Lunch at Threadgill’s (Old #1) in Austin

29 03 2011

After Brian (my former boss/lifelong photography mentor) finished teaching a wildflower photography workshop on Saturday morning, we went to lunch at Threadgill’s, a local eatery in Austin. That’s Brian holding the menu in the collage below. He founded the Austin Shutterbug Club over a decade ago and teaches digital photography at the University of Texas a few times a week. He and his wife, Shirley, have published two books, Texas Cacti and Grasses of the Texas Hill Country. They are currently working on a coffee table book about Texas wildflowers. Check out his work here.

Excerpted from Threadgill’s website (

Perhaps country music lover and bootlegger Kenneth Threadgill had more in mind when he opened his Gulf filling station just north of the Austin city limits in 1933, for the day that Travis County decided to “go wet ” in December of the same year, Kenneth stood in line all night to be the first person to own a liquor license in the county. Soon, the filling station became a favorite spot for traveling musicians since it was open 24 hours for drinking, gambling and jamming. Kenneth would sing songs by his beloved Jimmie Rodgers nightly. Musicians who came to play were paid in beer. Such was the atmosphere at Threadgill’s, it was only when a curfew was enacted in 1942 that its owner had to get a key for the front door, before that it had yet to have been locked. The quintessential Austin beer joint continued to flourish into the sixties, and changed with the social climate of the era by inviting the folkies, hippies and beatniks to his Wednesday night singing sessions with open arms. Threadgill’s love for people and music smoothed out the conflicts that usually occurred when longhairs met with rednecks at the time, and because of this, a new culture tolerance emanated from the club, which had a profound effect upon its patrons and the music that came from it. It was here that Janis Joplin developed her country and blues hybrid-styled voice that would blur the lines between country and rock n’ roll.

In 1974, when Austinites and the nation were extolling the benefits of living in the heart of the Lone Star State, and the “Cosmic Cowboy” movement, which had its roots directly planted in the history of Threadgill’s and Armadillo World Headquarters, was at its peak, tragedy struck Kenneth Threadgill when his wife Mildred died, and he decided to close his club.

After nearly succumbing to the city of Austin’s desire to demolish the original Threadgill’s site which had become an eyesore, it was purchased by Eddie Wilson, owner of the Armadillo World Headquarters, a sister venue of a kindred spirit. Wilson’s idea, however, was to make Threadgill’s a Southern style restaurant, based on the success of the menu that he offered at his kitchen at the Armadillo. So, on New Year’s Eve 1980, the Armadillo closed, and on New Year’s Eve 1981, Threadgill’s opened as a restaurant. It was an instant success.

Photos © Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.

From my friend Josiah: To add or not to add? Facebook Dilemna

29 03 2011

My fellow blogger buddy Josiah posted this poem below (composed by his friend Kenny V. Anderson) on his blog. I asked for permission to share it with my readers. I think it’s so clever! You can see the entire posting here.

Go check out Josiah’s blog, Devastating the Obvious, here. I especially enjoyed “The Bucket List” found here. Just three weeks into blogging, this newbie is very funny and brightens my e-mailbox several times a week with his musings. He just nominated me for a “Versatile Blogger Award” and when I figure out how to accept it (Do I have to wear a formal? With pantyhose? Do I have to give a speech? Will there be snacks?) and offer up my own list of “7 things about me,” I’ll respond in kind. Thanks for the nomination, Josiah, and congratulations on your award as well. Keep up the laugh-out-loud posts!

The 23rd Facebook

The Facebook is my shepherd, I shall not poke.

It maketh me to lie down with my smart phone 

It leadeth me beside the computer, it restoreth my old friendships.

It leadeth me in the paths of comments, for my ego’s sake

Yea, though I scroll through the valley of misspelling,

I will fear no grammar, for emoticons are with me.

Your likes and your comments, they comfort me.

Thou preparest an event before me in the presence of my newsfeed.

Thou anointeth my wall with statuses, my suggestions runneth over.

Surely friends and strangers shall follow me all the days of my life.

I will dwell on the wall of my profile forever. lol.

Spring in Texas: Bluebonnets!

