In Search of Isis

Barometer of a Nation ... Canada

2011-12-27T18:18:00.000-05:00

What is a nation? Is it a place bounded by unseen lines upon a land or the twining path of a river or the sea? Or is it one people, though they be scattered far and wide? Were suddenly all U.S. citizens to be called home from wherever they live in the world, a flood of millions would pour across the borders. Some would hardly seem American, having been away so long. Some of them would be deeply resentful.What is a nation? Is it a unity of purpose in spite of differences, like the Roman citizenship that once bound men from Britain to Libya, from Spain to Anatolia? I enjoy my little hobby of studying the nations of the world, one at a time, month by month. In December, I have been contemplating my great northern neighbor, Canada. Though I have yet to sample a beavertail pastry or learn the words to "O Canada," perhaps what I have studied has been more significant. I have read Canadian Hugh MacLennan's "Barometer Rising." Authored in the 1950's, it is the tale of a terrible tragedy in Halifax during WWI: the collision of two ships in Halifax Harbor, one laden with munitions, that killed hundreds, perhaps thousands of people, and leveled nearly the entire city. MacLennan's tale begins quietly, swelling like a wave upon a darkened sea,finally rising to terrible climax. May I be forgiven for having learned nothing about this horrible event in my life until now, nothing in school, though I certainly should have. MacLennan also throughout the book contemplates what it means to be Canadian: Neither a (U.S.) American nor British. But must a Canadian define himself only by what he is not? And what is Canada's destiny in the world? A bridge between its southern neighbor and the Old World, perhaps. He ponders whether Canada would rise to be one of the great nations of the world after Europe exhausted itself in war."...Neither a colony nor an independent nation, neither English nor American ... Canada must remain noncommital, until the day she becomes the keystone to hold the world together.""... This nation undiscovered by the rest of the world and unknown to itself ... this unborn mightiness, this question mark, this future ... for God knew how many millions of mankind."

Australia to create marine reserve

2011-12-16T17:16:00.000-05:00

"When you see the Southern Cross for the first time,you understand now why you came this way ..."-- Crosby, Stills and NashSo much of the world I have not seen ... the vast Eurasian steppes; sun-baked Africa; ancient Asia ... and the islands of the Southern Hemisphere.I read today that Australia is proposing to designate nearly 400,000 square miles in the Coral Sea as a marine reserve. Splendid! I may never see it myself but I am happy to know it will be there, a place free of exploitation, full of beauty. Just one more thing to love about the Land Down Under.

Not alone

2011-12-15T18:43:00.000-05:00

Venturing deeper into the woods today, into parts once familiar to me, where I once felt myself quite alone, I found it not so today. Someone has built walls of scrap wood, hung black plastic tarps, created some kind of a campsite. It was uncomfortable, wondering who did so, and for what purpose. I did not linger today but I will have to go back.

Too long away from the woods

2011-12-10T09:28:00.001-05:00

For too long, I have not visited you, my woods, not explored beyond the ruined fenceline. Massive trees, storm-toppled, sprawl across the wispy threads of old, familiar trails. A loblolly pine that once stood strong on the slope's edge now lies lifeless, its needles dry and brown. I feel a pang of sorrow, for it was always a welcome brushstroke of green amongst the dull oaks. But clinging to a boulder nearby, a new pine stands, as tall as me -- truly, how long has it been since I visited you, my woods? I pull away a tendril of honeysuckle that seeks to climb and choke the tender tree, and vow to become a friend of this place again.

Job lead

2011-12-08T09:44:00.001-05:00

Got a FB message from a friend yesterday, may be an editor's job opening up. Tiny hometown paper. But it would be full-time, with benefits. We shall see.

Gentle autumn

2011-12-07T15:53:00.001-05:00

Soft mist sifts down through the Virginia sky, as our autumn slowly fades into winter. This is a beautiful place to live.My thoughts are random today; I have applied for an editor's job; a friend has offered a slab of venison; I am watching happily as a tender tropical tree grows taller on my window sill; I cleaned out the recipe book cabinet in the kitchen and piled up all the loose recipes, from magazines and such, into a box until I can buy some folders into which to organize them.Life goes on. Life is good. Life, though hard and often painful, is precious. What is the alternative? The dead insensibility of nothingness, a universe unaware of itself.

Pawpaw posting

2011-09-17T08:51:00.000-04:00

Had the pleasure this week, thanks to some foraging friends, of tasting my very first pawpaw fruit. Now the seeds are "stratifying" in the fridge, should germinate on Christmas day. The little fruits tasted like a cross between a banana and a mango.

Checking back in ...

2011-09-03T17:10:00.002-04:00

Earthquake.
Hurricane.
Still no job.

But I am in good health. So is my Beloved. Life is a gift, each and every day. I boiled acorns yesterday to leach out the bitter tannin, and then roasted them, dusted them with powdered sugar and enjoyed.

A time to help and be helped ...

2011-06-27T07:51:00.002-04:00

... How much sweeter life is when we become a family, by blood as well as by choice.

On Sunday, I learned that a Woman in our church whom I know, was having an emotional breakdown. I went over there with a neighbor and we just let Her talk and cry. She is a single Mother, dealing with the typical challenges of that situation, as well as physical and emotional issues. How my heart ached for Her loneliness and sorrow, so unnecessary! How for the 100th time I wanted to hunt down the man who left Her and rearrange his face. How I wondered why a good, solid, strong man has not yet found his way into Her life.

We agreed that my Beloved and I will come back and spend some time with Her this week, just being friends and helping Her get a few things organized. It is very important that I involve my Beloved, that I help "Jane" to have some Female friends to lean on. A man's natural desire to comfort, can go the wrong way in even the best-intentioned of souls and I would be a fool to think that I am immune.

When I came home, I discovered that some of our family had dropped by and filled our refrigerator up with food. In these hard times, how we needed that!

Who in the world is C.S. Forester?

2011-06-17T19:42:00.002-04:00

Beginning his epic "Passage to Juneau," Jonathan Raban dryly speaks of young land-lubbers, wannabee sailors, knowing nothing of the sea but having read their C.S. Forester.

Those wannabees have an advantage over me. I had no idea until tonight who indeed C.S. Forester was.

The man was a twentieth-century literary colossus, author of The African Queen -- which movie buffs remember became a film starring Bogart and (Katherine) Hepburn; and also of the Horatio Hornblower naval hero series.

According to Wikipedia, Ernest Hemingway is quoted as saying, "I recommend Forester to everyone literate I know," and Winston Churchill stated, "I find Hornblower admirable."

Guess I need to make some room on my bookshelf.

Wonders of the Day

2011-06-13T09:15:00.002-04:00

Two weeks left til the job wraps up. Still no confirmation of employment anywhere else.

