homefries.org

This heirloom quality quilt has been donated to Freedom Friends Church to sell for the benefit of the church.

The details are at A Silly Poor Gospel.

I’m playing my regular Wednesday gig on Radio Riel today with music of the Silk Road, including a particular focus on Persian and Arabic music. I hope you’ll tune in at http://music.radioriel.org.

Radio Riel is an internet radio station that started in Second Life. I do weekly programming as well as DJing for events in Second Life.

Regular updates on the election and its aftermath:

Breaking News – The Lede Blog – NYTimes.com

And I am ashamed. I hope President Obama puts some muscle behind his recent words.

Among the 200 activists that gathered at the Maoz Esther site was Hebron-Kiryat Arba Chief Rabbi Dov Lior, who explained why peace was impossible in the Middle East.

“It’s all illusions. With these savages, there was never peace, there is no peace and there will not be peace,” he said. “It’s not because we don’t want it, but because they are enemies of peace. We just have to hope that our entire country is cleared of terrorists, their supporters, their backers and their camels. They should all be sent to Saudi Arabia.”

via Defiant settlers rebuild Maoz Esther outpost | Israel | Jerusalem Post.

Jonathan Rauch on “Caring for Your Introvert” from The Atlantic (March 2003):

Extroverts therefore dominate public life. This is a pity. If we introverts ran the world, it would no doubt be a calmer, saner, more peaceful sort of place. As Coolidge is supposed to have said, “Don’t you know that four fifths of all our troubles in this life would disappear if we would just sit down and keep still?”

(tip of the hat to Kotkke.)

The big gay shrug / Sorry, enemies of gay marriage. Prop 8 or no, you’ve already lost

Let us hereby be reminded, before sadness and frustration overwhelm once more: Proposition 8 and its ilk are merely the last, fitful gasps of a long-dying ideology, markers of a certain kind of sad, conservative desperation. They are the final clawings and scrapings of a reactionary worldview that attempts to outlaw and punish all it cannot, will not understand. Same as it ever was, really.

The Guardian intervews Desmond Tutu:

“Are you going to wear that shirt?” asks Lynn Franklin, his literary agent and friend, with whom he is staying on Shelter Island, a holiday retreat in the Hamptons, New York State.

Tutu widens his eyes and opens his mouth in mock indignation. “What is wrong with this shirt?” he says, looking down at his dark blue T-shirt.

“How about the one I ironed for you?” Franklin says.

“But this one has the logo for the World Cup,” says Tutu, pointing to the small emblem on his chest, before turning to me. “Tell your photographer not to go below the belt,” he says.

As I struggle to work out what he means by this, he gets up from the table to reveal a pair of little legs poking out of the bottom of a pair of long shorts. The cassockless figure that makes his way back through the kitchen has an air of Clark Kent about him – posing as a civilian but ready to use his powers for good. Less like a Nobel laureate than, well, your father, only on holiday.

It’s a fairly long article, and well worth the read.

The flowers I remember from growing up were old-fashioned summer flowers: marigolds, zinnias, calendula, gladiolus, nasturtium, hollyhocks. We did have some spring bulbs, but they were difficult to naturalize. We also had mums in the fall. And the house I lived in most of my childhood had rose bushes along the front walk. That house also had a large bird of paradise beside the house, and poinsettias.

Moving East brought a whole new world of flowers to me. All sorts of plants that either can’t take the heat of Imperial Valley or need a colder winter period. Philadelphia, especially, had a long spring, and I grew to love the flowers of this season. Boston’s spring can go past very, very quickly, but I still enjoy it while I can.

Among my favorite flowers are those with heavy, sweet scents: lilacs, peonies, lilies-of-the-valley. Lilacs are in full bloom here now, and I’ve seen some peonies in the neighborhood budding up. No lilies-of-the-valley around here that I know of. Since a photograph cannot capture what I most love about those blossoms (not that they aren’t pretty, too!), I took some shots with my phone of another quirky favorite: quince. Their oh-so-short season is ending already.