Toad Went A-Courtin'

I went back to my community plot after a hiatus, and it was overrun with bindweed. Ugh! Bindweed everywhere, and nutgrass, too. And the sunflowers are looming -- glooming -- over the other little plants. I wanted them to shield the plants from the worst of the sun, but there are too many. The tomatoes and the onions are not growing well in constant shade. And so I began thinning them.

The sadly thinned plot, boo!

And I saw him. Mr. Toad. Backed into his little scooped-out hollow, with the soaker hose above his back, looking at me. And I had already pulled several large sunflowers. Boo, hiss! His little living area, now quite possibly too light.

I think he is making a gesture at me...

I decided to start on the other side, and leave him the middle area and the other end. He will have to dig another hidey-hole, because the sun now gets through to that one. So the pulling began of sunflowers on the other side and other end of the plot. I just wasn't thinking. Or, I was thinking too much of what I wanted.

And then I saw HER! Oh, she jumped, and I jumped. I screeched, as usual. Another toad, a smallish one! His little ladylove, perhaps, leaping frantically away from the now-sunny corner of the plot and into the thicket of sunflowers still standing!

NOW what? I tucked some chile pepper plants into the sunny spot and sprinkled them with the hose. May they grow quickly and lend some shade again. 

I sprinkled water on some mint at the very end of the plot. And out jumped another toad, and hop hop hop, hop hop hop, sought shelter under the lemongrass at the opposite end of the garden. 

But...THREE toads? I was all ready to throw the first two a lil' toad wedding, with a piece of Kleenex for her veil, and a chunk of cat food to attract flies for the elegant repast at the reception near the third turnip.

It's a terrible picture because I completely lose my bearings at such an exciting time. 

I am not going to pass judgment on the living arrangements of these three toads. Ménage à Toad might be their nature, or maybe they aren't even dating, but are forced into that little oasis together!

So, I've decided: I can grow vegetables, or I can grow toads. And I have chosen toads.

No more pulling of the sunflowers. Not a single one can now be moved, or it will get too hot and bright on the dear amphibians. And extra watering dishes will be placed in the plot (there is just one right now), one deep enough to hold tadpoles just in case one of them is a lady toad. No more gathering cilantro because it would take away the leafy undercover they are enjoying. No pulling of the onions. But if I get some tomatoes, I'm picking them. I will leave them one. I will share.

Because they are plug-ugly to most, toads get mistreatment. They are the lowrider gargoyles of the garden, and don't get the love the prettier froggies do. I wish love of all God's creatures was emphasized in grade school. 

I have gone from "Toad Catcher" to "Toad Hatcher." I feel I have been blessed with these handsome toads, out in the desert. Would you choose the veggie plants or the toads? 

Kind regards,

Olde Dame Holly, Toad Wrangler

Sunflowers on Memorial Day

These sunflowers are standing tall and still in the heat, as if they know of the solemnity of Memorial Day.

"All gave some. Some gave all."

My father was an ensign in the U.S. Navy in World War II. Beyond dirt poor and extremely thin, he borrowed as many coins as he could from friends and filled his pockets, so that he could "make weight" and enlist. His first non-home haircut, his first train ride, his first venture out of a small town in Louisiana, all courtesy of the Armed Forces. 

His first swimming lesson: He could jump, or he could be tossed from, a high platform into the deep pool below, in San Diego. After seeing a few thrown off the diving platform, he jumped, despite his intense fear of heights.

In the mess hall in San Diego, the sailors were served two "alligator pears" each at every meal. One of his buddies bit into his, right through the peel, then spat it out, quick. "It's bitter," he said. Not having seen them before, or even having heard of them, he, like many other country boys, threw them out, untouched. 

My father loved to tell that story. "I threw away a fortune in avocados," he would say, ruefully. "If only I had known."  

Something else courtesy of Uncle Sam: A Harvard education, free, gratis, no strings attached. And no say in it, either. You signed up, you took their tests, you went where they said to go. My father wanted to study engineering and serve on a ship. No, said the Navy. You are going to be an actuary.

I do not glorify war, but I do not want the wars forgotten. But as the history teacher at our school was explaining, the wars of our fathers and the wars during our youths will be as big an abstraction to today's students as the War of 1812 is to us. It will carry no emotional import, even second-hand import. Although I was not yet born, the tales of WWII are vivid in my mind, were vivid in my childhood; part of it, ever-present, really. 

