I hate to think what's going to happen when that cowpoke comes down. Western Story Magazine (a weekly) from 10/31/25.
Little Grey Bungalow
Showing posts with label Favorite places. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Favorite places. Show all posts
Monday, February 2, 2026
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Rainmakers
A nice wet day today with the sound of tires swishing past on the wet street and the drip of raindrops through the leaves. Many, many years ago, I was in a coffeehouse near Detroit listening to Odetta. As background for one of her songs she showed the audience how to make a rainstorm using only our hands to create the sound effects.
I had forgotten all about that night when I saw this on YouTube by a Slovenian jazz choir. Anyway, listen to the first 1:45 with your eyes closed while they make it rain.
Neat.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Wien, Wien, Nur Du Allein
Went to see these today and am trying to convince the spousal unit that life will not be worth living until we see the ones at the Spanish Riding School (official photo from Defenselink).
Friday, January 4, 2008
Michigan, my Michigan, Pt II
It was lovely driving up.
It was less pleasant driving back.
Just to vary my route I came part of the way home via the Indiana toll road. East of Shipshewanna there is one particularly prosperous looking farm with big red barns and outbuildings. Half a dozen draft horses were standing in the pasture next to the highway, shaggy and huge in their winter coats, watching one of their number curvet around looking like a beer commercial.
I actually had great visibility, dry roads and little traffic until we hit South Bend and then it got ugly. There may or may not have been some cosmic significance to that.
Driving in the Midwest in the winter is not for sissies. One needs a keen eye, a cool head, a steady hand--and a liberal supply of windshield wiper fluid doesn’t hurt. I am extremely pleased with Flora’s performance (she is an Impala, the color of Paloma Picasso lipstick, and her name is Flora, the Red Menace) but hate the way she gets snow caught in her wheel wells. It makes a hell of a racket on those blasted 360 degree on-ramps on I-94.
I had to leave the interstate before my usual exit due to a bridge outage; the cell phone rang about five minutes later and the Spousal Unit wanted my location. I told him and he said worriedly “Be careful – the road is really bad east of 116.” I wanted to tell him that west of 116 it wasn’t exactly kippers and a cup of tea, either, but refrained.
I lucked out and got a semi about 100 yards ahead of me and another about 150 yards behind, and made it safely to my turnoff bracketed by these two preux chevaliers.
Got home just before dark.
It was less pleasant driving back.
Just to vary my route I came part of the way home via the Indiana toll road. East of Shipshewanna there is one particularly prosperous looking farm with big red barns and outbuildings. Half a dozen draft horses were standing in the pasture next to the highway, shaggy and huge in their winter coats, watching one of their number curvet around looking like a beer commercial.
I actually had great visibility, dry roads and little traffic until we hit South Bend and then it got ugly. There may or may not have been some cosmic significance to that.
Driving in the Midwest in the winter is not for sissies. One needs a keen eye, a cool head, a steady hand--and a liberal supply of windshield wiper fluid doesn’t hurt. I am extremely pleased with Flora’s performance (she is an Impala, the color of Paloma Picasso lipstick, and her name is Flora, the Red Menace) but hate the way she gets snow caught in her wheel wells. It makes a hell of a racket on those blasted 360 degree on-ramps on I-94.
I had to leave the interstate before my usual exit due to a bridge outage; the cell phone rang about five minutes later and the Spousal Unit wanted my location. I told him and he said worriedly “Be careful – the road is really bad east of 116.” I wanted to tell him that west of 116 it wasn’t exactly kippers and a cup of tea, either, but refrained.
I lucked out and got a semi about 100 yards ahead of me and another about 150 yards behind, and made it safely to my turnoff bracketed by these two preux chevaliers.
Got home just before dark.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Michigan, my Michigan, Pt I
“That ain’t no milishy! Lookit them black hats—it’s the Army of the Potomac!”
A tatted snowflake will be sent to the first person that knows what I’m talking about. No fair Googling.
(I couldn’t get a picture of this so had to grab one off the Net, hence the striking absence of snow).
