The beauty of making cranberry relish.

There is an unre­lent­ing beau­ty to cook­ing. Today when we were cook­ing I took shots of a cou­ple espe­cial­ly beau­ti­ful process­es. This is the sto­ry of mak­ing cran­ber­ry rel­ish. The col­or and the shapes are deli­cious. The rel­ish was a per­fect mix of tart, sweet, and peppery.

The pho­tos are tak­en with my Iphone 4s with Insta­gram so I could share them.

A mar­velous side dish for the left-over ham sandwich.

orange rind


wash­ing the cranberries






cook­ing the cran­ber­ry relish.

Slinky thinking, delight.


The sim­plic­i­ty of the slinky is pure delight.

I have one on my desk and play with it often when mulling a prob­lem. I view it from one angle and then anoth­er. I lis­ten to the sound as I rock it back and forth. I explore it’s line and dis­place­ment of space.

It qui­ets my thoughts. It pro­vides space for clarity.


from Wikipedia:

The toy was invent­ed and devel­oped by naval engi­neer Richard James in the ear­ly 1940s and demon­strat­ed at Gim­bels depart­ment store inPhiladel­phiaPenn­syl­va­nia in Novem­ber 1945. The toy was a hit, sell­ing its entire inven­to­ry of 400 units in nine­ty min­utes. James and his wifeBet­ty formed James Indus­tries in Philadel­phia to man­u­fac­ture Slinky and sev­er­al relat­ed toys such as the Slinky Dog and Suzie, the Slinky Worm.


Ray Guns are a weakness.

From top left, clock­wise, the pro­to­type for the XZ-31, the XZ-31 itself, and the XZ-35 “Wilma Deer­ing” Rock­et Pis­tol of 1935.

I want every sin­gle one of these. I’m a ray gun freak. I’ve got a cou­ple ter­rif­ic plas­tic ones. I have a desire for more.

Meeting Hazel.

the journey of steel...


I first met Hazel in 2009. I grew to know more of her in words on twit­ter, then images on flickr, then her blog The Asian Welder.

We cor­re­spond­ed in e‑mail the most dur­ing her road trip in 2009 when she and her mate {Hank} set off in their Airstream trail­er on a trip across the west.

We had short chats about her trav­els. I fol­lowed her blog. She dis­ap­peared from twit­ter. Lat­er I found it just took too much of her time. She want­ed more to be mak­ing art and liv­ing. I watched for post­ings about her doings and viewed her art from the beau­ti­ful pho­tos she posted.

I viewed life through her lens. I found great beau­ty and joy.

In June I vis­it­ed her blog and found that she was on a new jour­ney. She had can­cer. Months have passed and the truth of this jour­ney is more clear. Hazel has cho­sen to live her life with­out chemo. To find peace and an end on this earth in the same beau­ty which she has shown all of us that have know her in some way.

I am sad­dened to lose this kind soul. But I pre­pare myself to let go and know that her spir­it holds a place in my  heart always. She walks in beau­ty on this earth.

Alo­ha Hazel.

hazel colditz, (aka bud­dha­girlAZ) sculp­tor, lover of nature the finest art, pas­sion­ate pho­tog­ra­ph­er, moth­er, Bud­dhist w/alchemist tendencies.

Patti Smith’s Dylan playlist, Ballad in Plain D (1964)


Bal­lad in Plain D 1964

I once loved a girl, her skin it was bronze
With the inno­cence of a lamb, she was gen­tle like a fawn
I court­ed her proud­ly but now she is gone
Gone as the sea­son she’s taken

Through young summer’s breeze, I stole her away
From her moth­er and sis­ter, though close did they stay
Each one of them suf­fer­ing from the fail­ures of their day
With strings of guilt they tried hard to guide us

Of the two sis­ters, I loved the young
With sen­si­tive instincts, she was the cre­ative one
The con­stant scape­goat, she was eas­i­ly undone
By the jeal­ousy of oth­ers around her

For her par­a­site sis­ter, I had no respect
Bound by her bore­dom, her pride to protect
Count­less visions of the oth­er she’d reflect
As a crutch for her scenes and her society

Myself, for what I did, I can­not be excused
The changes I was going through can’t even be used
For the lies that I told her in hopes not to lose
The could-be dream-lover of my lifetime

With unknown con­scious­ness, I pos­sessed in my grip
A mag­nif­i­cent man­tel­piece, though its heart being chipped
Notic­ing not that I’d already slipped
To a sin of love’s false security

From sil­hou­et­ted anger to man­u­fac­tured peace
Answers of empti­ness, voice vacancies
Till the tomb­stones of dam­age read me no ques­tions but, “Please
What’s wrong and what’s exact­ly the matter?”

And so it did hap­pen like it could have been foreseen
The time­less explo­sion of fantasy’s dream
At the peak of the night, the king and the queen
Tum­bled all down into pieces

The trag­ic fig­ure!” her sis­ter did shout
“Leave her alone, God damn you, get out!”
And I in my armor, turn­ing about
And nail­ing her to the ruins of her pettiness

Beneath a bare light­bulb the plas­ter did pound
Her sis­ter and I in a scream­ing battleground
And she in between, the vic­tim of sound
Soon shat­tered as a child ’neath her shadows

All is gone, all is gone, admit it, take flight
I gagged twice, dou­bled, tears blind­ing my sight
My mind it was man­gled, I ran into the night
Leav­ing all of love’s ash­es behind me

The wind knocks my win­dow, the room it is wet
The words to say I’m sor­ry, I haven’t found yet
I think of her often and hope who­ev­er she’s met
Will be ful­ly aware of how pre­cious she is

Ah, my friends from the prison, they ask unto me
“How good, how good does it feel to be free?”
And I answer them most mysteriously
“Are birds free from the chains of the skyway?”

Random Act of Culture: Opera Company of Philadelphia “Hallelujah!”


Sur­prise. For the holidays.


On Sat­ur­day, Octo­ber 30, 2010, the Opera Com­pa­ny of Philadel­phia brought togeth­er over 650 cho­ris­ters from 28 par­tic­i­pat­ing orga­ni­za­tions to per­form one of the Knight Foun­da­tion’s “Ran­dom Acts of Cul­ture” at Macy’s in Cen­ter City Philadel­phia. Accom­pa­nied by the Wana­mak­er Organ — the world’s largest pipe organ