Things in threes and 3’s in Things

 

  Harness the power. Palindromic 12/21 today! Use Feng shui. Make it divine. Group by threes. Love every minute.

   Have dreaded tasks? Break it up. Three simple steps.

   Errands to run? List top three. Get it done.

   Undecided on something? List three pros; list three cons. Add more notes. Weigh the sides. Get the picture.

   Choices to make? Narrow to three.  Mix them up. Pick the middle. Or the first. Or the third.

   Green light, yellow light, red light. Go to where? Why go there? Travel how fast? Why slow down? Where is danger? Why use caution? Why not stop? Stop on dime. Time doesn’t stop.

   If you add an H to trees, you get threes. Both are green. Both are wood. Muerto is dead. Eliminate dead wood. Travel Rio Grande. Flower is compass. Wellsville in center for health. Finger Lakes, finger tips and tips of leaves making z’s. Never bored. Always happy.

Produce Boxes

     

    Why think inside or outside the box when you can think about the box? 

    I get excited by DiMare tomato boxes of sturdy cardboard, with ventilating side slits. I find them curiously sexy, strong and silent. I think they are works of art. Form and function marry, to bring the plump and juicy to market! The goods are perishable; the boxes last a long time.

   Vintage apple boxes catch my eye: e.g. Placerville (where one always finishes second?) and pear and grape crates with a graphic touch. Forbidden fruit. Set out with new purpose!

    I think of my own Magic square boxes aka Sudoku rebuses, mixing apples and oranges, numbers and letters, and all-and-nothingness into something new.

   The container in which you put your goods. Bring it. Contain thyself.

   This morning’s walk leads east, along the Tulpehocken creek, to the three marker.  A bright and chilly sunrise. Quiet, except the rosy cheeks of two out of three generations of delicate distaff joggers say “It’s cold!” 

   The kittens have reminded me to go to Weis Markets Store #189, the world’s cleanest grocery store. A rare metallic butterfly has alit on the mat inside the entrance, past the holiday greens. A quick pick-me-up. I get it.

   Mental list. Produce before pet food.  A green vegetable is the order of the day. The broccoli crowns look good enough to eat.  Kitten chow is next. 

   The store is decorated with a few freshly-wrapped boxes. I admire the pair directly above the PORK sign. The wrapping paper is red and white with black and white snowflake designs and the two are nestled there, over the meat cases. One is taller, with a red bow and one is a little shorter and wider with a silver bow. Like a cute couple, same yet different.   

   A legion of boxes march in rhythmic spacing above the eggs and dairy area. The paper is bright and gay. The paper is white with a multicolored wavy ornament design.  “Hi, Mom!”

    Around the corner is a wrapping paper display, with rolls of these papers, bags of pre-made bows and tissue paper. Very handy, very convenient and very present. One white tissue pack and one red/green tissue pack leap into my arms. They are 99 cents each. I take them home.   

    This magic square contains fresh (and free!) wrapping paper, color copy from Trees Yearbook of Agriculture 1942 book cover and more. It includes writing from a ledger page.  One side: Boxes, in ink from 1932.  Another side: Produce, in pencil, 1953. I now give you this morning’s endurable goods in one neat box, where art matters.  

   Check this out! To discover more about Weis Markets, Where Freshness Matters: http://www.weismarkets.com

Juglans nigra

 

Poplar & Walnut -12 by Allison Huyett

    This green parking garage stub Poplar & Walnut – 12 makes the pick of the litter, to pick up where we left off. The black walnut grows here; Juglans nigra, with its round green nut casings aplenty, secreting pungent messages. The tulip poplar is one of the more dominant trees in these forests. Tall and proud and straight. The flowers that look like tulips and leaves that second the motion. But the parking stub is from Philadelphia, travelling here like a burr on wheels.

    Two boatlike wooden shapes are stacked near the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers sign at the upper lot. The bottoms of the skiffs are wire mesh, like large dirt sifters, what are they for and why are they here?

    It’s a dark day on the trail, overcast and damp, yet dry. It could rain but it isn’t now. A heron stands perfect and straight on a midstream stone near the pipline, it looks like a yin-yang symbol stretched tall, the way its neck bends and the legs descend. It is curvature & armature – 12. (Today is a twelve day).

Sorry, This Box is Not a Winner

Sorry, This Box Is Not A Winner by Allison Huyett

The Morning Paper, A dead bird and Joe Heart Holly

 

Joe Heart Holly, by Allison Huyett

 

  Headlights from the paper delivery vehicle shine around the rooms at 4:58 this morning, although the stove clock is set a few minutes off from real time, I should go check that and synchronize them. It is not my morning paper, it is for the neighbors. The morning paper is becoming an anachronism.

