Squares, Stars, and Icosagons

On the creative front, I've come up with some holiday patterns in InkScape to use as backgrounds for when I'm telecommuting to work or holiday events.  I started with a square, then I duplicated them so I had five, then rotated them 72 degrees and grouped them into star patterns.  The star groups are either pointed upward or downward.  

Pentagonal designs tend to fall into two categories:  five or ten rays radiating from a central point, or rings of alternating units.  

The first design I came up with starts with a upward pointing star group; each of its five edges are joined with the edges of a downward pointing star group, which forms a ring around the center; each of the ten free edges on the downward pointing star groups are joined with an upward star, forming another ring, and the whole design keeps repeating that way.  What's interesting to me is way almond-shaped gaps open up in the network of star groups.

For the second design I wanted more complete circles (actually bevelled decagons or icosagons).  The decagons can only hold three star groups at most, with the result that a decagon can only overlap with at most only two other decagons.   In addition to the almond-shaped gaps, packing the decagons together creates a boat- or T-shaped gap and also a star-shaped gap in the arrangement of star groups--I arranged star groups in a way that would favor the creation of complete decagons and star gaps. 

The third design is the second one, only zoomed out a little.  Since this is all done with pentagonal symmetry, the designs end up looking like zilij or Penrose tilings.  I suppose I should go back into InkScape and change the colors; red and green are traditional for the winter holidays, but a number of people have commented that the contrasting hues make them dizzy.

Moon, Saturn, and Jupiter

 

In less than a month, I'm hoping to get some good photos of Jupiter, Saturn, and the Moon.  On December 16, a two-day old Moon will be in the vicinity of Jupiter and Saturn; sunset's at 4:28, twilight at 6:16, and moonset at 6:40 and (I'm guessing) Jupiter and Saturn set around 7:15 -- so I'll have to climb up the hill if I want a good shot (assuming it isn't raining).  On the Solstice, December 21, about 2 AM, Jupiter and Saturn will be about a tenth of a degree apart from each other.

With any luck, sky will be cloud free.  That's a tall order, as there is usually a winter storm in late December.  Fingers crossed.

One difficulty with photographing the Moon with other objects is that the Moon, once it's more than half full, can easily wash out fainter objects like Saturn or Mars.  Another difficulty is that if the Moon is much farther away than a stretched and held out hand (about eight degrees) from a planet, the resulting field of the photograph makes the moon look like a very small (but bright) object in a mostly dark field.

 I suppose photographing the Moon has become my lunar ritual.  By recording the Moon's image over the year, I've become more aware of the  its dance along the ecliptic:  this full moon is near Orion, last month it was near Aldebaran; that crescent is near Regulus.  And images taken over several nights has made me aware of certain craters and other features of jagged light.

This begs the question, where among the ritual tools of lamp and chalice, blade and wand, of thurible and pentacle, does one place one's camera? 

Garden Spirits

I suppose I've made a short of shrine in the back yard by placing the folate head garden sculpture I purchased last September underneath the Child Fort / arbor.   At the time, I was thinking that I might somehow attach it to a stone pillar and set it back in the laurels or other part of the shrubbery, but I think I'll see how well the grape vines grow around it next Summer.  

Who this shrine is to remains to be seen.  I'm hesitant to say "The Green Man," because of all of the Victorian back-projection of a literary figure onto mediaeval baptismal font carvings.  Perhaps attaching pink triangle earrings, or finding pink triangular tiles as a backing would give a contemporary gay flavor that would help invoke the gay male divine.  If I were feeling particularly daring or motivated enough, I might try to find some reproduction of an ancient Fascinus from Pompeii to hang near by (John promptly loses time reviewing Etsy sites...).

When I took down the Writing Pavilion for the Winter, I discovered several packets of spider's eggs (and a few attending arachnid mothers).  I used a dried stem of a poppy to deposit the silken wraps of eggs in the narrow space behind the heavy stone god's head, which felt like something out of a story.  Maybe after hordes of spiders have emerged in the spring it will have more of the numinous about it.  

