Sometimes beauty just is…  There is no need for explanation.  Of course, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so an agave that appeals to me, is judged by me to be beautiful, but it may be thought to be crude and only interesting, if that, by someone else.  A tall blossom rising out of a simple agave is beautiful and strange.  Its appearance against a plain background commands attention.  I photographed only the blossom because the plant itself is not unusual.

The mime in Balboa Park is….. strange.  His music is ….. strange.  I wonder if he has help getting the white paint all over his face and hands.  I wonder if he has help getting it on and off.  I don’t consider him beautiful… but he is … different.

No Parking  Coming from coffee with friends this morning, I saw a day lily and decided it would be my picture for today…  This Lily is definitely ready for the day., so I went on my way after taking a couple of pictures of the lily thinking that I should be going into today with as much hope and optimism as a simple flower shows in a public place.  Life can be good, is good, for lots of people and is good for me; but for people whose lives were affected by the shooter in Orlando, life doesn’t feel good today and probably won’t feel good for a long time.  

I listened today to Donald Trump talking about our President’s remarks yesterday.  Trump said the President was angrier with him than he was was with the shooter.  What!  I heard both the President’s remarks and Donald Trump’s remarks; and it is clear that the president is more comforting and sympathetic with family and friends of people hurt in the terrible Orlando tragedy than Donald Trump shows for anyone.  Trump seems to want to keep himself in the center of his personal area of concern.  He doesn’t seem to be able to show concern for other people.  O.K., I’ll stop before I spoil my good feelings about today… 

If it walks like a duck… and if it talks like a duck… It must be…  But wait.  This creature doesn’t walk like a duck and it doesn’t talk like a duck, so it’s not a duck… but it probably eats hummingbirds so I can’t be tricked by its beauty into thinking it is a good creature to allow free reign in my back yard.  It’s one of the dilemmas I face in retirement.  

The following information about hummingbirds was sent to me today by a true friend.  I like it and can’t think of anything that strikes my fancy more today than this note did. so…

“Legends say that hummingbirds float free of time, carrying our hopes for love, joy and celebration.  The hummingbird’s delicate. grace reminds us that life is rich, beauty is everywhere, every personal connection has meaning and that laughter is life’s sweetest creation.”

I got the picture on my way back home from dropping off John and Carol at the airport.  This view of San Diego's harbor is almost, but not quite, as sweet as a hummingbird picture.

I see this flower all over the San Diego area.  I took these pictures on my way back to my car after church this morning. I don't know what it is.  Because I don't know what it is, because I don't have a name for it, doesn't make it any less real or any less legitimate.  It is beautiful and I celebrate it today... especially today.

Beauty… Out of the Ordinary…The CNN news  this morning was screaming about the biggest massacre in U.S. History.  Two things came to my mind:  

1) This is may not be the biggest massacre in U.S. History.  Bigger was the ruthless, unbelievable massacre of indigenous people on the North American Continent, genocide that went on until the century into which I was born. 

2)  The second thing that came to my mind was that our culture is still infused with marginalization of groups of people who are different in some way from who we are… The usual differences are mentioned repeatedly: race and ethnicity, color, religion.  A difference that continues to be legitimatized by religious groups and social groups is sexual orientation.  The place where the massacre occurred was a popular gay nightclub in Orlando.  There continue to be people  in our society, people who insist that they are the “good” people, people who believe gay people are different from the majority of the population to such an extent that they should be denied participation in the religious group.  In Mission Valley the First United Methodist Church denies L.G.B.T. individuals participation in ways that affirm the basic humanity of all human beings.  A gay person cannot become a minister into the United Methodist Church liturgical system until the church to which the person belongs has voted to be a reconciling church.  In other words, a majority of the people in a Methodist church must vote to ignore the national convention’s stand.  In most Methodist Churches person’s money and talent’s (if needed) are welcome.  Use of facilities in the United Methodist Church national community is denied in anything that resembles marriage.  Even in a state like California where marriage of same-sex individuals is legal, the church continues to deny the church’s blessing on same sex marriages. Of course, that situation will end.  Such an absurd notion will eventually die, but death of the notion is slow. That two individuals who happen to be women cannot be allowed, should not be allow to form a marriage, or that two men of the same sex should not be allowed to form a marriage doesn't make sense, is absurd, so it will eventually die.  In the meantime, people like the 50 who died in Orlando this morning, pay a high price for having been born different.  The Orlando massacre can still happen elsewhere, and will continue to happen, as long as there are “good” people who insist that whatever it is that they are is the best way to be human.  It will continue to be a problem especially when a group insists God wants them to continue to believe whatever it is they believe about who should be considered whole and good. 

Roses…I’ve been focusing my camera on orchids lately, and a walk through the Rose Garden on Park Boulevard at Balboa Park today reminded me that there are flowers in the world that are not orchids, and roses rise right to the top of the list of beautiful things, especially of beautiful flowers… so here’s a suggestion if you live anywhere near San Diego.  Go to Balboa Park’s Rose Garden and see these beautiful blossoms.  

The orchid is my idea of perfection.  Even when I’ve used a computer program to change the color, it’s still perfect… like a hummingbird... perfect.

