The Long Haul . . .

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Just a little while ago this evening Arnaud over at Random Shots posted a lovely picture of a brick wall which had obviously lived another previous life or two before he got to it with his trusty camera. Couldn't help but get this one out, to send back an echo over the blog waves, and to thank him for his support over the past months, and most importantly, to hopefully help bring some small measure of attention to the excellent photography he's been posting, from India, Nepal, Thailand, and elsewhere. Thanks Arnaud ! (photo taken in Philadelphia, USA, circa 1988)

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When one has a job and a family and a blog, one hopes to be able to stay the distance, to keep going for the long haul, as it were. A good sturdy truck is necessary. Very necessary. Onward through the fog ! (look at the rearview mirror on that baby !)
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And when one is going through a rough period at work, one must always remember to buckle up, until the turbulence is behind, and the captain turns off the fasten your seatbelts light . . . Please pardon my temporary absence from answering comments and visiting your blogs, I'll be back around, just as fast as my little toad legs can carry me . . . I miss you all already . . .
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Signs of Man . . .

As this coming week is probably going to be another long and crazy stretch with little time left over for ye olde blog, I thought I'd just close out the weekend here with a couple of odd signs spotted while on vacation on the island of la Réunion in February, memories which are already slipping into the past, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily. . .
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Who would have guessed that I'd have to take an eleven hour flight down into the Indian Ocean, east of Madagascar, to find Las Vegas Ice Cream, the number one American ice cream !
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This next one bears a little translation.
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In French : "Défense de déposer des ordures, Objectif : mieux vivre"
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Now, the sign, as you can see is posted in front of a cemetery. In French, the word "ordure" has a double meaning, it can mean just plain "trash", or better, "garbage", but it can also be used to refer to a particularly sleazy or slimy human being. So, no garbage to be deposited here, the objective is to "live better" ! I loved this sign ! Objective : live better . . . in front of cemetery, for crying out loud. Well, I swore right then and there that I was going to try to live better, mieux vivre ! (and if you think it looks like the town is on fire here, it isn't, just clouds that came down into the cirque late in the afternoon. . .)
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Of Blue Zebra Moons . . . Something Fine . . .

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Every once in a blue moon one stumbles by whatever happy coincidence onto something so fine that it just leaves one speechless, awestruck, overwhelmed with the wonder that life can bring on some oh so rare occasions. Well, I had a moment of epiphany like that just the other day, when I chanced to find via a link in a comment box Karine Arnou's blog Peintures, Photos, et Humeurs. I'm not going to launch into a great long discourse here, otherwise I'd just gush and gush, I'd rather let you hurry on over there and see for yourself, and let you draw your own conclusions, or let Karine draw them for you . . . because wow ! can she ever draw. And paint ! And photograph !
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She very kindly gave me permission to reproduce here one of her paintings, to give you just a little taste. If you've been reading these pages for any length of time, you know I have a weak spot for all things in zebra stripes, so you can well imagine that my heart nearly stopped when I saw this most magical of zebra paintings by Karine :
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And one small song to complete the circle with the appropriate title of "Something Fine"
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Of Doors and Dreams . . .

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As it is quite late here, and I need to get my beauty sleep, perhaps I'll let you gaze at this green door for a moment, and let you decide whether you see anything there ?
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Does this closer view help ?
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Of Amphibians and Abbeys . . .