28 03 2011

Photographed in Austin, Texas, 3.26.2011

© Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.

Butchart Gardens Flower fly

24 03 2011

I found this image in my archives recently—photographed at Butchart Gardens on Vancouver Island north of Victoria, Canada three years ago. If you’re a garden lover or love to photograph gardens, put this place at the top of your “to visit” list. It is spectacular!

© Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.


23 03 2011

© Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.

Tulip trio

22 03 2011

© Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.

Fringed Tulips

22 03 2011

© Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.


21 03 2011

© Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.

Check out my newly-updated Zenfolio botanical gallery here.

Pink Tulip

21 03 2011

© Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.

Grape Hyacinth

21 03 2011

© Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.

Spring glow

21 03 2011

© Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.

Check out my newly-updated Zenfolio botanical gallery (with almost 600 photos!) here.

Triumph Tulip ‘Negrita’

21 03 2011

Can you tell how enamored I am with this beautiful flower?

© Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.

Spring has sprung!

21 03 2011

Yesterday was officially the first day of spring, so it was fitting that my friend Karen and I make a stop at Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden while we were out at her lakehouse in Lake Land ‘Or. The botanical garden is just 30 minutes away. This photograph was made in the conservatory, which was just a jumble of spring color.

© Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.

Dendrobium Orchid

21 03 2011

I photographed this jewel-toned Dendrobium Orchid at Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden’s Orchids galore! conservatory exhibit. The exhibit features more than 2,000 orchids, including 500 museum quality specimens. The exhibit kicks off the Garden’s annual spring celebration, A Million Blooms. The Dendrobium genus of orchids contains about 1,200 species and was established by Olof Swartz in 1799. The name is derived from the Greek dendron (tree) and bios (life), meaning “one who lives on trees.”

© Cindy Dyer. All right reserved.

Pink sheep

21 03 2011

© Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.

Triumph Tulip ‘Negrita’

21 03 2011

Triumph tulips result from crossings between varieties of short-stemmed Early tulips and long-stemmed Darwin tulips. They are hardy in Zones 3-8 and make excellent potted plants. They require full sun and bloom in mid-spring. I photographed this beautiful bloom against a backdrop of bright yellow daffodils.

© Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.

Muscari (Grape Hyacinth)

21 03 2011

I think this specimen could be Muscari ‘Valerie Finnis’ or Muscari azureum. Anyone care to confirm? More little spring beauties to come…

© Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.

‘Blue Mystique’ Moth Orchid

20 03 2011

I photographed this ‘Blue Mystique’ Moth Orchid (Phalaenopsis) in the conservatory at Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden this afternoon. Silver Vase introduced the “world’s first true blue orchid” in January of this year. These blooms, which start out as white, are not painted, sprayed or hybridized. It gets its color through a patented process that induces the blue color in flowers. The process takes anywhere from 48-90 hours to induce the color into the flowers.

While I do love naturally blue flowers, I’m not so sure about this one yet. I had hoped it would possibly be a hybrid, but it is simply chemically altered. Silver Vase’s website notes that the chemical elements are “naturally derived and environmentally conscious.” The buds are closed at the time they are treated, so as the orchid grows, a new stem can bloom either white flowers or a range of blue hues from azure to sapphire to royal blue and every shade in between. What do you think?

© Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.

Sunset + (super?)moonrise on the Potomac River

20 03 2011

Michael and I ventured out to the Mount Vernon Parkway before 7:00 p.m. this evening to scout out a good spot to wait for the much-anticipated and much-heralded “Supermoon.” I’m sorry to have to report that I was a tiny bit disappointed. I confess that I was hoping for that end-of-the-world-large-encroaching-orb-could-swallow-us-whole-fodder-for-a-science-fiction-movie effect, but it didn’t happen.

Yes, it was a lovely moon—slightly larger than usual and a bit brighter. I guess I was expecting it to flood the horizon so fully that I would have to take off my Nikkor 80-400 zoom lens and put on the 50mm just to catch it all in my viewfinder. So large that I would hear audible gasps from the neighboring photographers, then perhaps we would spontaneously hold hands and break into song (Kumbaya, perhaps?). Didn’t happen.