Magnolia Blossoms… trees.  Balboa Park.  I didn’t see hummingbirds today, not one.  I went to the Museum of Photograph Arts for my Thursday volunteer stint, and after I left the museum I went looking for hummingbirds in a grove of magnolia trees near where I left the car.  There is an actual grove of magnolias not far from the western end of the Laurel Street Bridge.  I saw bees and great white blossoms but no birds.  I wonder why there were no birds, especially with all the bees around the blossoms.  I got my pictures for the day and will go back to the same spot again to see if there birds are there.  Balboa Park is a great place.  Life is good!

I visited with Liz Respess this afternoon and found these pink orchids in her living room on her coffee table.  Wow!

OK, OK...  I'll stop one day looking for the hummers that lived with us for awhile.  The tree with orange blowers, and even the little orchid on our patio, are humming bird magnets.  I went out with the camera this afternoon and waited.  While I was standing close to the tree with orange blossoms, a hummingbird came flitting to blossoms near the top of the tree.  I don't think it was one of mine.

The San Diego Museum of Art’s exhibition, Quilts and Color, shouldn’t be missed.  When I first heard about the exhibition, I wondered if the museum was filling its exhibition space with an easy bunch of colorful quilts.  I expected them to be good, but I wasn’t prepared for the lesson in color in art that the early quilt makers offer.  Of course, the quilts are old and have been cleaned and pressed and presented with the kind of care that my grandmothers’ quilts got; Those quilts were beautiful but not works of art of the quality of those in the exhibition.  The ones chosen first by the curators of the Boston Museum of Art are real works of art.   Don’t miss this exhibition.

Also I’ve not been able to take pictures of “my hummingbirds,” but other birds at our hilltop have come to my attention.  I’ve included two of them on my BLOG today.

What it looks like at the nine and a half mile point in the half-marathon Rock and Roll Race in San Diego.  The first two pictures are Patrick.  The others are Elaine.  Yeaaaah!

With an empty nest outside on the patio, I've got to find another avocation; I've got to go on finding beauty in the bark of trees and in flowers like the orchids that Ed Jirjis gave to Margaret for Mother's Day.  This shouldn't be too hard.

FRIDAY… Empty Nest…  I’m wondering this morning if someone told the little bird about my worries…  All gone now, even though I’ll never see it again (or won’t be able to tell if I’m seeing this particular hummingbird) among the many that have adopted our area for home base.  Of course, the two babies won’t be building nests this year, but they will perhaps be among the birds that flit among the rosemary and bougainvillea and other flowering shrubs in our backyard.  Anyway, today’s picture says it all.  We’ve successfully made a safe environment for the Mother and her two chicks.  I’ll be on the lookout for another nest, somewhere in the area.  There is time in this season for the cycle to repeat itself.  

THURSDAY:  I expected the little bird to be gone when I got back from a volunteer stint at the Museum of Photographic Arts.  It is still there.  Still looking beautiful, but smaller and less mature than the sibling that flew away on Sunday.  The mother bird has been coming back to the nest today to feed the little bird.  I don’t know what to do.  How can I avoid the thought that this little bird may not be on schedule… It may be smaller than it should be.  I’ve noticed that the neck and head and the overall feathers are not quite right.  I know, I know… I’m anthropomorphizing, but how can I keep from wondering if everything is O.K.  The Mother bird keeps coming back to feed the chick, so that’s a good sign.  Everything I’ve read on the Internet says this little bird should have flown away two days ago.  She, I think it’s a female, is still here.  If you look at the back of the bird, you see a cluster of hairs sticking up.  I didn't see those in the sibling.  The feathers seemed to lie more smoothly on the back and sides of the sibling.

  At half-past-four I have a phone appointment with the APPLE company representative to help me solve a problem with passwords.   I don’t like the password game we seem to be playing with every organization that we reach on the Internet.  I've lost my e-mail facility because of a password glitch... so I won't be able to do the usual, regular daily e-mail of the BLOG...  So it's here or on Facebook...  

WEDNESDAY:  After coffee and delicious cinnamon rolls (homemade by Clyde) with Clyde and Dave and Dave H. and Royden, I came back home and watched the hummingbird chick.  I took pictures, knowing that I’d take my eyes away from the nest for half-an-hour at a time and each time when I’d go back I expected to find it empty.  The little bird was trying to get ready to fly into the big world.  It practiced flying without going anywhere.  It preened itself and waited.  I grew impatient for the big event, hoping to be able to record the flight with my camera… and I dreaded to see the empty nest...all that will be left of the almost two months of drama with the nest building and laying of eggs and the hatching of eggs and then this flying away into the world. 

It’s after five o’clock as I finish this writing, and the baby bird is still hanging out in the nest; so I’m sure now that tomorrow will be the day it flies away.  This has been a good run, and I confess to liking this little ball of feathers more than I should admit.  The nest is close to the sliding door in the bedroom, so when I show up with my camera, the little bird knows and acknowledges my being there.  When the Mother comes to feed the little bird, she sees me and lets me know she sees me by flying right at me, stopping still in mid-air and makes sure I know she is there.  I can’t get a picture of her flying.  I get pictures of her sitting on the edge of the nest.