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Something to Brighten Your Day

V.T. Eric Layton

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V.T. Eric Layton

Indeedly! Scot's is a special place. I'm on my 14th year here. There's no better place, as far as I'm concerned. There are busier boards. There are more technical boards. Et cetera.... but there's no nicer board to visit and interact on a daily basis. :)

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  • 2 weeks later...
V.T. Eric Layton

Heh... unfortunately, if that little doggie were running through my yard, he'd have this carp all over him...




I have snowdrifts of oak tree pollen all over my yard, trucks, roof of house, driveway, street, etc. at this time. Fortunately for me, I'm NOT allergic to this stuff. Everyone else around here who is, though, is miserable right now. :(



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47 minutes ago, V.T. Eric Layton said:

I have snowdrifts of oak tree pollen all over my yard, trucks, roof of house, driveway, street, etc. at this time. Fortunately for me, I'm NOT allergic to this stuff. Everyone else around here who is, though, is miserable right now. :(


We have a similar problem with London Plane trees in my suburb and many others in Melbourne. I think everyone's noses get a little irritated by their pollen, but for some it triggers allergies and hay fever. The councils plant them as they are very efficient in sucking pollutants out of the air and creating oxygen.

There are plans to slowly replace them - https://www.abc.net.au/news/2019-10-24/plane-trees-to-be-culled-in-melbourne-city/11635846




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Boy, do I recognize what you have Eric. Our snowdrifts of oak pollen appears in May. Since my husband and I had no experience with Oak trees before we moved here, we had no idea what it was when tons of the stuff appeared.


After viewing info about the London plane tree, I dug deeper to see if what I called sycamore is actually a London plane.


The fruits, seeds clustered into 1-inch round balls that hang on the tree through winter, usually hang individually on sycamores and in pairs on London planetrees.

So I guess I'll have to look at the seed clusters!

Edited by zlim
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  • 4 months later...

film documents the weaving of thousands of flowers into an ephemeral carpet in brussels


in a video titled ‘flower power’, filmmaker, director and producer joerg daiber documents the weaving of more than 500.000 flowers into an ephemeral, 1.800-square-meter carpet at brussels’ grand place. since 1971, ‘flower carpet’ (see previous coverage here) takes place every two years in the historic center of the city, where a hundred volunteer gardeners put together this monumental piece of public art in less than eight hours. though the 2020 edition has been cancelled due to the COVID-19 pandemic, daiber’s recently-uploaded film of the 2018 ‘flower carpet’ offers an alternative viewers can enjoy until the next edition takes place. 



A great free movie for all especially all you old hippies  🤩

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  • 3 months later...

I just read this beautiful story. Apparently it's been around for years but I haven't seen it before and just have to share it:




The Black Telephone

Those of us old enough to remember when the phone was wired to the wall, usually in the kitchen, can relate to this story. I loved this read.

When I was a young boy, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box.. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it.

Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anyone's number and the correct time.

My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway.

The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. "Information, please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.

A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. "Information."

"I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily enough now that I had an audience..

"Isn't your mother home?" came the question

"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.

"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked

"No, "I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."

"Can you open the icebox?" she asked.

I said I could.

"Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.

After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math.

She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.

Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called, "Information Please," and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"

She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, " Wayne , always remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow I felt better.

Another day I was on the telephone, "Information Please."

"Information," said in the now familiar voice.

"How do I spell fix?" I asked

All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest . When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston . I missed my friend very much.

"Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.

A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle . I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please."

Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.


I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"

There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."

I laughed, "So it's really you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"

"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls."

I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.

"Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."

Three months later I was back in Seattle .

A different voice answered, "Information."

I asked for Sally.

"Are you a friend?" she said.

"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," She said. "Sally had been working part time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."

Before I could hang up, she said, "Wait a minute, did you say your name was Wayne ?" "

"Yes." I answered.

Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you. The note said, "Tell him there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."

I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.

Never underestimate the impression you may make on others. Whose life have you touched today?



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