Had a good visit, remarkably little bloodshed (despite one get-together that included in the guest list three boys under six and a very unlucky cat) although on New Year’s night I did have to get brother #3 on my cell and call him every name in the book from a parking lot off Sashabaw Road when I was southbound on I-75 at eleven pm in a blinding snowstorm and my trunk he had helpfully filled with packages and then slammed closed, popped open.
Spent New Year’s Eve in a shocking pink hotel near the Ford Proving Grounds. There were several noisy parties going on around me so I ordered copious amounts of Sam Adams and wings from room service and watched the Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers marathon that TCM kindly provided for my viewing pleasure. Got breakfast the next morning from Eastborne Market in Dearborn, along with a strawberry-rhubarb pie and handmade pita breads from Sophia’s Bakery on Michigan Avenue and a number of other goodies to take back with me. Had a Coney (the national dish of southeastern Michigan) for lunch and hiccupped onion for the rest of the afternoon.
Let’s see, what else… Drove from Dearborn to the tunnel and back and looked at the trees and the houses covered with snow. Had gyros and a “greek” for dinner. Met the newest nieces and nephew (I no longer keep count but I’m pretty sure we’re close to thirty right now which is what happens when a woman with six brothers and sisters marries a man with six brothers and sisters and three of the siblings mentioned are licensed foster parents). Drove by my alma mater and gave a resounding raspberry. Listened to a talk show host make excuses for the Lions. Avoided the RenCen.
Gosh I miss Detroit.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Greenfield Village
One of my favorite places in the world to visit (short list includes Edinburgh, Hong Kong, Vancouver and Saratoga) is the Henry Ford Museum and Greenfield Village complex in Dearborn, Michigan.
Years ago, Henry Ford (the first one) began collecting. He started small, with cars, motorcycles, steam engines, etc, but then moved on to buildings. He bought the Wright Brother’s bicycle shop and the Firestone family farmhouse and barn, and that just whetted his appetite.
(hey, it’s great being a multimillionaire).
As his collection grew he decided to create a place near his home in Dearborn where all of these buildings could be displayed in an appropriate setting. It’s a wonderful place; it’s what Disneyland would be if Disneyland were only real. A Cotswold sheepherder’s cottage and a Swiss watchmaker’s house stand on the same wide, tree-lined street as Robert Frost’s study and a New England saltbox. A Maryland coastal plantation house shares a yard with a 1930’s sharecropper’s cabin.
Eventually Mr. Ford had to build a museum to house all of his stuff and that is now at the entrance to the Village. I think there must be an example of every motor vehicle built between 1895 and 1915 there, as well as buggies, fire engines, train cars and bicycles.
Years ago, Henry Ford (the first one) began collecting. He started small, with cars, motorcycles, steam engines, etc, but then moved on to buildings. He bought the Wright Brother’s bicycle shop and the Firestone family farmhouse and barn, and that just whetted his appetite.
(hey, it’s great being a multimillionaire).
As his collection grew he decided to create a place near his home in Dearborn where all of these buildings could be displayed in an appropriate setting. It’s a wonderful place; it’s what Disneyland would be if Disneyland were only real. A Cotswold sheepherder’s cottage and a Swiss watchmaker’s house stand on the same wide, tree-lined street as Robert Frost’s study and a New England saltbox. A Maryland coastal plantation house shares a yard with a 1930’s sharecropper’s cabin.
Eventually Mr. Ford had to build a museum to house all of his stuff and that is now at the entrance to the Village. I think there must be an example of every motor vehicle built between 1895 and 1915 there, as well as buggies, fire engines, train cars and bicycles.
That is my Packard, btw. I don't care what mileage it gets or how maintenance-intensive it is, it's mine. Just as soon as I win the lottery.
A few more photos at http://www.flickr.com/photos/14033721@N06/tags/greenfield/
Oh, and there’s silver and china and jewelry too, if you’re interested in that kind of thing, at
Oh, and there’s silver and china and jewelry too, if you’re interested in that kind of thing, at
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