   A dead baby bird is a sad sight to see anytime, here is one at a few minutes to seven.

   On the path, it is written, Joe (heart) Holly. ( Joe’s cup of love for Holly runneth over).

   Today is a three day and a sandwich day and I think about green and red, and sandwiches and holly leaves and berries and key lime pie, cups of coffee and where is my Metro collaborator?

   Herons at same-to-similar spots as yesterday: picnic, toppled, red-bridge plus one flying pretty as a swan dive along the midsection of the creek, close to a fly fisherman whose reel spins and the noise catches my ear.

   Candelario sits at bench: 719.

LIFT Foil

LIFT Foil, Allison Huyett

   A side container of ranch dressing is left on the wooden rail at the Berks Leisure Area parking lot this morning. The foil lid is lifted up and since this is a three day (8/30) and green is the color, this green lid is a natural choice, a decision already made, an instant pick-me-up.

   Saturday the sky was heron-colored and the weather grey, damp and rainy. Sunday’s sunshine is startling and awkward; rain has been the constant companion of this summer. Yesterday saw two herons wading, one at the half-mile rapids at the old barn with the flag; the other, near the red covered bridge, poised on one leg, lifting the other to test the water, the footing.

   Creek high enough to match the banks in the low meadow without flooding, although evidence shows water may have gone overboard overnight. Photos: sycamore (Grumpelstiltskin inspired), covered barbecue pit and greenery growing on the pavilion roof.

2M: What more would you want from an herB?

Clean & Company

Endorsing Mrs. Meyer’s. Mrs. Meyers Clean Day aromatherapeutic laundry detergent. Throw away the soap box, sing a song for lemon verbena.
Yes, it is expensive, $16.99 at grocery. No, I might never have tried it if I hadn’t been caught taking pictures at the store. Even the store manager recommended the product.
A nice “citrus scent that’s refreshing, invigorating and considered to PICK-YOU-UP.” as the writing on the green label says. Plus, Laundry HOW-TO.
Warrior approves and there’s no more loud scent that regular commercial brands have. Made with plant -derived surfactants and natural scents including lemon verbena as mentioned and peppermint.
It cleans clothes without changing their entire texture to rough. Sixty-four ounce container for 64 loads. A product of Minneapolis, Minnesota, which now has two M’s to go with the 3M’s.
What a delightful nosegay!

Wides and the White Squirrel

Pathling for a four day

 

   Top story: The White Squirrel has been spotted. We saw it, that is. It is white, no spots. 

  Camel Wides pack is the pick of the litter.  Green heronspotting at start of walk. And tales from the candy factory from Candelario. That  he worked for a candy manufacturer and his nickname is Candy is one of those astonishing alignments in life. He performed maintenance, was the official soap dispenser (Eight kinds in the factory: each for its designated use.) There were eight janitors when he started and four when he left. He was fired and rehired three times. He processed the peanuts used for candy and now he likes to go to the museum and feed the squirrels peanuts. The birds like them too, he says.

  We walk together and when a pathling presents itself for photographing, he asks Did you lose something?

  Found something. Something found us.

   “We owe you a drawing made with the pen you gave us!” we said. “What would you like?”

   “I like birds,” Candelario says.

   “What kind of birds?”

   “The red ones.”

   “Cardinals?”

  “Yes.”

   Note made: add blue ink drawing of  red bird is to project list.

   The white squirrel runs from the grass up the trunk of a tree with vines and disappears. I stop the car and get out and look for it, hoping for a shot. It looks like something to shoot for in the future.

Fuzzy little green heron

Sign of the Times, Reading PA

   Our stance is neutral.  This is a visual of interest that we photographed on a three day and put in the bitemyhorse.com digital image savings account to ripen and mature.

Sotomayor Sign

QC33

   Pick of the litter: tiny square piece of paper: text message: Q C  33. If nothing else, we support quality control and quality control inspectors.

   This morning’s walk is a two-miler due to the curse of the drinking glass. Class. And my own slow-moving triangle aspect. Several things odd or amiss: a different alignment.

   Coffee shop: Man and boy, boy looking around, touching things, father calling his name not so much to pull him in line as to hear the sound of the name, to let everyone know the name. While I waited with my Patient side, the man who had all but hit me in the parking lot, came the shop behind me and his Polite side said “excuse me” and his I- Have- Someplace-To-Go-side went ahead of me in line.

   A heron made some noise near the turtle statue this morning at 8:39 as walk completed.

  As I set out, the crack sealers are working: the lady sprinkling some fairy dust from a plastic coffee jar into the cracks in preparation for the fellow with the hot tar machine, cigarette dangling from his mouth. Perfect.