When la Grenouille discovered that Mr Toad had been plastering his portrait all over the internet in the post just below this one, she wanted to know why she hadn't been given equal screen time. And as we all know that hell hath no fury like an amphibian scorned, I thought I'd better rectify the omission immediately. And by strange coincidence, it just so happened that her sister was here visiting today, all the way from Beirut, and had these two images on her point and shoot Canon Ixus camera, which she kindly allowed me to copy here. So exceptionally, these two photos of la Grenouille were not taken by Mr Toad . . . but by his sister in law, or as they say in French, his "belle soeur" . . .
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Also, all the greenery in these two shots couldn't help but remind me of all the astounding greenery that has been appearing recently on another blog which I love to visit, and have been doing so for nearly a year now. If you have a moment, please do go say "Hi" or "Bonjour" to Jeff at Life is Beautiful, and check out his visions of nature . . .
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Now, to totally change gears, on another blog which I enjoy reading regularly, French Fancy just posted yesterday a brief piece about Abbey Road, and the fact that she had lived near the famous road crossing there pictured on the Beatles album of that title. Her mention of Abbey Road reminded me that I'd shot a picture not long ago which focused on that old and famous image, in a shop window, of a holographic reproduction of it . . .
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A Batrachian Rhapsody . . .

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Just a few posts down, about a week ago, under the title of Blog Encounters, a photo was published which purportedly was the portrait of the author of this blog, Mr. Toad himself. But as I explained afterwards to one or two of you good and comprehending readers, in fact it is very rare that I have the seemingly human physical appearance which was visible in that photograph. The vast majority of the time I spend clothed in a thick and rather bumpy skin, with sort of bulging eyes which rarely blink, webbed feet and hands, powerful back legs, the better to hop with as I make my way around the local forests, seeking out tender insects to munch on, when not just sitting still and contemplating the beauty to be found within my field of vision.
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Occasionally, especially in the evening, I am known to emit a series of deep and far-carrying croaks, to determine if their are any other toads in the vicinity, particularly those of the fairer toad sex. The only time I metamorphose back to my human form is within a 24 period of being kissed by any human female who still retains memories of having once dreamed of becoming a princess and living in a castle. This only happens rarely, as few can be tempted to bring themselves to kiss my amphibian lips. So the photos below are indeed portraits of my true and untransformed self, believe it or not . . .
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And of course these two photos from both sides reminds me of that well known song with the line in it that goes :
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"I've looked at toads from both sides now
From left and right and still somehow
It's toads illusions I recall
I really don't know toads . . . at all . . . "
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So, would you kiss this face ? Do you think he needs a bath first ?
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Even our cat Noisette took one sniff and backed away carefully, she knew right away that this was one batrachean not to be messed with !
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(PS . . . There are those who might try to tell you that this was just an ordinary garden variety sort of common bufonidae toad that had hopped into a certain blog author's driveway yesterday, and that there is nothing really special or magic about him at all; but I wouldn't pay much heed to such dull and loutish opinions, how could such a totally amazing creature not have a bit of magic in it ?)
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In A More Natural Light . . .

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Going back to Reunion Island where we spent of couple of idyllic weeks in February, in the tropical heat, while winter was still waging its cold war in the north . . . what most amazed me about the island is the incredible relief of the terrain there. Of purely volcanic origin, la Réunion climbs out of the sea to over ten thousand feet at the top of the Piton des Neiges, the highest point. Hundreds of thousands of years of erosion and continuing volcanic activity have created a tortured landscape of ravines and cirques, where one often finds oneself looking up or down sheer cliffs hundreds of feet high. If you suffer from vertigo, you may want to pick another destination for you next trip, as the vertiginous heights there could bring on serious attacks of it. This first view gives a little idea. There is no road to the homes visible at the bottom right, people either hike the river valley to get there, or take a sort of cable lift down from where this photo was shot. You can just make out a large waterfall at the lower center . . .
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In fact there are numerous waterfalls all over the island, many of them quite spectacular, some that come to life after tropical rainstorms. We went to this next one the first afternoon we arrived on the island, above St. Denis, just beyond the village of Brulé . . .
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Vegetation runs rampant . . .
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Tree ferns luxuriously green . . .
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Strange flowers abound, the likes of which I'd never seen before . . .
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A marvellous road crosses a large stretch of central forest, which has become a National Park fairly recently, the rising ground to the left leads up toward the Piton des Neiges.

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The Piton des Neiges visible through the morning haze . . .
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And from another angle, the summit . . .
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Following the Telegraph Road . . .