But life goes on. The Jack-in-the-Pulpit is blooming deep in the woods. I have met a friend, an incredible guy who has taken beautiful pictures all over the world -- from Sudan to Japan. He is excited for me to take him on a hike in the woodlands behind my home, because his favorite photographic subject is trees. Just have to figure out when.

Spent most of yesterday evening, my Beloved and I, keeping another friend company at the hospital. An amazing Woman whom some piece of garbage abandoned long ago, leaving Her with two children to raise alone. Now She is dealing with some horrific health problems. It felt good to be able to be there for Her when She needed it, so that She didn't have to sit in that hospital alone.

Life is beautiful and ugly, cruel and tender, all at once. It is terribly wrong to be a cynic, denying all beauty; it is wrong, too, to hide from the ugly and cruel. It is a waste of time to wait around for a perfect day in order to experience joy; to expect that the one can ever be permanently entangled from the other. Find joy and peace and beauty now, in this very moment.

And what is beauty? The eyes of a child. The gentle curves of a Woman's body. The deep lines upon an old face, telling the story of life like the rings of a tree. The pounding of the ocean. The limpet clinging to the rock at the shoreline. Bread upon the table. A doctor easing pain. The choice to be kind instead of cruel, generous instead of selfish. Acceptance of the will of the universe.

Night fear

2011-06-01T14:03:00.003-04:00

We whose families include little dogs face unique perils.

Last night, walking her alone in the hazy, humid darkness, I heard the sound of a fierce dog barking. I know by now all the homes in the neighborhood where dogs live. Behind their fences, they can bark without concerning me. And my feisty little friend can bark back without bringing a death sentence upon herself.

But this sound did not come from any familiar yard. It came from the ominous gloom near a factory at the edge of the neighborhood. In the haze, I saw a large, dark shape.

I went into defensive mode -- scooping up our little pet, whom just about any other dog could bite in half like a McNugget -- a concern of which she is blissfully unaware. She squirmed in my arms to get down and barked at the shadow in the dark.

With my free hand, I scrabbled in the dirt for a good-sized rock, my heart pounding. My fingers found only hard-baked dirt and crabgrass clumps -- then, finally, closed around a weighty chunk of asphalt sheared from the edge of the road by some long-ago passing truck. I gripped it in my hand ready to fight.

Our little dog squirmed free. I grabbed her up again and stood still, squinting into the blackness.

Relief. The strange dog was behind the factory fence, unable to do harm. I put down my aggrieved little dog and we continued our walk, the strange dog still barking behind us in the night.

Still waiting ...

2011-06-01T13:54:00.003-04:00

... I know my employment situation makes for a boring blog. My apologies. But it is consuming me like a match flame upon paper.

I am still waiting, in most miserable suspense, for that call back from the One Great Place. Still attempting to be something of a productive employee in the Nasty Old Hole. Haven't heard a word from my boss in days. It lurks deep within its lair, shutting the door at the sound of approaching footsteps, ignoring the steadily higher-rising stack of papers I continue to dutifully submit for approval.

It causes me to ponder, in a classic way, the nature of true evil. Is evil about seeking the good in the wrong way, as Plato and Aristotle opined? Or is it a life built upon lying to others and oneself, as the somewhat more modern Dr. Peck theorized? Is this being who torments me genuinely evil, lashing out like a wounded dragon in its cave, heedless or blinded to the damage that it is causing in this place?

Great possibility

2011-05-27T14:15:00.002-04:00

Interviewed yesterday. Great place. Great potential. Please, oh please let it be!

So set ...

2011-05-15T14:37:00.002-04:00

So set beautiful wreaths, Dika,
about your tresses
plait together the dill shoots
with your tender fingers.
Primed with flowers
the blest spirits of Joy most favor
such occasions:
they shun people who wear no garlands.
-- Sappho, Greek poetess

Quote for living

2011-05-12T15:08:00.000-04:00

"There are two ways to get enough. One is to continue to accumulate more and more. The other is to desire less." -- G.K. Chesterton

The job search

2011-05-05T11:15:00.002-04:00

Sweetie knows now.

She took the news of the impending job loss with courage and strength. She has reminded me daily that She loves me and She thinks a great injustice has been done.

I am trying to maintain a good attitude here. To work as hard as I can up until the day I leave. What point in being childish and sour, to justify the decision that the boss has made?

I have two interviews set up early next week. They sound promising.

I have always tried to be a grateful person. We've never had great luxuries but I can eat beans and rice for dinner and be happy for it. I can go months without buying anything new, just paying our bills. I'm grateful that my parents raised me that way. Now, more than ever, I will be grateful for whatever job I can find.

Update

2011-04-20T08:07:00.003-04:00

Maybe a ray of light. Maybe. I will know in a few days. I will know if I have dodged, not a bullet but a cannonball.

I saw a guy outside a convenience store last night. Scruffy. Maybe homeless. Maybe not. If I have learned anything from these last few terrifying days, it is just how fragile one's security is. Cannot ever take it for granted.

"What's your story?" I wondered, as I looked at the guy. He didn't ask me for change. Just kept smoking his cigarette.

So easily can it all go away. In the caprice of a boss, in the diagnosis from a doctor, in the twist of a tornado, in a bit of black ice on the highway. You go from being casually content to fighting for your very survival.

I still have not told my Beloved, so long as there is a possibility of hope. No sense in Her worrying at all if the news turns out well. But it is hard to keep my fear and sorrow pent up inside.

Screaming in silence

2011-04-18T09:20:00.002-04:00

We will not be renewing your contract.

Seven horrible, terrifying, cruel words.

Words I must live with.

I have felt for some time that the new boss did not like me much. I have worked harder than ever before. But obviously, to no avail.

I am in agony. I have told no one. I can scream out my misery here, on this anonymous blog.

Everything I have worked for is in danger. We are one paycheck away from losing the house and the car. How will we eat?

It has taken every ounce of my energy to keep the awful news hidden from my beloved this weekend. To pretend that all is well. Why should I cause her to worry, until absolutely necessary? In a perfect world, I would find a better job in the few weeks I have left until my sands run out at this one, and then I could share the bad news with her but calm it with the good news.

I have not been jobless since leaving college. I am terrified.

The gamut of emotions

2011-03-15T10:16:00.002-04:00

Annoyance:

To discover that our ad rep at the local paper incorrectly spelled "effectiveness" in a front page ad that we were to run this week.

Horror: To get an email back from the ad rep stating that it could not be changed at this point. To be told that I had created the error in the ad copy I sent to them.

Cold comfort: To check my original submission and find that the spelling error was in fact their doing, not mine.

Frustration: That I cannot get them to answer their phones.

Warm, joyous relief: To call an old friend at the newspaper and be assured that in fact he will make sure that the ad copy is corrected, even at this late hour.

Gratitude: To God, whatever my damnable, detestable doubts about Him may be -- oh, to kill them once and for all -- for if there is a God, from Him came the inspiration to make that last call and thus possibly save my job.

