Lance Mannion

Natural stained glass

The view through our bedroom window. Tonight around 7.  Thursday.  May 16, 2013.

Roadside Omelet

Young Ken Mannion took Uncle Merlin and me out for breakfast this morning at one of our favorite roadside eateries. I ordered the Roadside Omelet which almost looked too good to eat. Almost. Eveready Diner.  Hyde Park, New York. Monday. February 25, 2013.

Mannion vs. Food! Food wins by forfeit

Had a burger at the diner. But not an Alex Burger. Much as I would have liked winning a t-shirt, I could tell at a glance I was overmatched. Two pounds! Deep-fried bacon! I give! I give!  Menu item. Broadway Lights Diner. Kingston, New York.  Friday night.  April 19, 2013.

"Order Here"

Stopped in on the drive to Syracuse to order a sandwich for the road.  Turkey and Roast Beef Combo on Rye with Russian and cole slaw, macaroni salad on the side.  Gershon's. Schenectady, New York.  Around five-thirty this afternoon.  Tuesday.  April 9, 2013.

For all your Pre-Raphaelite Fashion needs

Shop window. Syracuse, New York. Tuesday evening.  March 26, 2013.

The winter that won’t quit

Not exactly a spring-like morning here in Mannionville. 36 degrees and it’s not supposed to get much over 40.  But it’s the fourth day in a row with sunshine.  The snow from early in the week hasn’t melted away, but there are patches of grass here and there, and there’s nothing heavy predicted.  Over in Massachusetts, though, things haven’t been near as mild. Winter just won’t give up.  A friend of Uncle Merlin who lives on Cape Cod sent along this photo from yesterday morning.  Orleans, MA. Friday. March 22, 2013.

Visiting some friendly and familiar ghosts at Edward Hopper’s House

Thursday. March 21, 2013.  Nyack, NY. Front hall of the Edward Hopper House.  On the right hand wall are a series of photographs by Charles Sternaimolo laying out side by side many of Hopper’s paintings with the scenes and places depicted in them as they look today. Click on the photo to see some examples.

Took Young Ken down to Nyack yesterday so he could visit the Edward Hopper House to do some research for a project for his art class.  Hopper was born in the house and grew up there and he visited on and off all his life, but it was really his parents’ and then his sister’s home.  Interesting and informative visit but a bit disappointing.  Wasn’t expecting to see any of Hopper’s major works there, but I thought they’d have some paintings by him, and they do, but they’re upstairs in rooms that are rented out as studios and none of the artists currently renting them were there to give us permission to look in.  We did get to see the upstairs bathroom, though, which hasn’t been remodeled.  It’s as Hopper would have always known it.  The volunteer showing us around says she’s always amazed when she looks at the cast-iron bathtub.  She wonders how he fit.  It doesn’t look long enough.  Hopper, it turns out, was six-four, a fact that impressed Young Ken, who is only six-three and a half.  Never thought about Hopper’s height before but now that I know I can see it in his photos.  He was a big-boned, rangy-looking guy.

This is the bike of a tall man.

So no paintings by Hopper but almost as good were the ghosts of some of his paintings.  He sometimes used parts of the house itself as inspiration and background.  Click on the photos to see the paintings they found their way into. Right click to see the photos themselves enlarged.

This is a corner of the front porch.

Here’s the view down the stairway to the front hall.

This fireplace is in what is now the office.

And this place isn’t part of the house, it’s up the street a few blocks.

So that was cool.  And although we didn’t get to look at any of Hopper’s paintings, there were some drawings and family photographs about and there were paintings by other artists.  Two downstairs rooms are used as a gallery and paintings by three contemporary abstract artists were on display. Ken particularly liked the work of Robert Straight and decided on the spot to switch his paper topic from Hopper to Straight.

Pink House on the Hudson

Nyack, New York.  Around Two this afternoon. Thursday. March 21, 2013.

The 124th New York State Volunteers

What’s a parade without Civil War re-enactors?

Members of the 124th New York State Volunteers muster for the town’s St Patrick’s Day Parade. Sunday. March 17, 2013.

Horses not wearing the green

Our town’s St Patrick’s Day Parade forms up on our street. 

Fortunately, no one thought to dye their coats green.

In front of the Mannion Homestead. Sunday, March 17, 2013.

Coping with the cold

Moving from one hot drink…

…to another…

…to yet another this morning. 

Temperature here at the Old Mannion Homestead 19 degrees. Wind chill bringing it down to near zero.  Hope it’s warmer where you are or you have access to as much coffee and hot chocolate as we have.

Mom and Pop Mannion’s kitchen, six-thirty this morning.  Bruegger’s Bagels, nine a.m.. Barnes & Noble, closing on noon.  Monday. February 18, 2013.

