iPhone Photo Parade

Another series of random pictures from my iPhone, collected over the past few weeks. First, I noticed this flashy car parked near our house. It's a McLaren, whatever that is. Orange is apparently one of the brand's trademark colors. I haven't seen it since, so maybe it was just visiting.

Down the street, in front of the bathtub house, this hound sits curled on top of the garden wall. I've walked past him a million times and only just noticed that his eyes don't match.

I liked the way the streetlights reflect off this rippled fence, in waves. It's interesting how changing the conventional flat plane of a fence can have such a cool effect.

Saw this cat prowling around on my way to work one morning. Isn't that a beautiful coat? I don't think I've ever seen a cat with such nice fur. It didn't seem too happy with me, though.

My boss made these for me for my birthday. Aren't they cool? She thought they'd be a good style for me because I could continue to take pictures with my fingertips exposed! I do like them, though I've found that getting into my pockets with them on can be a challenge.

Finally, obviously this is not my photo, but a huge wall-sized advertisement in the tube. I just really like this picture. I love the graceful posture of the skater -- those relaxed hands! -- and the crystal-clear action and the warm summery sunlight. I'm probably not in the market for wireless headphones, though.

Winter Weather

Yesterday evening's forecast called for snow, and that is indeed what we got -- clumpy, wet snow that melted when it hit the ground. Our back garden is coated in a very thing sugar-dusting of white, and the cars have an icy sheen, but otherwise it didn't seem to stick. I haven't been outside yet this morning, but I guess when I walk the dog I'll find out if the sidewalks (or "pavements," as I have been instructed to call them in England) are icy.

We're supposed to get more sleet and snow later this morning, just in time to make my walk to work an adventure. I really can't complain, though -- elsewhere in England they're bracing for high winds and coastal flooding.

Two nights ago I was lying in bed when I woke to the sound of some small animal howling. The moon was bright, and I crept out to the living room to see if I could see anything in the back garden. Something was definitely paying tribute to that big bright moon, and I doubt any of my neighbors left their small dogs outside at that hour.

According to this enormously entertaining article, foxes can howl, and my guess is that's what I heard. (If you click that link, be sure to check out the videos, including the Norwegian pop song -- head-spinningly weird.)

Thanks for all your concern about Dave. He went to the doctor yesterday, and the diagnosis was virus with secondary bacterial lung infection. He's on antibiotics now. So far I'm OK, but we'll see if that lasts!

(Photo: My walk home from work yesterday.)

Moroccan Street Sweeper

This is one of my old photos from Morocco. I came across it on a roll of negatives while looking for something else. I don't remember this picture at all and my guess is I threw out the print, because -- let's face it -- the subject IS really far away! But on seeing it again I decided I kind of like it, with the downward angle and intersecting lines.

I think it was taken in Ouarzazate, in south Morocco, in May 1994. I was interested in the street cleaner, who was using an old palm frond to sweep up trash.

I could probably get a clearer image with an enlarger, straight from my negative. But here's what he looks like in the scanned version.

In other news...

Dave is sick, this time with a cold. He came home early from work yesterday and he's coughing and snorting like crazy. He says he feels terrible. The poor guy just cannot catch a break!

Also, I had to do some more "trash intervention" yesterday morning. Our upstairs neighbors threw away a big garbage bag full of branches from a Christmas tree -- in our trash can. Well, as you can imagine, it completely filled the can. Christmas trees are recycled here in Camden borough, so I pulled the bag out of the trash and lugged it to the recycling site (Fortune Green) yesterday morning, dumping the branches into the tree enclosure. Now, at least, we have room for actual trash in the trash can.

We've been sucked in by a new TV show -- "Search Party," with Alia Shawkat. I saw it reviewed in The New Yorker and decided to give it a try. We've binge-watched six episodes and we love it. Having lived in New York as a young(ish) person, I appreciate the youthful urban sensibility.

And speaking of urban youthfulness, I was shocked to learn over the weekend that my pal Peter -- who I met up with in Paris almost four years ago -- died about a year and a half ago! I don't know how I missed this news, except that most of the people we know in common aren't on Facebook and I hadn't corresponded with him or his partner Katherine in some time. (We're not close friends, as you can tell.) I debated what to do -- was it better to say nothing and just move on, or get in touch with Katherine and let her know I'd just heard? At the risk of reopening old wounds I did the latter, via e-mail, to express my surprise and condolences. Apparently he had been ill but I don't know the specifics. I haven't heard back from her, and I may not, but I thought I should at least let her know why I hadn't said anything sooner.

'70s Magazines

The former jazz club being renovated in West Hampstead has gained a sign and presumably some interior walls since I photographed it last March. At first I didn't pay attention to all that newspaper covering the windows. It's fairly common practice for businesses being renovated to cover up this way while the work is being done.