The moon I photographed in Huntsville, Alabama a few years ago seemed a whole lot larger and a lumen or two brighter than tonight’s “Supermoon.” You can view that posting here. I was, however, taken in by the sunset’s show earlier.

Hey! Guess what? I was just ready to publish this post and decided to Google this search: “supermoon was disappointing tonight,” just to see if anyone had the same reaction that I did.

I found this on On Saturday night, the moon will arrive at perigee at 19:09 UT (3:09 p.m. Eastern Time). Its distance from the Earth at the moment will be 221,565 miles. But just over three years ago, on Dec. 12, 2008, which was also the night of a full moon, the moon reached perigee at 21:39 UT (4:39 p.m. Eastern Time) at a distance of 221,559 miles, about 6 miles closer than Saturday night’s perigee distance. So it seems Saturday night’s supermoon will actually be just a little less super than the full moon of Dec. 2008. (You can read skywatching columnist Joe Rao’s full article here.)

Why do I find this so interesting? Well, I photographed that moon near the Huntsville Airport in December 12, 2008! So my eyes (and my memory) did remember a more impressive sky that night than tonight. Unlike tonight, I wasn’t even hunting for it—my friend Sue had picked me up from the airport and I asked her to pull over so I could get a few shots of the spectacular moon! Who would have thought that the moon being only six miles closer to the earth would make such a noticeable difference?

© Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.

Costco box + window + cat = fun

16 03 2011

You must forgive the rather crudely cut out window in this Costco box—a square it is not. ZenaB was quickly losing patience with me altering her new playhouse, so I did the best I could in the time I had.

© Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.

Breakfast of champions!

16 03 2011

My friend Karen and I went to check out a local Fitness First club late yesterday afternoon. We had a tour of the place, talked amenities and pricing, and headed out the door with our materials to ponder later. As soon as I got into the car, Karen said something like “and to celebrate our return to health….” and handed me my very own box of Peeps. The contrast of the Peeps against the Fitness First flyer (both in irony and color) was just too hard to resist. Some peeps from my peep!

The (not so) Orphaned Images Project: Grandma Hester’s family

15 03 2011

My cousin Larry shared this photo with my father recently, asking him if the subjects were of the Dyer family. Larry’s mother Lorene, who passed away in 2005 at the age of 83, was my father’s last remaining sibling. I remember Aunt Lorene had unusually beautiful eyes—bluish-green with specs of golden brown—sort of like a blue jay’s egg. She was quite striking—my father shared a photo of his sister alongside a letter he wrote to her in 1994 on his blog here.

Before I even read my father’s note to Larry, I picked out which child was possibly my Grandmother Hester (my father’s mother)—the little girl in the lower right corner. I’m confident with his identification. In fact, now that I see Hester’s father, I can see the similarity with my father’s features! Thank you so much, Larry, for sharing this photo with us. I hope I might be able to share more images on this blog in the future.

My father wrote back to Larry:

I believe this is the Pennington family. Hester’s mother (Miss Odie) and father and six of the eight children they produced, including Willie (the oldest, lived well into his nineties), Early, Dalton, Vera, Ellie, Dessie, Hester and Brackston, the youngest. I believe the little girl at lower left is Aunt Dessie and I believe the one at lower right is Hester.

I could be wrong, but I believe the two missing are Vera and Dalton. Vera was long gone before I made the scene. She died young in childbirth, unmarried and unforgiven for having a child out of wedlock. Her son, Marion, was raised by Miss Odie, the matriarch of the family seated at right—my grandmother. That’s probably Brackston in her lap.

Dalton died in the Tuscaloosa hospital for the insane from injuries sustained when another patient wielded a bedpan as a weapon with deadly results. You can read all about it, and get a lesson on rigor mortis, on my blog here.

My Grandma Hester was born April 3, 1897. She and my Grandpa Willis N. Dyer were married 17 years and had seven children: Hattie May (who lived just one day), Jessie May, Eulene (killed by a drunk driver when she was just 12), Larry, Lorene, Dot and Hershel Mike (my father).