Season changing ...

2011-03-11T11:09:00.004-05:00

Daffodils, tulips, hyacinth, forsythia ... all are in bloom now or nearly blooming, in my neighborhood. Signs of spring, we say.

But these are foreign transplants, truth be told. The peoples who called this area home, before the boats of the Europeans ever dropped anchor, would not have recognized them.

No, for a Powhatan or a Monacan, the changing of the season from winter to spring would have been seen in the budding of puccoon (bloodroot); and what we now call Spring Beauty, Virginia bluebells, Mayapple and other ephemereals -- long gone by the arrival of summer.

In a corner of the woods near my home, I have reintroduced a few of those native flowers and every spring, I cherish the sight of them far more than spindly forsythia and home improvement store daffodils.

The first sign of Virginia bluebell, photographed yesterday, is not much, a few green leaves above the brown litter of autumn's detritus -- but just you wait until she blooms!

Where trees should grow

2011-03-04T09:23:00.002-05:00

As I walked the dog this morning past the fenced-in factory on the edge of the neighborhood, a thought drifted into my mind and stayed there.

The west side of the factory property, about two acres or so, is close-mown grass. Better than asphalt, certainly, but still, rather useless from the perspective of the planet, other than for beetle grubs and robins.

What if I could talk to the big shots that own the factory? Convince them to let some conservation group, Boy Scouts, etc., plant about forty trees in that grass? In years to come, a cool, shady forest requiring no attention from humans, no mowing, no fertilizing, could cover that area. Great PR for the factory, and a money-saver, too.

Reading to children

2011-03-02T16:09:00.002-05:00

I agreed to read to a classroom of children today, Dr. Seuss' birthday. When I arrived at the school, I saw that many volunteers had signed up to read to the littlest kids (K, 1st grade, etc), but none for the older kids (5th graders). So I signed up for 5th grade, being contrary that way, I suppose.

Our reading choices were of course the works of Dr. Seuss. I picked up The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins.

As I walked down the hallway, I wondered how these sophisticated "big kids" would react to being read a Dr. Seuss book. I had deliberately picked one of greater length and more depth than most of the good doctor's works. I know little children love funny voices, hand gestures, etc, when being read to. But 5th grade? It has been a long time since I was that age, and I have not been blessed with children of my own. So what do I know about the mind of a fifth grader?

I read the book to them, changing my tone for the various characters but not getting overly silly about it. I had fun. I hope they enjoyed it, too.

Bullying

2011-03-01T11:22:00.002-05:00

I brought upon myself my first bully.

He was a moron and I told him so. He did not appreciate my evaluation of his intelligence and chased me through the neighborhood to fight me on every possible occasion. My last bit of revenge was to blow sand in his eye through a garden hose a couple of days before we moved. I've never seen him again. I'm sure he is warming a cell in some prison. Or maybe he grew up, got smart and is running a corporation somewhere.

I endured other bullies as I continued through school ... until, in seventh grade, I learned to fight back.

An organization now exists in which kids can anonymously report bullies. http://www.anonymoustips.com.

These people comprehend the impossibility of convincing kids to openly report to an adult that they are being bullied. I know for a fact I would never have gone to my teacher or principal to "tattle," no matter how miserable I was. But if I could have filed an anonymous report ... well, I just might have done so. I wonder if the taunts that still echo in the back of my mind today, might never have taken such hold of my pysche, nipped promptly in the bud.

No rest ...

2011-02-16T08:32:00.002-05:00

... My daddy worked all night in the Van Lear Coal Mines,
All day long in a field a-hoein' corn, -- Loretta Lynn

Okay, so my miseries don't exactly compare.

But why precisely on the night my Beloved and I determined to go to bed early and catch up on a little sleep, did my dear brother have to call just as we climbed into bed, needing a shoulder to cry on ...

... and why, as soon as I finally hung up, did a pack of idiots have to start hooting and hollering next door, riding their motorcycle around their back yard until I finally stumbled outside and threatened them in the most savage terms I could formulate from the cobwebs in my brain?

Of course, Sweetie is now convinced that they will plot revenge and burn our house down or something.

There is no rest for the weary.

She is amazing

2011-02-15T08:24:00.003-05:00

"I don't want to go out for dinner tonight or anything like that," She said to me.

And She explained. She wanted to spend Her Valentine's Day evening with me visiting a lonely, house-bound friend.

So we had a quick dinner from Wendy's in our car along the way and then spent the rest of the time with this friend, who has medical procedures scheduled tomorrow.

When my eyes were opened as a boy to the magic of Womankind, to the sparkle in Her eyes and the sweet music of Her voice, the power and complexity of Her intelligence, and the intoxicating, exhilarating joy of simply being in Her presence, and I realized, firmly and unshakeably, that the highest and most sublime destiny of a man is to find the Woman meant for him and devote his life utterly to Her, in sickness and health, richer or poorer, come what may, from days of youth until death parts us, hopefully but for a moment ...

... yes, when my eyes were opened and I began my quest, I couldn't even begin to imagine that the One who would consent to journey with me through the remainder of my life and beyond, would be even this utterly incredible.

I am humbled. Blessed. So very happy.

Happy Valentine's Day, my Beloved. You inspire me.

Friday

2011-02-11T09:48:00.003-05:00

Friday.

Thank heaven.

Who invented work anyway?

I hope he got kicked over a cliff by an irritated mastodon.

Deals with the devil ...

2011-02-10T15:58:00.003-05:00

It is so very, very easy to be a critic, as I so often am. It takes little intelligence, very little creativity -- nothing but an inflated sense of self-righteousness, especially when you don't have a horse in the race.

How richly ironic that in the very week that on this blog I have chided my country for making deals with the devil and stood on my soapbox again against the developers of housing projects, I have received an email at my job, from the representatives of a local housing development that last year burned up a beautiful forest in our city, to clear the ground -- choking our air with smoke for days, and whose greed I cursed bitterly and still do, each time I pass the desolation they call development.

Yes, how ironic that they want to talk to me about partnering with our schools, as they are having trouble selling the homes they have built, and they blame it on the perception our schools have in the region.

How ironic, because of course I will meet with them and shove my personal disgust for them deep down into some closet of my soul and pretend like they are Girl Scouts selling my favorite cookies, not rapists of Mother Nature.

I suppose that makes me a laughable, pitiful hypocrite.

Termites chewing, chewing

2011-02-10T09:35:00.003-05:00

The news reporter stood at the edge of a subdivision last night and pointed at a forest just beyond.

"Soon," he said, "this wooded area will be cleared for 80 new homes, the first application in this part of the county in over a year ...."

The whole story was presented as a great thing, a sign that the economy is turning around.

