The light of Christ

St. Cecilia's

Cathedral, Omaha,

on a winter's

Saturday evening

after the vigil Mass.

The face-off

The New Year's Eve face-off.

Molly the Dog isn't quite sure what to make of Britney the Cat. Britney the Cat wants no part of Molly the Dog.

So there you go.

That ain't convenient

I think I'll stick with the escalator, thanks.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes. Turn and face the strain.

It started out amazingly temperate for a late December day here in Omaha. We're talking upper 50s for a high.

It was 61 yesterday.  

And then this evening, the cold front. The wind is blowing hard; the temperature is falling fast. The optimistic forecast for Sunday is 13 for a high.
 
The one I believe says 10.

Anyway, I ventured out to play chicken with the Polar Express a bit ago, playing with my new Nikon digital SLR camera. I thought these pictures looked rather like the kind of night it's shaping up to be.  

I just may have to throw another log on the fire . . . and we don't even have a fireplace.

December dog sense

It's 10 degrees in Omaha right now, the ground is covered with snow, it's rather hazy and the wind chill is 1 below zero.

LONG STORY short, I think Molly the Dog has the right idea here.

Alas, I disturbed Her Royal Hunkered-In Highness, who no doubt wants Pop to go away -- and to take the annoying, clicking Rectangle of Death with him.

Her wish, etc., etc.

As you were, Mollster.

Apologies to #*@!%+$ Simon and Garfunkel

 

Where have
you gone Bob Devaney-o, a lonely Husker Nation turns its eyes to you, ooh ooh ooh. . . .

A September Saturday in Lincoln

A bridge of Madison County

Heading back to Omaha from the Iowa State Fair in Des Moines, we took the scenic route away from busy Interstate 80.

On the road less traveled on a Monday afternoon, we communed with the spirit of the late, great John Wayne at his boyhood home in Winterset, Iowa. Before that, though, the missus and your humble blogger checked out a bridge of Madison County -- the covered, wooden Hogback Bridge that dates to 1884 and spans the North River.

Yes, I did take photographs of at least one of the covered bridges in that esteemed farm county.

No, I did not have a torrid affair with Meryl Streep.

There are a few things with which my lovely bride of 30 years will not put up. That one -- and I'm just guessing here -- would be somewhere near the tip top of the forbidden list. 

Is what I'm tellin' you.

Iowa's state fair is a great state fair

Our State Fair is a great state fair,

Don't miss it, don't even be late!

(Our state fair is great!)

It's dollars to doughnuts at our state fair,

It's the best state fair in the state!

OUR STATE FAIR IS A GREAT STATE FAIR!

IS A GREAT . . .

IS A GREAT . . .

IS A GREAT STATE FAIR, HEY!

Our State Fair is a great state fair,

Don't miss it, don't even be late!

(State fair is great!)

It's dollars to doughnuts at our state fair,

It's the best state fair . . .

in our state!

"State Fair"

-- Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II

Home uh da happiess stomachs on ert

Fleur de Lis, Government Street, Baton Rouge.

Turn out the lights, the party's over

June's almost over, another College World Series has been consigned to the pages of Omaha sports history, and now it's time for fireworks, sweet corn, blistering Plains heat and daydreaming about state fairs and college football.

But not until we get in some parting shots.

Like these.

 

 

 

The cotton-candy dude abides

If you don't count some smart-assed teenager plopping himself down in the middle of a bunch of Mississippi State fans at the last game of the College World Series, then yelling "C'mon, Bruins! Beat those rednecks!" . . .

And if you lay aside an incensed Bulldog partisan responding in his thick Mississippi drawl with "C'mon 'Dawgs! Beat them queers!" and thereby proving the smart-assed teenager's point, the most memorable sound coming from Sections 203 and 204 at TD Ameritrade Park in downtown Omaha went something like this.

"Cotton caaaaandy-buhdybuhdybuhdy-buhdyyyyyyy! Cotton caaaaandybuhdybuhdy-buhdybuhdyyyyyyy!"

THAT meant the SnoFloss cotton-candy dude (not to be confused with the Sta-Puft marshmallow man in Ghostbusters) soon would be coming down an aisle near you. I almost was wishing I could abide cotton candy.

"Cotton caaaaandybuhdy-buhdybuhdybuhdyyyyyyy! Cotton caaaaandybuh-dybuhdybuhdybuhdyyyyyyy!"

The first time I laid eyes on the purveyor of $5-per-cavity SnoFloss, I turned to my wife and our friends and said "Holy crap! It's The Dude!" Or at least a young, cleaner-shaven version of Jeff Lebowski, the lesser. They all agreed.

And I could totally see The Jeff Bridges Dude selling cotton candy at the ball yard. Your mileage may vary, of course.

Would cotton candy and White Russians abide? I haven't a clue.

NOR DO I have a clue about the real backstory of the SnoFloss cotton-candy dude. For all I know, he's a tea-party Republican pursuing his MBA at Creighton. With an emphasis on cotton caaaaandybuhdy-buhdybuhdybuhdyyyyyyy!

The thrill of victory, the agony of defeat

For the College World Series championship

last night, your final score is UCLA 8 . . .

 

Mississippi State 0