In her later years Grandma Hester lived in a cute little Airstream trailer on her son Larry’s 88-acre farm in Vernon, AL. We visited her every summer until I was in my late teens. When my mom, sisters and Aunt Charlie (Larry’s wife) would go into town shopping, I would stay behind with Grandma Hester to keep her company. She tried to teach me how to make lace doilies (tatting—a tedious skill most certainly lost on me ten minutes later) and play the electronic organ (her favorite song to play and sing was Beautiful Dreamer (and I remember the words to that song to this day—Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me, starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee. Sounds of the rude world, heard in the day, lull’d by the moonlight have all pass’d away…). After that lullaby, she would rev things up with a rousing rendition of “That Daring Young Man on Flying Trapeze.” (Yes, I know those lyrics by heart too). I never heard her play anything but these two songs. It’s a good thing she didn’t quit her day job!

She would whisper to me, “Don’t tell the others, but I love you best!” She always made me feel special. Later, during an argument with my younger sister, I blurted out, “Well, Grandma Hester says she loves me best.” To which she replied, “she told me the same thing.” Then my older sister Debbie piped in with the same refrain. I remember turning to my father and asking why Grandma Hester would do such a thing. He said something like, “That’s just what grandmothers are supposed to say.” So much for feeling special.

When I was about 15, I remember overhearing Hester asking my younger sister, “Is it spoonin’ anyone yet?” “It” was a reference to me. “Spoonin'” is a southern term for cuddling or embracing. In a roundabout way, she was asking if I had a boyfriend. I don’t think my sister knew what the term meant anyway (come to think of it, I most likely didn’t know either. I’m sure we had to ask our father what that meant). And for the record, no, I was not spoonin’ anyone. I didn’t have a boyfriend until I was in college, in fact. Sorry to disappoint ya, Grandma Hester!

Hester and Willis divorced right before she gave birth to my father. As a result, my father didn’t really know him well and only saw him four times when he was growing up. Early in his life, Willis worked as a trapper to support this family. Later, he sold popcorn and peanuts from a concession stand at a theater in Vernon, Alabama.

My father says, “The first time I saw my dad was at the theater. My uncle took me to a movie and introduced me to my father. I was about eight years old and I remember that sometime during the movie my father came in to see me and I sat in his lap for a bit. I even remember something about the movies we saw—it was a double feature—a b&w western movie with Don (Red) Berry and a detective story starring Chester Morris as “Boston Blackie.” The newsreel included highlights from the (staged) heavyweight world championship fight between Joe Louis, “The Brown Bomber,” and Billy Conn, a light heavyweight. Despite the discrepancy in weight, Conn fought a good fight. Not long after that meeting, my father stopped by our house in Columbus, Missippi to take a rag bath in the kitchen and change his clothes in preparation for an appointment nearby. The next time I saw him was in Sulligent, Alabama. He had an old school bus up on blocks, converted with a stove, bed, shelves and cabinets (one of the first recreation vehicles in the country!). He was a traveling preacher and would set up tents and host revivals. The Bank of Sulligent allowed him to park the bus on their property. He sold popcorn, peanuts and candy. In the spring of 1949 I went to Vernon, Alabama to try to get a false birth certificate from the doctor who delivered me. I was only 16 and wanted to go into the military. I had two friends with me and we were hitchhiking down the highway. I saw my father during that trip. It was the last time I saw him alive—three years later, I saw him in his casket.”

Willis N. Dyer died September 2, 1952 at age 65. I recently discovered that he was buried in the Springhill Primitive Baptist Church Cemetery in Fayette County, Alabama.

In 1941 Hester married John Weathers, whom my father called Papa John. He was a carpenter and cabinetmaker. Papa John was the only grandfather I had ever known (my mother’s father, John McLean, passed away years before I was born). I can only remember three things about Papa John—-he loved to have the house really, really cold (so cold that we kids actually preferred playing in the hot Mississippi heat instead), only wore khaki and offered us soft chunky peppermint sticks whenever we came to visit. There was always a bowl full of the treats next to his recliner. He was part of my father’s life for 28 years and was a tough man to live with, frequently sending him and his sister Dot away whenever he grew tired of them. All the other siblings had long since grown up, moved away and started families of their own. During one summer vacation, my father drove us around and pointed out all the locations where he had lived—a cousin’s house here, an aunt’s house there (some long since demolished and replaced with a gas station or such). He had a simply amazing recall (and still does!) for when, how long, and for what reason he and Dot were banished to a particular place. Eventually, Hester would tell John that she missed her babies and he would let her bring them back home again. I can’t imagine what that would do to a kid! Knowing my father, he probably came to view it as an adventure. My father got his quick wit and gift for telling jokes and stories from his mother.