If only there were a stronger feeling that the folate head were a mask that the growing things in our yard are borrowing, but right now it feels like a concrete idol.  In contrast, the Sphinx in the garden feels more like something with a secret, even if it's only knowledge about finding shade from the goldenrod.  

Now all I need is a 3ft x 4ft x 5ft slab of obsidian or basalt or hematite and I'll be able to have midnight rituals... or... something... although, now that I think about it more, it would probably be just me brooding in the candle light and shooing the cats off of it while secretly imagining a bacchanal before reprising Dot's song, "...if I were a folly girl."

Oh well. 

Photographing Owls

Saturday, I visited the Cascades Raptor Center.  I hadn't been in a while, and with the Governor's Freeze coming up, the center was going to be closed for a few weeks.  

I managed to get there at opening; the entire time I was there there were maybe four other families there.  Oregon got slammed with a winter storm Friday, and Saturday was wet and grey (luckily there wasn't too much rain), which probably accounted for the place not being a mob scene.   The aviaries are all outside, and masks are required, so it's very easy to maintain social distancing.  

During this visit, Dmitri, a Eurasian Eagle-Owl, was brought out of his aviary.  The best photographs of the raptors happen when they are out from behind bars, and Dmitiri is particularly photogenic.  

I made the rounds of the center twice, making sure to linger outside the aviaries of Atticus (Bald Eagle), Banjo (Eastern Red-tailed Hawk), Lethe (Turkey Vulture), and Dante (Golden Eagle).   And Newton (Goshawk), who actually seemed to be squeaking at me -- all of the resident birds seemed extra vocal this visit (except for Danu (Osprey) who is always extra vocal. 

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Oregon is gearing up for a two week Governor's Freeze to try to flatten then infection curve of COVID-19.  This means that Thanksgiving is going to be kind of solo this year -- we might go and visit my folks and talk to them through a window on the porch, but we won't be sharing a meal, unless it's a virtual Zoom-sgiving. 

Animals and Seasons

November is over a third of the way through and the dark season is upon us.  For real this time, although the ten days in early September when the smoke from the forest fires blotted out the sun were bad enough.  At least we can be outside without too much fear of breathing unhealthy particles... oh, wait, COVID-19.  Oh well.   

The damper, colder weather has driven the cats into a grudging acceptance that a dog lives here.  Some days are more grudging than others.  The other day, Cicero was sleeping on Mark while Aoife rested next to him; Mark slowly shifted his body until Cicero was resting, if not on, then at least next to, Aofie.  We think at this point Cicero realized how much body heat Aoife puts out.  I've noticed he's less likely to retreat to the bedroom window when Aoife enters since; and recently, Cicero ventured into the back yard -- something that hasn't happened since the Spring Equinox.

Mark and I notice how early the sun sets these days because all of the acres of the dog park we take Aoife are in shadow by 4, and the sun slides behind the hills by 4:15, and you can see Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn by 4:40, and by 5:00 it's too dark to see the Chuck-It Balls we fling.  If Aoife didn't have a mostly white head, we wouldn't be able to see her, either.   We used to be able to stay until 8:30.

The dog park hasn't turned into a total mud pit yet, but I expect the Big Storm that's supposed to hit us Friday the 13th will change all of that.  (The fist-sized gravel the city used to fill in some of the larger foxholes the dogs dug last spring is already dispersing into new geologic depressions.)

Smokey is more grudging than Cicero.  At least he has the next-door neighbors to run to (and they love him, so it's a win-win situation).  He's still likely to make a dash for the window when Aoife enters the bedroom, but there have been a few times where he's (noisily) tolerated being sniffed by the dog.   Aoife understands that the cats are part of our family, and unless she's previously wound up, she'll slowly creep forward to sniff them (instead of lunging at them) in an earnest attempt to initiate play.  

Smokey and Cicero had been sleeping in the garage over the Summer, but they've worked up enough courage to begin sleeping in our bedroom (and waking us up at 4 AM to be let out).  Sometimes Aofie sleeps in our bed -- when I'm feeling like indulging her -- but I find I sleep better when she's on the couch.  