I shook my head in sorrow for the box turtles, deer, wild pogonia, oaks, maples, pines, bluets, wild azalea, butterflies, black snakes, birds, tree frogs and countless other wild things that will not be consulted in the developers' plans.

And I wondered again: When every last acre of the United States outside of our national parks has been plundered, raped and paved over, when our insatiable greed has spread a dreary shroud of "development" from sea to oil-slicked sea, when Los Angeles borders Boston, when no more "development" is possible because nothing outside of our national parks is left to destroy, how will we keep our sacred economy afloat?

How much longer until Egypt explodes?

2011-02-10T09:26:00.003-05:00

Ever try to hold the lid down on a boiling pot?

I wouldn't recommend it. Eventually it will explode in your face.

Mubarak must go. He will go. If he does not go soon on his own two feet, he will be carried out in a coffin. That is obvious to everyone in the world but him.

What will come after him will probably not be orderly. Democracy, it has famously been said, is messy by nature. It will certainly not be very friendly to the United States. But we made that bed for ourselves propping up a dictator for 30+years, simply because he said the right words to us while standing on the neck of his people; now we must lie in the bed we have made.

There are casualties great and small in this struggle. Obviously, those who have died or been wounded. Those who will die or be wounded in coming days. Another likely casualty: The long struggle of Egypt to have its ancient antiquities returned from the various museum collections of the world. No sane museum curator with a love of the ancient, will take those requests seriously for a long time to come, not after the heartbreak of the shattered wooden artifacts from King Tut's tomb, now smashed by looters.

The Patch on the Quilt

2011-02-09T14:27:00.000-05:00

What an incredible, heart-rending short story, by H.C. McNeile. Read on my lunch break today.

http://books.google.com/books?id=scrdjhLH2RgC&pg=PA16&lpg=PA16&dq=the+patch+on+the+quilt+%26+sapper&source=bl&ots=9x68vAg9qS&sig=HHh_ii8cDnsFfGDB20I9GAYSymM&hl=en&ei=8uNSTeaNBov3gAeU-bGCCA&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=7&sqi=2&ved=0CDgQ6AEwBg#v=onepage&q&f=false

Top Dog

2011-02-09T08:14:00.005-05:00

Doing a little web-surfing on my lunch break y'day, I hit upon a site for Cesar Milan, the Dog Whisperer. Great eye-opener. Reminder that humans and our canine buddies, much as we love each other, are partners hailing from different countries on the globe of evolution.

Quite simply, a dog pack has a dominant dog. His or her job is, not surprisingly, rather stressful. If a human unwittingly promotes their dog-pal to top dog, that dog will therefore be stressed -- especially if their human sends mixed signals.

So, no more letting our little pup stand and put her legs against us, something we thought was just her being cute. I am to go out the door first on our walks. She is to walk beside me, never in front. If she pulls on the leash, I don't pull back but to the side, throwing her slightly off balance as a reminder to heel.

I put what I learned into practice last night. Immediately, I had a calmer dog on my hands -- she didn't even growl as she used to at a neighbor we passed.

Science and Engineering

2011-02-08T11:12:00.001-05:00

"Science is the study of what is. Engineering is the study of what is to be."
So said a certain professor at a training session I went to the other day.
Very succinct.

Treacherous words ...

2011-02-04T15:35:00.004-05:00

As my clumsy fingers dance around the computer keyboard like an old man trying to do the jitterbug, I am both mildly amused and annoyed, once again, by their insistence on typing the word "signing" as "singing." Wouldn't that look great on the press release I am preparing!

Some words are dangerous that way. Perhaps none is more deadly than "public." Curse the old Latin smarty-pants who came up with that word so perilously close to a verbal cousin who is generally kept locked in the closet -- er, bedroom.

Certainly there are others, not helped by the artificial set-up of the "qwertyuiop" keyboard, which rumor has it was put together to SLOW down the earliest typists, rather than to be helpful.

Dueling proverbs ...

2011-02-03T13:39:00.002-05:00

"He that meddleth with strife, is like one who seizes a dog by the ears."
"Who knoweth but that thou art come ... for such a time as this."

Confidential things said, situation needing resolution, I could step back and stay uninvolved, or take ownership and try to resolve it.

On Smell

2011-02-03T09:25:00.003-05:00

I am about halfway through Bonnie Blodgetts's "Remembering Smell" -- the author's personal account of the nightmare of life without the sense of smell, following a reaction to Zicam, a medicine.

I read several online reviews of the book, some attacking Blodgett as a whiner deserving of very little if any sympathy for insinuating that being scentless might be even more traumatic than being blind.

It seems they missed a very important point in the book. The primal sense of smell is so deeply ingrained into our brains that its loss utterly confounds our perceptions and attacks our mental health in ways that science does not yet fully understand.

An enlightened 21st century person no longer recoils from, or mocks a sight or hearing impaired person or someone who is wheelchair-bound. But when it comes to mental health, we have a long way to go, don't we? "Crazy" is still funny, or disturbing.

And when mental illness is not in-your-face visible, such as with clinical depression, which Blodgett says is very typical of anosmia (loss of sense of smell) it becomes even harder for someone not suffering from it to understand or to sympathize.

400 for the KJV

2011-02-02T08:47:00.003-05:00

I have just a few chapters left to read in St. Augustine's "City of God," the literary colossus of the 5th Century. Then, before diving into the Byzantine era, I plan a temporary detour. For the United States, 2011 marks the 150th Anniversary of our Civil War and I will spend the remainder of this year reading, studying and visiting the sites of this moment in history.

Of course, the journey begins with Uncle Tom's Cabin, by Harriet Beecher Stowe, credited by Pres. Lincoln himself as the book that finally brought on the storm of war that had, in reality, been stirring since the foundation of our republic.

Contemplating history this morning, I realized that this year also marks the 400th anniversary of the publication of the King James Version of the Bible. Believers and non-believers alike cannot deny the impact this translation had upon the English-speaking world ... certain Christian sects today still insist that no other version is "inspired."

Off the wagon ...

2011-02-01T12:08:00.005-05:00

Sweetie bought me an e-reader for Christmas.

Last weekend, I finally cleared the last surface remaining in my study room upon which no books reside, to make room for a stack of books that has lived in a corner of the floor for years.

So I have no excuse, no rationale, no reason, no justification for what I did today.

Why did I make a left out of the parking lot on my lunch hour, southward towards the local college, instead of right?

Oh pathetic addict that I am, who shall deliver me out of this body of bibliomania?

Perhaps I convinced myself that I would find no books worth buying. Or that I could just look and carry none away. The devil sat upon my shoulder and flipped pages in my ear.

The evidence of my shameful deed is in a paper bag in my car, eight more books to cram into the confines of my home. Sweetie will not be pleased.

But they looked so good! I nabbed books of poetry, books about places and old books long out of print and not likely ever to land in an e-reader. I couldn't help myself.