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And I suppose

After sitting in the armchair

In the marsh (see post below)

For long enough

However long that may be

At some point

It would be time

To get back to town

To the noise

The bustle

The bars the booze

Back to town or bust

Back to the struggle

Put the shell back on

The bullet proof vest

Around the heart

At some point

It would be time

To climb back into

The old Chevrolet

And follow

The telegraph wires

All the way

Out of the marsh

And back to civilization . . .

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Following whatever signs

Might be found along the way

Hoping for some sort of directions . . .
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And keep going and going

For as far as I possibly can

Until one day

Inevitably

One arrives

At a place

Which looks

Something like this . . .

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The end of the road . . .

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There is a song which could accompany all this . . .

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Armchair Afternoons . . .

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There are times these days
When I think I'd just like
To drag my old armchair
The comfortable one
The ragged one
Out of this broken down house
Drag it well out in the marsh
And then just sit out there
For the next fifty years or so
Contemplating
Ruminating
Cogitating
Turn my back for a long while
On the way things are
And just wonder about
What could have been
But wasn't to be
I'm tired of seeing
The same stories
Over and over and over
Day in and day out
Week after week
Month after month
Year after year
I'd like to believe
The human race
Is still headed
Somewhere luminous
Somewhere pure
But I have alot of doubts
These days
So I'd just like
To go far
Out in the marsh
And quietly sit for a while
But the newspapers
Won't let me be
Every day
Promethian eagle
Comes to pick at my soul
And I'm tired
Of the same tired stories
Of human madness
Of human numbers
I'm getting number
And number
But not comfortably so
Yes, I'd like
To drag that chair
Way out in the marsh
And simply meditate
For a nice long while
But there's this blog
And the job
And the house to pay off
And all the rest
And the clock
Is ticking
While out in the marsh
Only the swaying grass
Keeps time . . .
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Of Blog Encounters and Souvenirs . . .

Going back right about a year ago, at the end of March 2009, one of the very first blogs I chanced upon that really thoroughly captivated me by the wonderful photography work being exposed therein was out in India, hosted by Loulou, with the catchy title of Indiaphragme. We both started our blogs in the Fall of 2008, and for both of us it took several months, well into 2009, before anyone at all in the way of visitors started coming around from time to time, and leaving comments. Her lovely blog has continued to thrive since then; almost without fail a new photo is posted every day, and the quality of her work is simply sublime. I would strongly encourage anyone who enjoys photography to go clear back to the beginning of her blog, and look at all the photos in it, there are many hidden splendors there.
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In June of 2009, I had the incredibly good fortune to meet Loulou in person, when she had flown back to Paris for the start of a few weeks of vacation back in her native France. We had agreed upon a rendez-vous in the Tuilleries Gardens near la Place de la Concorde, and spent a couple of hours just getting acquainted over some cool drinks while our kids, two of hers and one of mine, were running around, and then strolling in in the gardens. All I can say is, what a great pleasure it was to meet someone, a talented photographer and lovely and generous lady, who were it not for the networking power of the blogosphere, in all likelihood I would never have met or even known of. So here's to the universe of blogging . . . and may you all blog on !
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This first photo is one that Loulou sent me, one that she took of herself in a mirrored part of a merry-go-round in the gardens. For a long while I despaired of ever being allowed to publish a photo of her in these pages, she had requested that I not do so before we parted that day back in June. I feared that she would wish to remain hidden, as she is in this photo. But after last week's meeting with the web master of Spit & Baling Wire, documented just a couple of posts down here, I raised the question again to Loulou, beseeching her to allow me to do a bit of promotion for Indiaphragme again in these pages, with a portrait of her portrayed as well . . . and this time she very kindly relented . . .
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So, at long last, nearly nine months after our meeting in the Tuilleries in Paris, here is a small portrait of Loulou taken that warm June afternoon . . . Charm and grace personified . . .
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There was also a charming expanse of lavender planted in one corner of the Tuilleries, near the Jeu de Paume, bringing rich colors and sweet smells to further bewitch our senses . . .
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After Loulou and her children took leave of us, with la Grenouille and one of our daughters we continued our exploration of les Tuilleries, visiting the small amusement park which is an extension of one of the wings of the Louvre Museum, where a large Ferris wheel, la Grande Roue, spins in eternal circles, from the top of which one has a surprisingly good view of surrounding Paris . . .
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Quite a giant slide is part of the equipment there . . .
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Strange wildlife can also be observed if one sneaks up carefully . . .
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And colorful decorations . . .
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Loulou was not the only lovely lady visiting the Tuilleries that day, though by far the most graceful . . . As we returned to la Place de la Concorde, a fashion oriented photo shoot was in progress, which many passers by also stopped to observe. Apparently work from this shooting session appeared in Elle magazine back last Fall. There were assistants standing behind the photographer here holding large mirrors, using them to reflect sunlight onto the model's face. No wonder her eyes are shut, she must have been half blinded, but it looked like all involved in the job were having a good time. Taking photographs and getting paid for it ; good work if you can get it I guess . . .
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And so Loulou will not feel quite so all alone about appearing in public in this post, here is a photo that she took of me that day, Mr. Toad, while I was getting ready to shoot some photos of the kids playing on a jungle gym there in the park . . .
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And what a day it was ! Fine souvenirs from Paris . . . Some folks take home Eiffel Tower key chains or red Paris hearts, but I took home something far richer : memories of a blog inspired meeting . . . which I'm not likely to soon forget . . . Merci Loulou ! A bientôt j'espère ! Vive Indiaphragme !