My father introduced John Weathers to the world in his blog posting, Meet Papa John (not the pizza man), here. John Weathers passed away in 1970 at the age of 77. My grandmother, Hester Pennington Weathers, passed away in November 1980 at the age of 83 in Vernon, Alabama.

Re-post: A riot of color

13 03 2011

Originally posted 3.11.2008. Photographs taken at the U.S. Botanic Garden during their annual Orchid exhibit

© Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.


Re-post: One of my favorite macro shots

10 03 2011

Originally posted 7/9/2009

The Praying Mantis by Ogden Nash

From whence arrived the praying mantis?
From outer space, or lost Atlantis?
glimpse the grin, green metal mug
at masks the pseudo-saintly bug,
Orthopterous, also carnivorous,
And faintly whisper, Lord deliver us.

Photo © Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.


Re-post: Water like satin

10 03 2011

Originally posted May 26, 2009. Sunset begins at Lake Land’Or.

The Lake. To — by Edgar Allan Poe (1827)

In spring of youth it was my lot
To haunt of the wide world a spot
The which I could not love the less—
So lovely was the loneliness
Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,
And the tall pines that towered around.

But when the Night had thrown her pall
Upon that spot, as upon all,
And the mystic wind went by
Murmuring in melody—
Then, ah then I would awake
To the terror of the lone lake.

Yet that terror was not fright,
But a tremendous delight—
A feeling not the jewelled mine
Could teach or bribe me to define—
Nor Love—although the Love were thine.

Death was in that poisonous wave,
And in its gulf a fitting grave
For him who thence could solace bring
To his lone imagining—
Whose solitary soul could make
An Eden of that dim lake.

Photo © Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.


In the words of Seinfeld’s George Costanza: “Yes. Significant shrinkage!”

9 03 2011

In early January I suggested to my friend Karen that we take a try-it class at a local clay studio. She agreed and two days later we found ourselves straddling potter’s wheels and giving it a whirl (literally) for just $35 each (including clay, two hours of instruction, firing and glazing). I had attempted the wheel way back in college. I was surprisingly bad at it and very disappointed because I tend to pick up most creative skills very quickly. Throwing pots on a wheel did not come easily to me back then.

Fast forward to January 2011: Jessica, our instructor, showed us how to center ourselves over the wheel and use proper techniques. It made all the difference.

I was quite proud of my first attempt. I surreptitiously added a “foot” to my bowl and silently declared that it could easily be included in any Pottery Barn catalog once it was fired and glazed. Karen’s bowl was lovely too even if she didn’t add a foot. Ah, grasshopper, have patience—you’ll get there.

When we said goodbye to our perfectly-formed creations, they were the size of cereal bowls. Jessica would later fire and glaze them in the studio’s signature blue color. She told us that we could pick them up in about a month.

Six weeks later, I go to pick up our projects. I searched high and low on the shelves for my Pottery Barn-worthy cereal bowl with its lovely perfect foot. Since I didn’t immediately spot my creation, I turned over the pots to see if our names were scribbled into them, courtesy of Jessica. They were. I found my cereal bowl. It had shrunk considerably. I’m fairly certain that Jessica, who was a wonderful instructor, most likely mentioned that the pots would shrink, but I was way too enthralled with clay play to process that very fact. In my head I was dreaming of throwing a plethora of pots, fulfilling orders for organic, artistic inventory for Pottery Barn, even hiring studio assistants to defray the overwhelming workload—making money hand over…wheel!

I suppose I could still use it as a cereal bowl but I’d have to go back three times to get a breakfast’s worth of goods. I included the soup spoon for scale. Yes, it may be tiny, but isn’t it the loveliest shade of blue?

Behold—my first true creation on the potter’s wheel—a $35 hearing aid caddy!