Two feet and counting

Hope those of you in the path of the storm are ok.  Looks like the worst of it passed us by.  But not too far to our east they got socked.  Two feet North of Boston, with more on the way, Uncle Merlin reports. He sent along this picture.  Melrose, Massachusetts.  Saturday morning.  February 9, 2013.

A dusting

From Uncle Merlin. They woke up to snow North of Boston today.  I like the J.J. Abrams-esque sun flare. Seven-thirty Saturday morning. January 26, 2013.

“The view was all in lines…”

“…Straight up and down of tall slim trees…”

Sunday. December 2, 2012. Around 10 this morning.  Out Christmas Tree hunting.  The tree farm is surrounded by woods. Warm day, no hard snow held me. No snow at all. But the view was all in lines, straight up and down of tall slim trees and it put me in mind of this poem, The Woodpile, one of my favorites by Robert Frost.

Out walking in the frozen swamp one gray day,
I paused and said, 'I will turn back from here.
No, I will go on farther—and we shall see.'
The hard snow held me, save where now and then
One foot went through. The view was all in lines
Straight up and down of tall slim trees
Too much alike to mark or name a place by
So as to say for certain I was here
Or somewhere else: I was just far from home.
A small bird flew before me. He was careful
To put a tree between us when he lighted,
And say no word to tell me who he was
Who was so foolish as to think what he thought.
He thought that I was after him for a feather—
The white one in his tail; like one who takes
Everything said as personal to himself.
One flight out sideways would have undeceived him.
And then there was a pile of wood for which
I forgot him and let his little fear
Carry him off the way I might have gone,
Without so much as wishing him good-night.
He went behind it to make his last stand.
It was a cord of maple, cut and split
And piled—and measured, four by four by eight.
And not another like it could I see.
No runner tracks in this year's snow looped near it.
And it was older sure than this year's cutting,
Or even last year's or the year's before.
The wood was gray and the bark warping off it
And the pile somewhat sunken. Clematis
Had wound strings round and round it like a bundle.
What held it though on one side was a tree
Still growing, and on one a stake and prop,
These latter about to fall. I thought that only
Someone who lived in turning to fresh tasks
Could so forget his handiwork on which
He spent himself, the labor of his ax,
And leave it there far from a useful fireplace
To warm the frozen swamp as best it could
With the slow smokeless burning of decay.

A Museum of Christmas Inflatables

I wonder what these folks’ electric bill is like at the end of the season.  Somebody’s holly-jolly front lawn, somewhere near Valley Forge, PA.  Around 9 o’clock tonight, Saturday, November 24, 2012.

Coca-Cola Bug

Note the California plates. And the skis. And the surfboard.  You can’t see it here, but the decal in the back window is for a tattoo parlor.  Snow, surf, ink. All things that go better with Coca-Cola.  Outside Starbucks. King of Prussia, PA.  Saturday morning, November 24, 2012.

Evening Blue

Uncle Merlin spent Thanksgiving down at the Cape.  He worked off his third helping of apple pie by painting the porch ceiling. Chatham, Massachusetts. Friday, November 23, 2012.

Caution: Blogger at Work

Finishing up my review of The Master.  Should have it posted in about an hour.  Figure it’ll take two more cups of coffee. Nine-fifteen, Saturday morning, September 29, 2012.

That toast is toast

Art the Wonder Dog eyes him some Wonder Bread. Sent by Uncle Merlin moments ago.  8:30 Sunday morning.  September 16, 2012.

PS. Latest report: The toast has been gobbled.

Harvest Room this way

The blonde needed to sleep in this morning so she asked me to go pick up today’s farm share at our CSA.  Phillies Bridge Farm.  Gardiner, NY. Around ten this morning. Saturday.  August 18, 2012.

What do you think? Do you see a Hopper influence?  Or is it more Andrew Wyeth?

What I didn’t see down by the river this morning

The river.

A bit foggy this morning.  7:10 AM. Thursday, August 2, 2012.

Summer shower

Four-fifteen Sunday afternoon. July 15, 2012. We’re having a little rain.

Doesn’t seem to be cooling things off.

Dinner on Cape Cod with Uncle Merlin

Yesterday it was pizza on Revere Beach.  Tonight he’s taunting us from the Cape.  Another virtual meal. Striped bass season opened today. Uncle Merlin reports that the guy he bought tonight’s dinner from was up until midnight last night cutting up the day’s catch, all 17 thousand pounds of it. Chatham, Massachusetts. Friday evening. July 13, 2012.

Lunch with Uncle Merlin on Revere Beach

Virtual lunch. He’s taunting me. Sent this via his cell. I had a tuna fish sandwich. But I had a great view of…my tuna fish sandwich.  Pizza from Bianchi’s. Revere Beach, MA. Around two in the afternoon. Thursday. July 12, 2012.

Nothing but blue skies smiling at me…

I wish.  The view over our heads, about an hour ago.  Tuesday morning.  July 3, 2012.