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A Slug Fest . . .

Now I realize this post may not be for everyone, so I'll advise at the outset, if you are averse to mollusks, or have a high revulsion factor for slippery slimy slugs or their cousins the snails, you may want to stop reading right here, because this could get gooey . . .
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Ah, still willing to go on ? Ok, well, what I wanted to say is that quite some time ago now, purely by chance, I discovered a blog out on the rainy Pacific coast of Oregon which is produced by a slug, and I think she is the loveliest slug one could ever want to meet, the Mrs. Slug in question, alias the Babbler. She creates the most charming and gooey stories imaginable about the lives of her sluggy husband Mr. Slug and herself; everything you ever wanted to know about slugs but were afraid to ask can be found in the blog in question. So without further ado, or should I say, agoo, I'd highly recommend a visit to the Adventures of Mr. Slug and Friends, please drop in and take a look around, being cautious not to slip and fall on any slimy slug trails. And see if you don't get just a little hooked . . .
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Ever since I discovered her blog, I've not been able to look at slugs in the same light. How I've mis-judged them all these years. Or even abused them by sometimes being so awfully cruel to have stepped on one or two over the years. I even admitted to Mrs. Slug (and she kindly forgave me) that when I was a very little boy, with my brothers we sometimes poured salt on slugs, or put out bowls of beer for them to drown in. But never again would I dream of harming a slug. And while we were on Reunion Island in February, I came across simply the largest molluskular type creature I'd ever seen anywhere. This must be some distant cousin to the slug, which don't have shells, probably a closer relative to snails. . . but some sort of giant land snail the likes of which I'd never encountered before.
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So, for your viewing pleasure, and in homage to Mrs & Mr Slug of Slug Rest, Oregon, I submit the following photos for your consideration . . .
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My daughter courageously placed her hand next to it to illustrate this mollusk's gargantuan size . . . Hmmm, I wonder if any local Réunionais recipes call for sautéing them in butter and garlic sauce ? ? ?
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A Curious Condemnation . . .

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Going back to re-visit for a moment the bridge of dreams that was mentioned just a few posts down, the message in this photo was quite thought-provoking, translating as : "She who reads this sentence will be condemned to return here every year at this exact time". Could it apply to this blog too ? Whoever reads this will have to return here to these pages every day at this time ? Ok, it's too late now, sorry, you can't un-read it . . . I'll be looking forward to your return visits . . . :-)
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A Fine Island Photographer . . .