Operators are standing by to take your order. Please add $40.00 for labor, shipping and handling. Please allow two months for delivery. Not available in stores. Call in the next five minutes and we’ll throw in the soup spoon, ab-so-lute-ly free!

The Orphaned Images Project: Ethel’s postcard home

9 03 2011

This postcard was sent to Mrs. J.W. Noland in Laketon, Indiana on March 2, 1911 from their daughter Ethel in Wabash, Indiana. The postcard reads:

Dear Papa & Mother,
Received Saturday’s check—many thanks. Expect I will be home Saturday.
With love, Ethel

I’m not sure which woman on the front of the postcard is Ethel. I have several other photos from the same source with the family name “Noland” written on the back of each. Alonzo Noland, John Noland and George Noland are three of the names mentioned in several photos. I’m assuming they are brothers, based on photos.

During a cursory web search, I discovered a Mary Ethel Noland in Missouri (known to her friends as Ethel), who was President Truman’s first cousin, a fervent genealogist and keeper of all things related to her cousin’s presidency. The Mary Ethel Noland Papers (4,800 pages!) date from 1672-1971 with the bulk of material spanning 1893-1971. The collection includes postcards, printed materials, correspondence, charts, photographs and newspaper clippings relating to her genealogy of Harry S. Truman. She donated the collection to the U.S. government.

I got a tad excited about my Ethel (remotely) being that Ethel, but I really can’t connect them because Truman’s Ethel was in Missouri for most of her life; my Ethel appears to remain in Indiana throughout the series of postcards. That Ethel did have a sister (Nellie) and this postcard shows that my Ethel possibly had a sister, too. I’ve seen a few photos of Truman’s Ethel and none look quite like either of the young women in the postcard below.

It’s rather fun to research (if even just for five minutes) some background information for these orphaned photos—and they’re not even my relatives! I am consistently amazed at how much information can be found if you have a name, city, state or even a studio name written on a photo—even one dating back to the late 1800s. I know I owe most of this gratitude to the multitude of fervent genealogists out there!

A little behind-the-scenes research: My friend Barbara, a self-admitted fan of The Orphaned Images Project, just made a comment on this post and asked about the photograph—suggesting maybe it was bought at a store and quite possibly isn’t Ethel or her sister. I did a little thinking on the subject, then a little research. Here is the thread below:

BARBARA: Now I am confused…would the photo on the front of the postcard necessarily be the writer of the card? (Ethel) Back in those days how easy was it to get your photo taken and have post cards printed? (And we didn’t have Cindy Dyer around to make such cards!) So, I say neither woman is Ethel, they are just two sassy gals on a post card purchased at the local drug store or post office on which to write correspondence.
Am I missing something? I am a fan of the Orphaned Images Project. :)

ME: Barbara, that thought had occurred to me too, but I have lots of postcards that have photos of people and they’re signed on the back. One postcard has two young men on the front and it is signed like it’s from two young men on the back. It would have been easy to make a print that had postcard info printed on the back and an area to write. The subject would have a portrait taken and just request that the back of the image be postcard-ready. Sort of a pre-cursor to Costco’s Christmas card print. I’m glad you’re a fan of The Orphaned Images Project!

Oh, and one more thing….the back of a print made then was always matte finish (at least in all of those photos I have). It would be incredibly simple to simply STAMP the postcard art/type on the back and voila! You have a print that is postcard-ready!

So, as I always do, I typed in and did a search for “postcards with photographs from the 1900s.” I found this article by author Mike Yoder:

Here is an excerpt from that article that confirms my thought on the process:

For the price of a 1-cent stamp and a special postcard, Mary had printed her son’s photo on one side, added a note on the other and put it in the post. It was a turn-of-the-century social media exchange with user-generated content. In 1898 the postal service established a reduced postage rate for privately printed postcards. In 1902, the Eastman Kodak Co. produced a postcard-sized photographic paper on which images could be printed. These two events began a photograph postcard boom.

I’m looking for something in red…

9 03 2011

© Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.

Greg & Holly

9 03 2011

© Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.

The Orphaned Images Project: Ladies in hats

8 03 2011