The library enables, that wicked place. Four dollars is a steal for a whole shelf of great literature. Yes, a whole shelf that I surely will never have time to read until I am dead. But you see, that's my plan. Whilst other departed souls are tapping on tables and making cold spots in old houses, I shall finally have time to sit down and read all the books I hoarded in my life, reveling in my spectral opportunity to peruse pages instead of running errands and making a living.

Three strikes and Sam is out

2011-01-31T12:50:00.004-05:00

Google "Walmart Sucks" and you can be entertained for hours.

I go for the groceries and little else. I resisted even that until the day my local grocery store wanted $3 for a little can of corned beef hash.

Occassionally I permit a little spasm of optimism to shake up my generally cynical outlook. Today was such a day. I needed three things: a children's book, a set of book-ends and a "forced" bulb -- a bulb in a pot. I had 30 minutes on my lunch break so thought I could sweep it all up at Sam Walton's megapolis.

Stop One: The garden section. Says the stocker to me, "We aren't carrying those (forced bulbs) right now."

Perhaps they are waiting for July, when forced bulbs are all the rage. Please note the sarcasm.

Stop Two: Household goods. No sign of book ends. I track down a clerk. "We don't carry those anymore," sales associate says.

My rather flimsy temper is beginning to fray. "Don't people put books on shelves anymore?" I ask. She just looks puzzled, poor thing. Maybe doesn't know what a book is.

Stop Three: Book section. I go back and forth amidst trashy paperback romances and coloring books, in a vain search for something resembling children's literature. Walmart's stock, at least at this urban location, consists of about three picture books and some pathetic Disney princess paper-waste.

Strike three, you're out.

I have come to understand the big box store strategy: Convince the world that you sell everything. Drive your competition out of business with your falsified claim. Then carry almost nothing.

But of course I have only myself to blame. Sam depends on people like me to fill his pockets. If millions of joes like me were to go elsewhere, his empire would crumble.

Unfortunately, I would have to be willing, once again, to pay $3 for a can of corned beef hash.

Can't hear ya, sonny!

2011-01-28T15:05:00.002-05:00

Among the things that frustrate me -- people who are hard to understand.

Of course, some people have speech impediments. I'm not talking about them. Nor am I talking about people who have learned English as a second language. They deserve credit for whatever level of mastery they have achieved with our difficult language.

No, I'm talking about mumblers, for the most part, chronic mumblers ... who could improve their speaking skills if they tried. Or people who for no explainable reason, just are hard to understand.

I work with a certain someone in a position of authority over me who I think must stick their cellphone in their mouth when they call me, because I CANNOT UNDERSTAND them. I struggle and strain and try to comprehend at least enough verbage to gain some idea what they are talking about. They sound like the teacher in the old Charlie Brown shows, I kid you not. Wa-wah-wa-wah-wa-wa. Every so often, I ask them to repeat themselves, and the muted trumpet just plays the same song again.

I spent six months of my life in a fog of utter non-comprehension, as I tried to learn one of the world's toughest languages, by immersion in its native land. It was the hardest mental challenge I have ever endured -- utterly exhausting. Frustrating. Humiliating. One is reduced to the level of a little child, pointing for what one wants, dammed up mentally, making linguistic gaffes that are difficult to correct. What one wants to say is a whole roomful of words, that must squeeze through the keyhole of your suddenly incapacitated lips.

Your native idioms and witticisms, become useless. You can no longer say, "Miss, I sure would like another slice of that great-looking crusty bread on yonder platter. Simply delicious! What's your recipe?" Rather, at best, you say, "Bread. There. Some please mud. Where cow's bicycle?"

Having endured that once in my life, I don't care to endure it again.

Today is a day to remember heroes and Heroines of exploration

2011-01-28T09:45:00.003-05:00

I distinctly remember the day, 25 years ago this morning. I was in eighth grade. I rode my bike to school as always, and locked it up in the racks.

Something was in the air, an odd feeling, as I went inside the building. The teachers were huddled around a television in the teacher's lounge. The space shuttle had exploded in flight, killing all the astronauts aboard.

I wish I could remember exactly how I felt. I had just begun to keep a journal that year but I didn't write anything. Maybe I just didn't know what I should write.

It was a heart-breaking day. I know that much.

The essence of humanity is curiosity -- the vision,the craving for knowledge, the urge to explore new places. That day, the dream, the drive, had painful consequences.

History is filled with the stories of brave men and Women who advanced human knowledge and experience. Such was Pocahontas. We learn of John Smith and the rest of the Jamestown crew and marvel at their courage. But their Old World was for Her a completely New World, which took incredible bravery on Her part to visit.

What of the first adventurers to climb Mt. Everest? To visit the North and South Poles? What of the long-ago Polynesians who settled the Pacific islands with no navigational guides but the stars to aid them?

The expansion of human knowledge will ever have moments of exhilaration, and moments of great tragedy. But we must go on. We are not meant to be mere animals, living in the bubble of the present, living only to fill our bellies and reproduce the species. We are meant to step into the unknown and find answers to the questions there ... and find more questions for which to seek answers.

Pomp and Circumstance

2011-01-27T14:11:00.004-05:00

"I don't go to the graduation ceremonies," said a colleague of mine in the school district. "I didn't even go to my own. I just don't do pomp and circumstance."

I thought about his words. Is he enlightened or impoverished?

Ceremony is part of human culture. We celebrate birthdays, comings-of-age, graduations, weddings. We honor the departing soldier, the returning veteran and the dearly departed. Some people pay close attention to the changing of the seasons. In Japan, there is a day set aside to honor boys; another to honor Girls.

The ceremonies we cherish, change over time. Christmas as we know it, is a very modern Western idea -- it would be unrecognizable to our forefathers, even the most devout Christians of them. Halloween is completely different today than when it began .... and at least where I live, trick-or-treating door to door is nearly dead -- certainly, dead is the idea of people offering apples, warm cookies and cider to the costumed pixies at their doorstep.

As the Western world continues to cut loose from the moorings of religion, will the time come when its sacred holidays fade completely away? If so, what will remain? Some people kneel at the altar of the Superbowl; the Wave becomes today's genuflection; and the grid-iron athletes are the new apostles.

Others offer their devotions to celebrities as fervently as a former generation did to the canonized saints. They don't burn candles but they devour People magazine.

Is this progress or retrogression? Praiseworthy or pathetic?

A thousand years from now, what ceremonies do you suppose we will cherish and what will be utterly forgotten? Remember that the whole idea of high school and even college is a novelty in world history; consider that marriage in the Western world is an endangered species; and that, even though Og the Caveman probably tossed a ball of animal hide or maybe his neighbor's severed head for fun, the sports we know today -- football, basketball, etc -- are babes in the nursery, basically fads.

