Football

Last night I actually attended a sporting event for the first time in years. I went to the football (note: that's what the uneducated refer to as "soccer") match between Australia and Paraguay. The tickets were a little more expensive than might have been wise for someone trying to save money to travel, but as a one-off I figured it wouldn't make a huge amount of difference in the overall scheme of things.
It was an exciting match, but the frustrating aspect was the Australian team's traditional problem of finding that final ball into the penalty area to actually make their dominance of the game count. Looking at the final score (1-1) one would conclude it was an evenly fought match, but that was far from the truth. Paraguay barely had a noteworthy attack all game, yet Australia's inability to create anything in the final third from open play kept them in the match.
When Tony Popovic headed in from a set piece to give Australia a 1-0 lead inside the last two minutes, I really thought we could hang on. As it was an own goal from Michael Beauchamp levelled things. Nobody in the stadium could believe it when it went in, but I suppose that's the nature of football. I had a good night regardless of the result, but I need to work on my photography of action shots clearly.
Below: The teams lining up for the national anthems at the start, a rare Paraguayan attack in the first half, and some of the Australian players celebrating what should have been the winning goal.

Being Ordinary

This quote is from the book The Gift of an Ordinary Day by Katrina Kenison. "But as all the identities I worked so hard to construct over the years begin to slough away, I feel myself reconnecting with my own quiet center. It is as if I am, at last, catching a glimpse of myself not as I might wish to be, but as I am. I see a woman who is less ambitious than she once was. Someone less self-conscious, less invested in appearances, but also less "special" than the person I always thought I was meant to be. I see my own ordinariness. And I see that to be ordinary is okay after all."
This is what I'm becoming now in my mid-fifties. I'm not completely accepting the part about being ordinary though. I don't want to be ordinary, but I know that it's an okay place to be, I guess.

Recipe for Curing Grumpiness

I'm reading several books about the Great Depression to arm myself with knowledge just in case we find ourselves in another one soon. The latest read is called Little Heathens, Hard Times and High Spirits on an Iowa Farm During the Great Depression by Mildred Armstrong Kalish.
There are recipes included and plenty of tips on how to make do with practically nothing. There's also good advice on how to rid yourself of grumpiness. I always did something similar with my own children which was when they were being grouchy, I had them go look in the mirror and smile until it became real. They always returned with a good attitude after that. Works every time. I've used it a few times on myself. Here's what the author says is her Grandma's recipe for grumpiness.
"Along with Grandpa, Grandma provided the solid, practical commonsense guidance in the lives of us children. She took the development of our character seriously and insisted that we improve ourselves. One of her more important observations was that it was impolite and unacceptable to visit your ill temper on those around you. If you wake up feeling at odds with the world, direct your attention outside of yourself, see what the world requires of you, and then get busy. The chances are that in a very short while, your grumpiness will soon be displaced by a feeling of goodwill. Her understanding of the psychology of moods was so keen that years later when I read the following passage from William James, I felt as though I'd encountered a soulmate of my grandmother's":
The voluntary path to cheerfulness, if our spontaneous cheerfulness be lost, is to sit up cheerfully, and act and speak as if cheerfulness were already there. To feel brave, act as if we were brave, use all our will to that end, and courage will very likely replace fear. If we act as if from some better feeling, the bad feeling soon folds its tent like an Arab and silently steals away.
Good advice from William James AND Grandma.

What's blooming

Strawberry bush, a.k.a. Hearts a burstin' (Euonymus americanus). My mother sometimes calls this plant Wahoo, but the internet says that's the name of a similar, more purplish-blooming plant. That kind of spoils my fun, since I liked to yell wahoo! whenever I found one.

I think this one is Grass-leafed Golden-Aster (Heterotheca graminifolia or Pityopsis graminifolia, I'm not sure which name is the more current.)

This one shows the grass-like leaves.

Great Blue Lobelia (Lobelia siphilitica).

I was about to call this one White snakeroot (Eupatorium rugosum), until I realized that the leaves are wrong for that. It's actually Boneset (Eupatorium perfoliatum altissimum). (Thanks Ontario Wanderer for that correction! I didn't realize there were different types of Boneset.)

Same thing, whole plant.

The Ironweed (Vernonia altissima) is still hanging in there. I saw five Monarch butterflies on it at the same time - very nice since we don't see near the numbers that we used to.

White Crownbeard, a.k.a. Frostweed (Verbesina virginica).

A yellow composite that I've yet to figure out the name of.

Some asters I'm not going to get specific about.
The pics aren't as spiffy as I'd like... I set the camera to a tiny spot-meter and kind of forgot. So most of them were too dark, and were grainy and had to be manipulated.
The goldenrod and the ragweed are blooming too, but I didn't get pics of those.

Ballot paper

My ballot paper tonight, just before I put my pencil cross on it in the voting booth. Our son came with us to vote in his first UK parliamentary election. We explained to him beforehand that he would need to make sure he voted for the candidate he intended to, as some of the party names are very similar. The Scottish Labour Party, and the Socialist Labour Party. The Scottish Liberal Democrats and the Liberal Party in Scotland.
No, I'm not sitting up all night to watch the results. Tomorrow morning will be soon enough.

Consternation

It's a lifeline, an artery, and they closed it. Only for a couple of days in the end, while Scottish Water laid bright blue water pipes, but there was consternation on the Water of Leith walkway last week. Those of us who use it to commute to work or for pleasure were bereft. Once the routes of suburban railways, the pedestrian and cycle paths run from the hills down through the city to the Port of Leith, and from the city centre out to the village of Cramond on the shores of the Firth of Forth.
How did we all manage for two days? The lycra-clad cyclists, the fast-walking, office-bound suits, the yummy mummies running with black labradors panting along behind on a lead, the mums pushing prams, the pensioners walking wee dogs, the groups of school children, the ladies cutting ivy for their flower arrangements, the allotment-bound green wellies, the walkers 'doing' the whole route from hills to sea, the mounted police exercising horses. We're back now, hopefully appreciating what we have.

Collective effort

Unfortunately there weren't enough of us today. The score in the Six Nations rugby match at Murrayfield was Scotland 6, Wales 24.
When I passed this poster (is that the right word? it seems too big for a poster) yesterday morning, the comma was up at the top of the 'y' of 'play', like an apostrophe. When I passed by on my way home in the evening, it had shifted down to be a comma. I wonder whose concern for grammar got it sorted.