But then I took a closer look and realized the "newspaper" actually consists of pages from old '70s magazines -- teenybopper fan mags, from the looks of things.

There's some fashion advice about colorful underwear...

... and a comic strip from the folks who made "Bionic" a word.

Beauty tips from Marie Osmond? A "personal letter" from David Cassidy? What more could we want?

I got such a kick out of all this that I stood in front of the shop reading until Olga got really impatient and began pulling me along the sidewalk. I'm going to have to go back without her and take a closer look!

The Procedure

Olga and I came across this bag sitting beside a public trash can while out on our walk several days ago. Remember when I went to see that Rolling Stones exhibit? It was such a hot event here, and now it's moved to New York, I think -- and the bag has become anybody's rubbish. Oh, impermanence!

Dave's procedure (that euphemism again) took a bit longer than expected yesterday, but things went pretty much without a hitch. There were a few minor surprises but nothing serious. I know Dave was relieved when it was over and he was finally able to eat again. He finished around 2:30 p.m., and the poor guy hadn't eaten anything since breakfast the previous day.

I'd like to say we went out and celebrated with lobster thermidor, but we actually came home for tuna fish.

It was just as well we were occupied with all that, though, because there was a tube strike yesterday and apparently getting around London was a challenge. There was a lot of extra traffic -- the school where we work issued special directives for where cars could and couldn't go on campus, and poor Olga's dog walking outing was hours late. She wasn't even picked up until about 3:30 p.m., and she got home at nearly 7 p.m., well after dark.

In the interim it poured rain, but she came home dry so she must have been en route in the van when that happened.

Otherwise I worked yesterday on my other major archiving project (aside from photos), which is transcribing my old journals. Yes, I'm still at it. I'm up to June 1994. This will keep me busy for years, but I really like the opportunity to go back and reread everything, and to pair the entries with photos from the time. I've already used the blog search function to help me find events quickly -- something I could never do when all that writing was on paper. Having digital versions will be incredibly handy!

A Milk Bottle

I spent yesterday morning archiving photos, a process that always takes a ridiculous amount of time. I sort through everything on my laptop, delete what I don't want and move both the original and edited versions of the good pics to a portable drive. (I also upload the edited ones to the Web.) Then I delete everything from the computer to make room for more. It takes hours.

Olga finally got her first Hampstead Heath walk of 2017. The weather wasn't great -- kind of chilly and cloudy and damp -- but she was in heaven. Lots of squirrel chasing, as usual. (When the dog-sitter dropped Olga off last weekend, she kept commenting about how much Olga loves to "hunt" -- a euphemistic way of describing what Olga actually does, which is crash headlong into shrubbery after anything that moves, catch nothing and whine in frustration at the bottom of trees.)

I hunted a bit myself, too -- I found an old milk bottle, marked "Express Dairy Co. Ltd." There's a corner of Sandy Heath, not far from where the photo above was taken, that must have once served as a sort of unofficial (or maybe official!) rubbish dump. Bits of trash are still in evidence. The bottle isn't dated, from what I can tell, but the Brent Museum has an identical one on its web site from 1909. I brought it home, ran it through the dishwasher and put it on the kitchen windowsill. (Is it kosher to keep old trash found on public land? I have no idea.)

After Olga's walk, we gave her a bath, removing not only Heath mud but hopefully whatever agent was making her skin break out last week. Her belly has cleared up entirely, but she did eventually develop some bumps beneath her fur -- hopefully those will disappear now as well.

(I know you all are just dying to hear about my dog's dermatologic conditions...)

Speaking of distasteful medicine, Dave's procedure (another euphemism) is today. He's done all the preparation, poor guy, so now it's just a matter of hanging around until it's time for the appointment at 10:45 a.m. I've taken the day off so I can go with him.

Slacker Day

Yesterday was exactly what I needed -- a day at home with lots of reading material. I finished one book, started another and squeezed an issue of The New Yorker in between the two. It was the Christmas issue, one of those where virtually every article is interesting, and I learned all about a landscape photographer named Edward Burtynsky and a new TV show called "Search Party" that I think Dave and I will try. And Hulk Hogan's lawsuit against Gawker, which may have implications for serious journalism.

I also managed to go to the cleaner's and take the dog for a long walk around the cemetery. In the evening, Dave and I binge-watched the final three episodes of "Eyewitness," which I would describe as an involving but pretty seriously flawed show. We found ourselves saying "No way!" over and over, each time a character did an extremely improbable thing -- which happened often.

And that was pretty much it.

Today I'm going to try to be a bit more ambitious.

But not hugely ambitious.

(Photos: Olga at the cemetery yesterday, and a pair of socks Dave's sister gave him for Christmas.)