Little, Purple, Different

Champagne grapes make the perfect "dessert" for tortoises, be they the sort called "turtles" or the sort called "tortoises." But I love them too. And so does Bean. It makes you realize how limited our store-bought eating grape selection has traditionally been. I know it doesn't make economic sense to ship most wine grapes out for that purpose, but I wouldn't mind trying different varieties in their unfermented state. My dad used to grow Delawares, which aren't wine grapes, but tasted substantially different from Concords. Maybe it's time for modified heirloom eating grapes, tended by robots instead of underpaid human beings.

A Record

I've seen all four of our reptilian friends today, the two box turtles Tim and Marie and the two desert tortoises Max and Felicia. This is a new record for me, since they tend to alternate appearances or at least seem to do so. Max and Marie were out twice, in fact. No, make that Max, Marie and Felicia, who is just now putting in another appearance.

Snow Day

Because discoursing with _luaineach about her family's imminent camping trip in the Rincons has me thinking about A) how much I miss excursions to mountainous regions; B) how "snow guilt" affects parents who want their children to experience all the youthful pleasures in which they indulged; and C) I can finally stand to look for longer than a few seconds at shots taken with my 200mm lens that was stolen in December, 2003, along with all the other camera equipment I saved for as a teenager, I present you with two shots from our Christmas Eve drive up the Mount Lemmon Highway in December, 2002:

Bean had enormous fun making a snow man and then hurling snow off the edge of the mountain with her mom. I alternated between photographing their delight and the wonder of a desert landscape transformed just in time for the holiday:

I've always dreamed of having a white Christmas. Aside from my year in Germany, though, when the snow lay on the ground thin and soft and uneven, the closest I've come was here in Tucson. How ironic is that?