Will we come full circle? There are devoted groups now attempting to resurrect ancient Greek paganism. There are people who fervently wish to reclaim the idea of "good witches" from its exile in fairy tale literature. Will they succeed or will the law of diminishing returns exact its toll?

A profoundly unprofound post

2011-01-26T09:43:00.004-05:00

This will be my last blog post of the week about food. I promise.

"How did you like your meatloaf?" someone in the family asked me as we wrapped up dinner out last night.

"Not too great," said I. "It was ... too ... creamy."

That was the best word I could think of. And pondering this incredibly unimportant detail later, I remembered a comment my Sweetie made to me a few weeks ago. She told me:

"You like your foods to have texture."

That is probably why I prefer big, sharp-edged Doritos to flimsy little Lay's potato discs. Why I like rice pudding, which most people hate. Why crispy fried chicken will always tempt me over the broiled kind. Why I would sell my soul for hash browns but not mashed potatoes.

My Beloved knows me so well. I had to step out while the family was ordering but She knew exactly what to tell the server: I wanted meatloaf. I am a passionate fan of this blue-collar, much-maligned food item. Just not, I realize, of the version they served at Restaurant XYZ.

Too creamy.

Another soul might sing the praises of meatloaf that sort of melts upon your tongue. My meatloaf should have a crispness to its crust, and within ... texture.

In the great, vast universe, this is a detail of less significance than the undulations of a protozoan in a rain puddle. But a blogger can be insignificant now and then, methinks.

(The photo above is from the Food Channel online, a succulent-looking, TEXTURED meatloaf with cheese. http://www.recipebridge.com/recipe/cheesy-meatloaf-MTAxMzYxMTI6Ojo6MTY4)

Movie I might go see ...

2011-01-24T11:33:00.002-05:00

"The Way Back" looks like the kind of movie I might just go see this year. I don't watch too many movies; Hollywood generally tends to irritate me, and its conceited, soft-headed, leftist glitterati don't deserve a penny from my pocket.

But this film seems cut from different cloth, er, celluloid, purporting to be based on "the real life saga of three prisoners who in 1940 escaped the Soviet gulag and walked 4,000 miles across Siberia, over the Himalayas and on to refuge in India."

We need these reminders, very badly, of the kind of world that results when we allow a government to make promises and to become the master rather than the servant of the people.

In praise of parsnips

2011-01-20T16:53:00.005-05:00

I travel eagerly the roads of discovery, listening, touching, tasting and seeing, reveling in the joys of being alive.

When I learned by chance that one of the favorite dishes of old Augustus Caesar was parsnips drizzled with honey, I sought out this odd, old-fashioned vegetable and gave his recipe a try.

To this day, I love it. I slice and steam them until they are soft, then drip the honey over them.

How to explain the taste of a parsnip? I find it somewhat similar but superior to the common carrot -- spicier and yet not quite as musky-strong. Do not be put off by its pallid complexion. Certainly don't confuse it with a turnip, which is round, bitter and of a different plant family altogether.

I was excited to discover a recipe for parsnip bread recently. But I was disappointed with the results. The ingredients were quite standard: flour, an egg, oil, salt, cloves, allspice and cinnamon, as well as, of course, two peeled and shredded parsnips.

It also called for a full cup of sugar. I don't care for bread that is "crunchy" with sugar crystals so I halved the amount. If anything, that should have made the resulting dough even less dry than it was. But confronted by a powdery, clumpy pile in the baking bowl, I added about half a cup of milk, nowhere called for in the recipe, until a state of batter was achieved.

The results were still somewhat dry and somewhat flat and quite disappointing. I am sure that good parsnip bread can be made but I will have to find a different recipe.

I give a hoot but we all pollute

2011-01-19T10:53:00.005-05:00

On the back of a big truck today, I saw a placard declaring:

"CO2 is not a pollutant."

I wondered about the reasoning behind such a statement.

What, after all, is a pollutant?

I would venture, any substance introduced into an environment, that has an adverse effect upon that environment. Makes no difference if it is generally benign or "natural." It is entirely possible that a tanker truck of orange juice could tip over into a creek and kill the fish, thus making O.J., in this case, a pollutant.

Carbon dioxide is rather common. You make it within your own body. It won't kill you to breathe it ... so long as there also happens to be some oxygen in the neighborhood. Perhaps the placard people meant to emphasize this fact.

Of course, the current worry is that too much CO2 is heating up our planet. Perhaps the placard people disagree. Guess we will all know soon enough, one way or the other.

Treading into technology

2011-01-18T11:57:00.002-05:00

Over the weekend, I practiced using the Nook e-reader that my Beloved bought me for Christmas. The tiny keyboard is hard on my big, clumsy fingers. But I am beginning to get the hang of the thing.

First book downloaded: Remembering Smell, by Bonnie Blodgett. As a person who unabashedly delights in the joys of the senses -- touch, taste, hearing, smell -- I've wanted to read Blodgett's exploration of the olfactory world for quite some time.

It cost fourteen dollars to download. Not much of a savings from the bookstore shelf. That was irksome. For what one pays for an e-reader, the books should be a lot less expensive, methinks.

Later, I downloaded a free edition of St. Augustine's City of God,the paper and ink version of which I am about half-finished reading. Disappointment number two: It was apparently scanned from paper and ink, and utterly unreadable, with gibberish goofing up most of the text.

On a brighter note, my little brother convinced me this weekend to try out Skype, and that was fun.

Giving up on Pakistan

2011-01-14T13:54:00.003-05:00

Reading through the comments following the announcement of throngs cheering for the reprobate scumbag who killed an advocate of moderation in Pakistan this month, namely a man who simply said that death should not be the punishment for blasphemy ...

...I understand the feeling behind the cry to cut off all U.S. aid and support to Pakistan following this news. But that would be exactly what the fans of a Stone Age civilization for Pakistan would like us to do.

No more Americans treating sick Pakistan children and clearing up birth defects, digging wells, funding micro-businesses. Just a sick country left alone to stew in its misery with the extremists and their madrassas as the only voices speaking and the only beacon of hope.

Such a policy worked really well in Afghanistan ... until a little thing called 9/11 woke us up to reality.

Tucson thoughts

2011-01-14T08:43:00.002-05:00

We must be very, very careful that the current call for more civil discourse does not translate into any laws suppressing discourse. American politics have always been rough and tumble. Ain't nothin' new.

I'd rather have 10,000 talk show hosts on the right and the left screaming their throats out at each other, and politicians slinging mud like they were trying to dig down to China on a 3 p.m. deadline, than live one day in a place like, say, North Korea, where the official line is that nothing bad ever happens and Dear Leader can do no wrong. No mud gets thrown there. People just quietly starve to death.

Ted Williams

2011-01-10T11:55:00.003-05:00

So I have learned that the media went crazy, falling over each other to thrust their mikes in front of Ted Williams, the "golden-voiced" homeless man.