His remarks really distressed me. "It's how it is," he said. "Just remember, as long as you can. Just remember." 

Kind regards,

Olde Dame Holly

Life Is Like An Onion

From Seed to Shining Seed

Here in New Mexico, onions are an important crop. But lately, more than for the onion bulb itself, the seeds are being grown. So we get to see hundreds of thousands of seed heads, which I think are very pretty. "Summer snowballs" or maybe "smelly summer snowballs" would be a good description of some of the onion fields. 

"Life is like an onion," Carl Sandburg wrote. "You peel it year by year and you cry."

But no! No crying today, I hope. If there be tears, may they be happy tears, healing tears.

Those onions are tall. Waist high. It is hard to tell in the photos. 

 

Taking photos in the strong sun, I felt like an overbrowned crouton, next to a big bunch of baking onions.  The onions scented the hot air. I was awash in French Onion Air. Before I knew these were being grown for seed, I kept saying, "Why don't they harvest these? They are going to get soft and bitter!"

I didn't get very many nice photos, because even though I would try to adjust the camera in the car, once in the sun I couldn't see anything on the screen, even in the shade. Boo! Yet some bloggie frens are having freezing and near-freezing weather, and rain, rain, rain.

I met my husband at Cracker Barrel for lunch. He eats like a bird, but at Cracker Barrel, he eats better than usual. I love those purple-leaf plums they have planted all around the restaurant. You can see some plums ("no culinary use," as they say) in this photo below. I wonder, though if they do have a culinary use: perhaps to tint an apple or other light-colored jelly a beautiful color? 

I like the light through the leaves, giving them a flame-like look:

On the way home, I stopped by my community garden plot and got these: Mint, Lemongrass, and more Egyptian Walking Onions that were arching over, out of the garden into the path and getting squished.

I should have taken a picture of the lemongrass clump. It is thigh-high. Sharing the bigger clump freed it to grow!

My blog is named "The Merry Needle." Lately, it has been too much The Idle Needle, but I did get some needle-weaving done, making a little pair of what I call "Persian Lantern Earrings." I have made many of these. They are based on a rope design by Jill Wiseman. I just make a little piece and cap it top and bottom. I am grateful to have a job, but gone is my energy by the end of the day! I can barely keep up with the household chores. 

I am not in the mood for needle-weaving, though. I am in the mood for beaded cross stitch! Gah! Come on, eyes, stop drooping down and shutting! Help me stay awake and make some pretty beaded designs!

 Kind regards,

Olde Dame Holly

Olden-Thyme Oil Lamps / Holy Candles

Hello, my bloggie frens. I hope today finds you well and contented. And well contented.

Oui Brand, bought at local Walmart

I like to reuse things, but always with an eye to avoiding any "hoarding" behavior. I had two neighbors and a boss who were hoarders, back in Texas, and the people across the street here in my new city are hoarders, and if seeing hoarding with your own eyes doesn't give a person a jolt, nothing will. So, I keep the house pretty bare. 

All of this to say, I bought two packages of yogurt that are packed in small glass jars. I wanted to keep the little "glass pots" and reuse them for things like salsa servings, pudding, dip, and so forth. And I have! I use them a lot, and they are also good for portion control. 

I was hurt at being excluded from the "End of the School Year" party at our school. I think I have already whined about that on the blog. I've been in a funk about it, a blue funk. One of the things they had to eat was different kinds of berries. Those berries really caught my attention. Blackberries as big as a squid's eye, fragrant raspberries just melting into pools of sugar, huge frosty-looking blueberries! Enormous strawberries, hollow-hearted at that size, to be sure, but sweetening the very air around them! Oh, I wanted those berries! 

Today, on the way home, I stopped at the grocery and got some berries, too, and had some in my little glass jars. Ha! My own party! I have the other jars loaded up, so that all I need to do is reach in and grab one. Party on.

 

I stopped off at the church on the way home from the store, went in and said a Rosary and just sat in the cool and the darkness of the church, and then lighted some Holy Candles. It's funny, but which church I stop at depends on my mindset and my pocketbook. Holy Cross's candles are just $1 but they are small, thumb-sized. Then again, a ten-spot buys you ten sweet dancing candles and they are right under the new statue of Jesus! VALUE-ADDED! The priest at Holy Cross is a riot.