Moon and Venus

The Moon is drawing closer to Venus, so this morning I made sure to drag myself out of bed and go out to see what could be seen.  Thick hoarfrost coated the deck, and I only stuck my head out through the open sliding patio doors.  Eastward, a sickle Moon hung over Venus -- lightly veiled by clouds, and not quite as near together as I thought they might be. 

I debated with myself and decided to forego astrophotography because of the clouds and because I have some clear photos of the Moon and Venus (included here).  Also, some times I want to observe and experience the skies without a camera.  

More clouds rolled in, obscuring the stars, and provided a scrim for the rising sun's light show later in the morning.

Halloween Wings

For October 31, I wanted to RollerBlade under the full moon light.  Traditionally, I've done this in my billowing black cloak; this worries Mark, who is convinced that I'm going to slip, knock myself out, and get squished by a truck.

This time around, I decided that I would work on white wings, which would show up, and then, in the very unlikely event that I did slip and knock myself out, I would be a white heap in the middle of the road, illuminated by the silvery full moon.   

I started construction on the first of the month.

I thought about how I might make some wings that weren't too horrific looking.  There's a woman on the Internet who made black wings, bird feet, and a beaked full head mask.  I didn't want my head covered because I wanted to be able to see, but her tutorial about how to put together wings from feathers based on actual birds was instructive.  I also thought I might be able to pull off something like the winged costumes used in Akhenaten.   

The first step was to make a small model of the wings in chipboard before cutting out feathers and wings from some sheets of cardboard that we had.  I thought I might be able to make the wings bend at the elbow; this might have worked, except that I didn't have a model arm to fit into the model wing -- so I didn't realize until later that my elbow doesn't bend in the same plane as the wing model did.

Luckily, I had the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Feather Atlas as a resource. The most difficult part was figuring out how to scale up the wings so they wouldn't look like dinky little hand fans or so that they wouldn't be so large that I would be unable to get out of the garage.   And there was also the question of how to wear my wrist-guards with the wings.   I had a rough idea of how long I wanted the tip-to-tip wingspan to be, and I spent something like three hours with a compass trying to work out proportions.  

Since I didn't want to have to keep track of ten or so chipboard pattern guides, I cheated a bit and only made four and doubled-up on similar sized feathers.  Then it was cut-cut-cut-cuting on the cardboard.   This wasn't so bad, as the weather was still nice, and I could work on them in the mid-October sunlight. 

The next step was cutting out the wings; I figured that by doubling up the cardboard and folding it, I'd have structurally sound wings with less of a chance for accidental, mid-flight molting.  It was around here that I discovered that bending wings wasn't going to work (luckily, we had enough cardboard that I could experiment with forms).  I experimented around with feather placement in the wings and determined that it wouldn't look too horrific. 

The wings did look a little less owl-like than I hoped; I was slightly bummed out about this until I decided that I was going to look more like Daedalus than an actual raptor.  And I tried to keep my mind off of Icarus (perhaps if I were younger and more buff....) 

The last week of October, and the final steps were painting the feathers.  I attempted to imitate the look of the barbs with the brushstrokes, but it was super subtle.  I think if I had mixed in small drops of black paint, I might have had more obvious looking barbs.   On October 30, I discovered that I'd dropped a feather on the ground and it was only half-painted.

Attaching the feathers to the actual wings was a labor of duct tape and glue.  And clamps.  And really heavy objects.  And I got the feather overlapping reversed on one of the wings.  

But the end result certainly passed the five-foot rule (if it looks good from five feet away, you're good) and was more or less what I wanted.  Judging from various neighbor's reaction, the wings were a startling success.  

A mid-afternoon test run assured me the wings weren't going to fall apart on me or adversely affect my balance.   Mark commented that I looked like an ancient Egyptian image, which was gratifying.  And kept my mind off of how sore my shoulder muscles were.

Halloween.  I lit jack-o-lanterns in the back.  The Full Moon rose.  The leaves had not yet fallen much, so the street was free of slick spots.  

As I glided through the shadows and the patches of sliver, I raised my winged arms and felt the air lifting me.  The wind exalted my hair.  The arching branches above merged with the canopy of stars.