I pray not only that he can stand the spotlight, but also the ice-cold moment when the fickle media turn away again, as they will, and leave him on his own, the former flavor of the day.

I also think there's a lesson here. There are thousands of homeless men, Women and children in this country. Ted is/was just one. I wish him all the best. What are we doing for the rest? Is it possible that inside each and every one of these our fellow human beings, is a seed of hope that could be nurtured?

Instead of falling over each other for the exclusive next interview with Ted and his mom and everybody that ever knew him, why not send your more thoughtful reporters out to find more Teds on other street corners?

New year

2011-01-10T11:46:00.003-05:00

Okay, so I am late commenting on the new year, very late. I do hope this will be a year of more peace, more love, more joy in the world.

As the song says, it has to begin with me.

I look for a year of service, of learning, of new friendships. Of new opportunities, new foods tried, new words learned.

I look for a year of less time wasted and more thought given to what I say and write.

I am just a man, a flawed, temperamental man. But I like me, on most days. And I probably like you. I'll lend a hand or a buck if you need it. I don't kick puppies or make children cry or deface public property.

Pondering e-books

2010-12-14T20:38:00.002-05:00

Within my lifetime -- nay, probably within a decade -- ink and paper books could become as antiquated as leather scrolls.

Every day brings more news about electronic books, once a prop of sci-fi novels, now a reality. Borders is studying a plan to take over Barnes and Noble, and e-books are very much a part of the discussion.

It's exciting to think that I could carry around the equivalent of a thousand books or so, in my pocket, ready to whip out and peruse wherever I may be.

But knowing me, I would probably drop the thing in the washing machine or leave it in a meeting hall somewhere. Would my collection transfer to a new e-book machine?

What if some future government decided I had no right to read a certain book? Would it mysteriously vanish from my machine or be blocked from being loaded in the first place? Would Big Brother track my e-book selections to ferret out my seditious leanings?

What is it about dogs lately?

2010-12-03T08:11:00.002-05:00

I was getting into my car preparing to go home last evening when I saw a large black dog wandering in the street. Back and forth went my thoughts: It's probably from nearby, it'll probably find its way home, it's a big dog, if I approach it, maybe it will attack ...

Then I thought about the sweet little furball who is now part of our family. What if that was her, wandering out in danger? Wouldn't I pray that someone would help? Wouldn't we be devastated to find her crushed in the road?

So I called Animal Control. The phone rang endlessly. Well, it was about 5 p.m. They have the right to go home to their families like the rest of us. Still ... wouldn't you think they would have someone on hand for after-hour emergencies? Dogs don't wander just from 9-5.

I dialed the police department non-emergency line. They made no commitment to do anything. I hung up, screwed up my courage and tried to approach the dog. It ignored me and kept wandering south. I got out a slice of bread left over from lunch.

And so passed the next half-hour or so. Horrible half hour. Dog continuing to wander down the middle of the street. Some cars slowing down and carefully going around the dog. Some cars occupied by lead-footed, hell-spawn who deserve to be reincarnated as lost-dogs-in-traffic if there is any justice in the universe -- narrowly missing the dog as they roared past it without slowing in the least. I give credit to the driver of a large bus who managed to bring his big vehicle to a complete halt and not hit the animal, without swerving into another lane. I give less credit to those who honked their horns at the poor animal as they went on by it. That doesn't help.

I think I've mentioned I hate UPS. That's one reason. Those ugly brown trucks blast along even residential roads like gunmen are chasing them. When one thundered past, I thought it would be over for the dog. Missed by a hair. I renewed my long-time vow never, ever to do any business with UPS. I will never forget the piece of human garbage who killed a huge turtle in front of me years ago that I was manuevering to save. If he didn't see me, and the turtle, he was blind as a cave shrimp. He was driving a UPS truck, no surprise. The turtle was so big his damned truck nearly tipped over. I wish it would have.

I followed the dog in my car, stopping each time I got close and getting out, trying to talk to it and waving the piece of bread. The dog resolutely ignored me. Finally, it wandered away from the deadly big streets and into a quiet neighborhood -- huge relief. I called the police again. I gave them the location. By now, it was dark and I could no longer see the black dog. He was somewhere in somebody's yard. There was absolutely nothing I could do. I drove around the area one more time, trying to see him. Maybe he had indeed made it back home.

So, not a happy ending, not one that I would witness at least. Sometimes, all you can do is try.

So now we have a dog ... again

2010-11-08T10:37:00.003-05:00

It has been about six years since our black Lab passed away, a stray that wandered into our hearts.

Once again, we have been adopted. This time, the dog is a little Jack Russell -- very loving but a handful.

I am tired this morning. Tired from having had to find the temporary rescuer's home last night somewhere in the middle of the city. She could not keep her another night, and we have almost run out of possible friends to adopt the dog. Tired from waking up in the middle of the night to take the little dog outside since we are not sure yet how housebroken she is.

We were spoiled with our Lab. He liked being outside and when inside for storms and cold, he was unerringly house trained. This dog will need to stay indoors and needs some work ... has already made a pile in the living room.

But she is so cute running around the house with her mangled Snoopy doll in her mouth.

The Honeybee

2010-11-04T11:45:00.001-04:00

The amazing creature that is the honeybee ...

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/science/8104213/Bees-mans-best-friend-provider-and-protector.html

And the comments below the article reference the new (to me at least) idea of being a bee steward. Setting up a hive with no intention to harvest it for honey, just to give bees a chance at survival.

Intervention?

2010-11-03T17:17:00.003-04:00

While eating lunch with my mentoree today, I witnessed a typical interaction for that age group. Really, a typical interaction for any age group -- but as we age, we learn to refine the methods of our meanness.

On one side is a Girl who obviously has a crush on him -- maybe doesn't even realize that's what it is. We'll call Her Natasha. In the middle is my mentoree, a fifth grade student. Call him Michael. On the other side is some boy in the class who is friends with Michael. Call him Shawn.

At lunch today, Natasha obviously has a beef with Shawn. He is to be ostracized, apparently for resorting with his other friends to namecalling of Her and Her friends. Michael wants to be friends with both of them. Natasha instructs Michael not to. She teases him, pokes him, scolds him, warns him not to.

I am supposed to be a "buddy" to Michael. I am not supposed to lecture or compel him to make moral decisions. I presume that means his friends as well. The idea for the mentoring program is that I am to be a friend, not another authority figure.

So how do I proceed? I finally tell Natasha, gently but firmly, to leave Michael alone because I would hate to have to report Her behavior to their teacher. I don't know without reading Michael's mind how much of Her behavior crosses the line from teasing between friends to outright bullying. Certainly if the roles were reversed and some boy was pinching, poking and arm twisting a Girl, I would immediately intervene.