St. Genevieve's are only 50 cents, because of the dire poverty of their parish, but I light only one per the $10 so that any profits are not eaten into. Flashy San Albino rakes in the tourist money and theirs are $3 to $5, but they are the big ones, and last at least two full days, and they are in cobalt blue glass. If I'm flush with cash, I go there. Immaculate Heart of Mary, my home parish, has medium ones for $2 each, and each has a picture of Mary.

Today I went to Immaculate Heart, mainly because I wanted to light candles in the votive bank nearest the statue of Mary. Many times, in the gloom, I have to be careful not to step on another parishioner, prostrated before her statue. Seriously, they are all over the floor sometimes. They must not only be devout, but have really good knees. Today, I was not alone in the church, but there was no one lying about the floor. But I think a lizard was on the wall, heading for Mary. It was very dark in the church; the photo is light for some reason.

Since rejoining the blogging world, I always light a candle for the other bloggers when I am doing my candles. 

But I also have candles at home burning almost constantly. I make "oil candles." It's easy to make these "oil candles." It lets you reuse the pretty glass holder after the wax candle has burned. You just fill the holders with water most of the way up, then pour in some cooking oil to a depth of one or two inches, depending on how long you want your candle to burn. The oil floats atop the water. (I use regular cooking oil, the cheap bottles!) Then you poke a small bit of waxed candle wick into a floating wick-holder (just a bit of cork), just barely poking through, so that the wick brings up the oil, and doesn't push through into the water part. 

Place it, light it, and a steady flame burns. Once the oil is burned, the wick will sputter and pop, having encountered the water, and will self-extinguish. I have some stoneware discs and some lantern wicks that I use in a similar way, but lately I use the floating wicks. I got mine from Ebay, from Israel.

Kind regards,

Olde Dame Holly

Making the Grayed

Pshew, I am exhausted from battling Blogger and trying to make my blog back to looking like itself after the strange Blogger glitch that shrank my header and then took away my Blog Roll. I am still working on the roll, but I got the header back to a reasonable size. Then I decided, what the hay, I'm going to change to a gray theme for summer. Summer is so hot here that I need a calm, cooling color. 

That battle has lasted for days. I guess I forgot most of my tinkering tips and tricks, but I think it's ready for its debut. I must have hit "Edit HTML" and "Restore" fifty times. 

But first, a word from our sponsor:

That's Sophie, our part Bichon mutt, queen of our household. That dog is the love of my husband's life. She has brought such joy into his life. She brought him back INTO life, really. She is licking her "puppypop," a Tootsie Pop that has been "started" and has the chocolate center exposed. There is so little real chocolate in it that it's not a danger to her, but our vet frowns on letting her have sugary things. She has such a sweet tooth, and we are putty in her paws. You can see ol' Champie the Chiweenie in the background, waiting for his chance to get a few licks in. He doesn't really like it, but he likes to participate. With both of them, I have to hold the stick very tightly because they try mightily to pull it away.

I miss Charm pops! They were only a nickel and lasted for days. I think I had some a few years ago, but either they or I have changed. No chocolate in the middle of them, though.

Today was busy. In the hot weather the front courtyard has to be watered daily. I noticed how the tangerine iceplants hold the water they receive:

Today, my husband wanted to eat at what I call a "dive." He does not eat home-cooked food anymore. I just am glad he eats, although it is less and less and less. I knew the food was going to be bad, but he had his heart set on it. The decor was nice; the food, no. Each chair had a carved, painted scene of Old Mexico. Here is a burro, in one piece.

Outside were some pretty petunias and a rose! The rose is just a partial shot because the sun was so bright I could not see what I was taking. I try to cast my shadow on the flowers I'm photographing, but it's just too bright sometimes. The fiery colors of the rose were gorgeous in real life.

Hope your weekend is going well!

Kind regards,

Olde Dame Holly

 

Driven Almost to "Violinsce"

Hi Bloggie "Frens," as I used to call my visitors back on my Penniwigs blog. I also, for some reason, called everyone my Elven Friends and Donkey Frens. I love donkeys. Donkeys and mules are really bright and have such determined personalities. Or at least it seems that way, of the donkeys and mules I have known.

