special – a lovely story accompanied by some gorgeous photos. Enjoy.
When I was growing up in north Georgia, in the early 1960s, my mother always grew moon vines. I remember that the seeds needed a lot of help to germinate – soaking, followed by nicking with a nail file. The vines were nothing special, much like many members of the morning glory family. However, unlike morning glories, moon vines bloom in the evening. Mom always grew them in pots on the front porch, to make it easier to keep an eye on them. In my hazy memories, they always opened as darkness fell. Earlier this summer I ran across some seeds and decided to see if they were as beautiful as I remembered.
The plant has had two blooms so far, with more on the way. I missed the first; was busy inside and just didn’t notice until the next morning.. I was alert the next evening, and the bloom was well on its way to opening by early evening when I checked.
I had not seen one bloom in well over 50 years and had forgotten: it was spectacular. I usually do plant photography in the studio, with lots of light and gadgets galore. This was just an iPhone, and a truly mind-boggling subject. No edits, no cropping, no tweaking.
I have nothing to add to the pictures.
Well, one thing: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ipomoea_alba
Click through to see the magnificent flowers. [Read more…]