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While on la Réunion Island for two weeks in February, in the small town of Cilaos, high in the interior of the island, I found some beautiful postcards for sale in a small shop. The photos on them were done by a simply excellent photographer who lives on la Réunion named Edgar. He very kindly sent me a larger version of one of his postcard images, which is this series of nine creole homes, or "cases créoles". Edgar has a website where you can see quite a bit more of his fine photography, into which he pours a generous quantity of passion for the people and places to be found on la Réunion. His work has been published in Geo Magazine, which is the french equivalent to National Geographic. Several others of his lovely postcard images can be found on his website . . . enjoy . . . (photo copyright http://www.edgarphoto.fr/)
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While exploring la Réunion, I also photographed several cases créoles, as they are often compelling subject matter, especially for someone like me who is searching the world over for a dream house to live in. A case créole on la Réunion may just possibly be a reasonable solution. This next photo is one of mine, transformed into sepia tint in homage to Edgar, with the original photo below it in blue. Note the waterfalls pouring down the slope behind the house...
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* * * * * * * * NEWS FLASH * * * * * * * *

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Breaking News / / / BNN Blog News Network /// - Paris, France 7 March, 2010
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At 07h46 this very morning a distinguished and lovely lady arrived at CDG Airport, Paris, coming in from Los Angeles (an old song from Woodstock in reverse !) where she was met by her equally distinguished husband and by this roving blog reporter who rather coincidentally happened to be in the right place at the right time to share a moment of pure happiness with them, to witness an historic moment, the arrival on French soil of one who has been writing for many moons about her impending transition to life in France, the country of origin of her handsome husband, and now her adopted country of residence.
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She is an avid blogger (or should I say bloggeuse?), and for the past year or so I've been reading her blog posts with considerable pleasure, indeed sublime pleasure, for she writes and creates multi-media blog articles in her inimitable and passionate style with intense energy and honesty and humanity and infectious joy.
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To retain a certain measure of discretion, for reasons which you will understand should you happen to desire to read further in her pages, I will slightly disguise the names of the first two of her three blogs, but I would highly recommend to anyone who enjoys reading, if you are not already familiar with them, that you set aside some time to read through some of her back posts on all three of her blogs, which can be found at (just take the spaces out of the names, and convert the dots) :
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h a l f w a y t o f r a n c e dot blogspot dot com/
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a n e r s a t z f r e n c h w o m a n dot blogspot dot com/
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spit and baling wire dot blogspot dot com/
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The above photo at the airport (note the sign saying "Arrivées / Arrivals" at upper left) clearly captures some heartfelt smiles at being reunited in France, after a turbulent few weeks apart, reasons for which are described in Spit and Baling Wire by the delightful Pliers, the Ersatz F r e n c h w o m a n, formerly known as la F r a m e r i c a i n e. What I also like in the above photo are the light fixtures in the ceiling which appear to be not one, but several halos over Mr F.'s head, surely the sign of a saint. Many more photos of the two of them, and that distinguished moustache, can be seen on the above mentioned blogs; there is always something radiant shining through those photographs.
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I'm sure there are a few people who will be happy to know the Pliers arrived safely in France after her long overnight voyage in a big jet plane; on Where's My Effing Pony there is a fine sending off "Bon Voyage" message to her, and no doubt the renowned and talented Stickup Artist is thinking about her also.
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So, to the two of you, Mr. and Mrs. Spit & Baling, I wish you all possible happiness and good health as you turn the pages into a new chapter of your adventures ! ! ! Am looking forward to reading all about it . . .
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Signing off for BNN, you can say you read it here, straight from the horse's mouth, as it were . . . and this horse was encountered on the way home from the airport, as Mr. and Mrs. F. head off to their new life together here in a hexagonal country east of New York and west of Berlin . . .
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