Well, frens (don't even ask how that word got started), were you with me back when I posted this post, called "Beauty All Around"  (<--- Link but don't bother) or somesuch saccharine title? About a fancifully dressed older Mexican lady from Juarez across the border, a poor displaced musician, starving during COVID? Her only possession her beloved violin, which she would play untiringly, making beauty in order to feed her family, song after song? HMPH. If you did read it and listen to the video, here's an update: IT WAS ALL FAKE.

Grrr, grrrr, gnashing of teeth!

Today after school I went to make a deposit at the school's bank. It's right near where I saw the woman playing the violin the first time. Lo and behold, again in the parking lot, another sign about a starving violinist who had "2 starving kids," another identical set-up with amplifier, another person playing like a cheap version of Doug Kershaw. To those who don't know, Doug Kershaw was from my neck of the woods and was a crazy Cajun fiddler who played with energy, verve, and insane moves. But real music, real moves.

This "violinist" certainly didn't look starving. In fact, he looked pretty plump. And he looked just like the man who last week was holding up a sign begging for donations to help his "dying niece" get medical care for a "rare tumor." 

And...as I rolled my window down to hear the tune, yep, it was the same tune as before, played exactly as before. Exactly. Per-zack-ly. Just a recording. Oh, I don't know why, but I got so irate. I felt the hair lift up on my head, I was so incensed. And I was grimly disappointed. 

I pulled over and watched a minute. Yes, the next song was just as before, when the lady had played last year. And the violinist "played" with a fury just as she had, but less gracefully, whipping that bow back and forth like a labrador's tail, but not playing a note on the fake fiddle. 

All these "violinists" with the amplifiers are fake. A quick Google search really set my teeth on edge. All these scams, all this fakery, ugh!

Gah! And then to get home to a scene from The Godfather, played out in the tiny courtyard. Take a look at my expensive shatterproof "fiberglass" donkey from a street vendor from Juarez, and to think I felt bad for the man and was impressed by his ability to create "fiberglass" statuary in that border town: 

Yes, fake again. It was just Plaster of Paris, coated with a shiny paint. Oh, the perfidy.

I hope everyone is having a good day -- certainly a better day than poor Donkey had. 

Summerthyme Sodas Free Printable Recipe Booklet

One of the few things I was able to get after my mother's death was the contents of her recipe drawer. In it, carefully typed on 4x6 pink cards with our old Underwood typewriter, were recipes my sister had copied from her Home Ec class. One entire set was about sodas, back in the 1950s when soda shops still were popular, right before they fell from favor. 

Most "druggists" also had a small shop and a lunch counter. A common job for teen boys was "soda jerk." They also were "baggers" for grocery stores and pumped gas. It's funny to me, but those grocery stores I felt were so modern could fit in the produce and bakery section of our Super Walmart today. 

Here is a little printable booklet form of some of those soda recipes my sister typed up. Her Home Ec teacher was the daughter of the local drugstore owner, and I think some of these were early "copycat" recipes from the business. I put this up on my old blog, too, I think. I like the Brown Cow one best. Sometimes we called it a Brown Cow, and sometimes we just said "Coke Float" if we weren't going to put the chocolate syrup in.

To avoid the unpleasant part of the foam, be sure to put some of the fizzy soda in first each time. Then put in the ice cream. Then top with more soda. It does cut down on the "sea scum" aspect of a float.

I was surprised to see a recipe calling for alcohol! Even just a tablespoon. It's in the Milk Punch recipe. It has malted milk powder, too. I have a lot of that, in my "prepper" grab-n-go bags. Lots of dry malted milk, because it's very helpful in a survival circumstance. I used to have compressed malted milk tablets but those are rare now. I have uncoated malted milk balls instead, in mylar packaging. 

As always, don't save the images of these printables. Use the Google link, so that they will print the correct size and be clear when printed. Cut them out, punch a hole in the top left corner, and tie with a bit of ribbon or string. This would be a cute gift tied to an ice cream scoop or a handful of paper straws. 

Does anyone else remember paper straws, the first time around? When bored, talking after lunch, I remember unfurling them. They were soggy by that time. Now that paper straws are a thing again and we are newly allowed to talk without masks at our restaurants here, I guess I will be back to unfurling them after lunch at a restaurant! Did you hang the spirals from your ears? I remember my seventh-grade self doing that. 

Kind regards,

Olde Dame Holly

Use the LINK-Sheet 1 and LINK-Sheet 2 <-------- stored in the Google Drive cloud.

 

Well, This is Awful

A big red horrible warning is on my blog, and all the blogs I am trying to visit. Everything was fine, and then between one visit and another, the warnings started. I already had Google scan my blog, and nothing was found, but the warning remains and I so doubt anyone will even see this post. 

For me, the blog is a window to the world. These hackers and destroyers make me so sad. From the pipeline shutdown to doing something bad to an old lady's blog.

Yours sadly,

Holly, the Unmerry Olde Dame  

But, Bee Butts!

The "prickly pear" cactus, also called a "beaver tail" cactus but known to us locally as "nopales," ("no-PAWL-ess") are blooming up a storm! And I have seen some lavender blooms on one plant, which I have never seen before. It will require a foray about ten feet into someone's yard to get a good closeup, but I am going to try.  

You know, if you live in the desert Southwest long enough, you become somewhat bilingual. I can understand almost all of the Spanish I hear, and I use many terms daily, but I can express myself very little. Receptive language is much easier than expressive language. I get messed up with the verbs, saying things that are the equivalent of "I seen it," or "I heared the knock." But I can make myself understood, even if I sound goofy.

A lot of people think the fruit of the prickly pear is called an "apple." It is actually called a "tuna." 

Seems a very strange name! The tunas are not fishy, however, and not near as popular as the pads, the "nopalitos," are. The pads are sliced up and used in many "casera," or "homestyle," recipes, but I can't stand them due to the slime they make. Funny, I can eat okra in gumbo with great gusto, and always get a side of fried okra at Cracker Barrel restaurant, but get weak-kneed at slimy nopalitos, even when it's washed away. Oatmeal makes me queasy. And I just discovered that my beloved mulberries have a bit of a slime problem, too. 

Here are a few more photos of prickly pear blooms. I have not take any photos of the yellow-blooming cactus yet. The yellow is the most common and I believe the most hardy of the bunch, but I greatly prefer the hot-pink and red ones. And those lavender ones! In the photo below, a bee is dive-bombing the blossom.

I got rid of a huge patch of prickly pears in my front yard. I might have kept them, had they bloomed pink or red. It was a very old, very large patch, towering up about five feet, and in my opinion dangerous to the pets. I still haven't replaced them with something else, and we are still finding (ouch!) the spines. But better my foot, than a little paw!

Out in the "raw desert," the barrel cactus are blooming, too. In the second photo, you can see another "bee butt." The bees get in the blooms, and go round and round and round, luxuriating (?) in the pollen and nectar. Then they pop up, punch-drunk.

I hope you are having a lovely Friday! 

Kind regards,

Olde Dame Holly

An Eternal Blending

An interesting facet of living in "the borderlands" and in an area where three distinct cultures -- Mexican, U.S., and Native American -- existed, is to see the blending of those cultures into a new, hybrid culture.

The "ghost cow"  (<--link) of a previous post stands right outside the cemetery in Old Mesilla. It's a fitting sentinel, as it prepares the visitor for the juxtaposition of beliefs within.

In the cemetery for members of the Basilica of San Albino, the strong Mexican Catholic culture is evident.  Most headstones are in Spanish, and many are extremely modest, yet all richly illustrate the deep faith of the "gente humilde," the humble folk.

Without romanticizing poverty and lives impacted by prejudice, I will say that whenever I have been lucky enough to interact with such individuals, I have been touched. These are the people who have what I call "natural class" and sweet, clear, glass-like hearts.

While our house here was being built, the first time I lived in Las Cruces, I rented an extremely modest house of perhaps 600 square feet in a very tumbledown neighborhood. One next-door neighbor was handicapped with scleroderma and extremely poor, yet she loved to invite me over for coffee in thanks for rides to church. These dear kaffee klatches consisted of a cup of Taster's Choice (because I was company), and a carefully split flour tortilla, with me somehow always handed "the big half." A little saucer of cinnamon sugar was placed between us, and the rolled-up halves were to be stuck in the mixture with each bite. She would barely touch her tortilla to the sugar, eager for me to have the lion's share. Every movement caused this gracious lady pain, yet move she did, to fuss over me. And I have yet to see the match of her hospitality.

But back to the graveyard. Doesn't that sound strange? Who says that? The ghosts, as the sun nears rising? "Ah, back to the graveyard, my fellow spirits. Day is nigh." I imagine these spirits never being into mischief, but gathering peacefully at the Basilica to say the Rosary for their brethren.

I do have to smile at the designation "Basilica." It was actually declared a "minor Basilica," after much imploring, but they don't use the "minor" part of the name. I do not think God frowns at such an innocent pride.

 

Mexican tradition has joined with some uniquely U.S. aspects in the San Albino cemetery. There are no typical restrictions of a cemetery here, and free reign is given to the families, yielding a gravesite where a four-foot Virgen de Guadalupe stands guard over silk flowers and little angels playing with pretty pieces of glass. A huge "wall rosary" has been draped on the headstone, and the gravesite has been neatly tiled. The idea of family is taken very seriously here. La familia is tantamount. When I first saw this grave, I thought it had plaster squirrels on it, due to poor eyesight. But no, they are angels with arched wings. But squirrels would not have been a surprise.

If you'll excuse a pun, the grave poverty of this area shows in this cemetery. There is no room for strict codes here.

Nearby, a patch of outdoor carpet sets a comfortable tone. The yellow-and-green color scheme of a devoted John Deere Tractor fan is seen.

 

A few yards away, a grave is decorated with "calaveras" (skulls), spiders, angels, and crosses intermingling freely. Instead of changing out seasonal decor, some choose to just keep adding more throughout the year.

Pocket rosaries are everywhere, often simply laid at the base of the crosses. There are many homemade wooden crosses marking graves, with handpainted names and nicknames on them.

Some graves have all wording worn off. Nothing remains but a simple wish it be remembered that here lies a Christian. 

So many of the old names are here, the gentle, devout settlers of the region, the original farmers of the valley. These are the same names you will see on the war monuments, including so many on the monuments devoted to those who were on the Bataan Death March, which hit New Mexico very strongly. The people of the area are very patriotic.

I hope these pictures from a desert cemetery have not depressed you, but have cheered you with the knowledge that God has sprinkled the "humble people" among us like gems among the dust.

Kind regards,

Olde Dame Holly

The Ghost Cow of Mesilla

I was driving down a part of the nearby village of Old Mesilla, when I saw something so strange and wonderful: An ethereal cow looking out from a small pecan orchard and tumbledown house right before the entrance of one of the oldest cemeteries in the area, the San Albino Cemetery. 

Once, this holey cow was plastered and painted (maybe it got plastered when it painted the town red), but the weather has reduced it to its amazing inner framework. Whoever made this was a sheer genius.

This is clearly a quality-made bovine objet d'art.

I would dearly love to have this cow in my yard. I always, always wanted a concrete deer in my yard. For literally decades I dreamed of it. My beloved Granny had a pair of concrete deer and I loved them as if they were family members. Hmm, I loved them more than most family members. My family members were not all nice. 

And I would love that crazy cow! 

I have that little donkey in the courtyard, but I want a sizeable concrete animal. I am very unlikely to get one, but I'm going to try! 

In the Deep South, the concrete deer were popular. When I moved to Arizona, the Sleeping Mexican abounded, despite being horribly stereotypical. 

In the DC area, there were gnomes before gnomes were a thing. I had a neighbor who must have had ten of them. Joking, I offered the loan of a "ten pound sledgehammer" to "take care of his gnome infestation." He was unamused. Yeah, talk politics all you want up there, but DON'T bring up the gnomes. 

In Ohio, I saw endless geese, DRESSED UP in little clothes, depending on the season. It was difficult to reconcile the dour kinfolk I met with the idea of those same people making or buying clothes for plastic or fiberglass geese. "Since when ve spend money on geese? Vat?! Go play in ze snow."

In the Pacific Northwest, I saw many small boats in yards as planters, and what we called "porch sitters:" Life-sized doll people. Or People Dolls. Sitting in chairs, swinging on porch swings, sitting in the boats. And totem poles.

Midland had many fake oil wells and pumpjacks and lots of "Texas Stars" on the sides of homes. 

Here, there are many shrines. The area has an affinity for St. Michael the Archangel, too, so you will see versions of him calmly spearing demons in many homes. But the Virgin of Guadalupe reigns in most hearts and is most often depicted in tile mosaics.

So, each area seems to have something tacky, er, unique! 

What is in your area?