Then I say, "We should all get along." Gack, sounds like some pot-huffing hippie.

Then I talk with admiration about my best friend in high school who made friends with everyone, the cool kids and the ones on the edge.

Natasha thinks about it for a few moments. She has a murmured conversation with Shawn. Then She tells Michael: "You can be friends with Shawn if you want."

I have never been a parent. So I do not have the skills that parents develop. Did I intervene unnecessarily in this instance? Or should I have done even more?

The future is decidedly Female?

2010-10-28T11:07:00.007-04:00

Matt Thornhill, president of the Boomer Project, has written a fascinating column this week, entitled, "The Future is Decidedly Female." He based some of his reasonings upon an article in The Atlantic, "The End of Men," by Hannah Rosin.

Their arguments are sound and convincing, for a thesis that the modern, post-industrial society may be better suited to Women.

In education, in industries showing growth patterns, even in life satisfaction studies for today's productive age-60 and up life stage, Women are taking the lead.

These are simple, emperical facts, not wishful thinking on the part of ardent Feminists.

For me, it raises a number of questions. I have always believed that Women have a slight edge of greatness over men in virtually every aspect of life, except the primitive application of brute force, which has historically been used to hold them back. (I.e, if you have an opiniated Woman in your village who won't kowtow to male leadership ... declare Her a witch and drag Her to the square to be burnt.)

But I am a man myself and must examine my place in the new reality. It is one thing to malign glass ceilings when they still exist and pat yourself on the back as forward-thinking and magnaminous. It is another thing entirely to behave appropriately in a day-to-day world in which glass ceilings have been shattered and the tide of change calls your bluff.

To make historical parallels: It was one thing to be a West German calling for the Berlin Wall to come down; another thing entirely to live in a reunited Germany. It was one thing to be an ardent, antibellum abolitionist, another thing entirely to handle the reality of post-Civil War free African-Americans competing for employment, living in your neighborhood and dating your daughters.

If the trends continue, and Women come to fully outnumber men in government, business and other fields of life, how shall we men react? Our options are:

To fight back, reimposing male domination;

Surrender and crawl into corners to lick our wounds and stagnate;

Or learn how to handle the new reality in a manner that benefits humanity overall.

Of course, I support the latter option. Fair competition for excellence, can only be a good thing. As Women can learn from men in some aspects of leadership and success, so can men learn from Women.

Very interesting food for thought.

Feeling like Squidward

2010-10-25T08:47:00.004-04:00

This comparison will make no sense to a person not well acquainted with the trials and tribulations of Squidward Tentacles. Watch a Spongebob marathon, then get back to me.

I feel like Squidward today after his encounter with Squilliam Fancypants. I just came across the Curriculum Vitae of my old college roommate, who is now Dr. So and So, a professor at Such and Such University, with a list of honors and published works that takes up two pages and is probably heavily abridged.

Me, I'm just me. Same old unremarkable job,nothing published, house in need of repair, growing old in obscurity.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled non-self-pity program.

Of course

2010-10-22T08:17:00.002-04:00

It figures ...

That on the morning that my car satellite radio is broadcasting the last chapter of a very exciting book, promptly at 6:30 a.m. as I am on the way to work ...

I would be out of gas and have to stop.

And that the !^%$& pump wouldn't take my card so I would have to go stand in line and prepay inside.

And that three or four schlubs in front of me would be wasting their paychecks and all of our time buying lotto tickets.

And that the clerk would insist that the pump is just fine and send me back outside to try again.

And that of course the pump still wouldn't work and I would have to go back inside with my teeth grit and stand behind another schlub and prepay inside in spite of his protestations that the pump is working just fine.

Things like that are supposed to happen on Mondays, not Fridays.

Dog saga

2010-10-21T15:37:00.002-04:00

I saw her last week, a blur of white, as she darted away from my car as I pulled into the driveway.

Animals of all kinds come and go through my little neck of the woods and it's live and let live. Bird-stalking cats, my least favorite, get a hiss or a hose blast, nothing more.

But this little dog stayed around. A full day passed and I realized she wasn't passing through on her way back home somewhere. She had been abandoned. No collar, no tags. She was starving and miserable, scratching fleas non-stop. And she appeared to be pregnant.

That was Thursday. I made the decision to get involved. That is not done lightly. You can't get started, then quit when complications arise. I warmed up a piece of sausage and sat on the ground and nibbled a little of it to get her attention. She stayed a few yards away, watching warily. After about a half hour, she retrieved a piece that I tossed gently in her direction.

We bought some dog food and I laid it on a plate and put a blanket beside it. She came to the plate, ate her fill and went to sleep on the blanket. Still, was not willing to come close to me.

Saturday we sat apart on the ground for a while. Then I got up and went off to plant a pine sapling at the edge of the woods. Suddenly, she was there, beside me, sniffing at my shoe. She did not dart away as I petted her head. The gulf of fear had been crossed. There are no suitable words for such a moment.

Long story short: We can't keep her -- we have an old, fearful bird already in residence in our home. But a good, trustworthy friend has just agreed to take her in. The dog is not pregnant, the vet says. The fleas and the torment of their itch is gone, thanks to a bath and medicine. And no more will she ever need to fear the raising of a human hand.

What a tumultuous week we have had. How precious is a happy ending!

The Law of Give and Take

2010-10-21T14:41:00.006-04:00

... If I remove a book from the shelf in my room and sell it somewhere, my library is slightly diminished, though I may gain a dollar or two for my wallet. Each time that I remove another book, the shelves grow more bare. Now suppose that thousands of books are being removed from thousands of shelves, for sale, and the ones not sold are being buried forever in massive piles outside the city limits.

When I see the glorious abundance piled up in my local grocery store these days, I sometimes think: Each apple, each cucumber, each banana, represents a little bit of vitality from the soil of some farm somewhere. Each one not sold will end up in a landfill, its quotient of biomass locked up indefinitely. Each one sold and eaten may fare somewhat better, spread as a bio-solid somewhere, but still, the farmland whence it originated is the poorer.

Will there come a day when our agricultural soils are impoverished beyond repair, our breadbasket lands as bare of nutrients for life as the blowing sands of a desert dune?

More and more as I grow older, I am recognizing there is no free lunch, no action without a consequence, no action without an equal and opposite reaction. It is natural law, whether in the wilderness or in the societies of humankind. Cutting down a forest to build a gas station has a consequence. Trees will be burned and carbon released. Those animals which cannot quickly flee, such as box turtles, will be killed and over their bodies and the soil a hard concrete shell will be poured, blocking the rain that for eons soaked into that ground and replenished life.

Passing laws to "give" everyone "free" health care has a consequence, too. When one receives, another must have given, somehow, somewhere, to make it happen ... by choice or by force.

Aargh!

2010-10-20T16:52:00.003-04:00

Charlie Brown was the master of a certain expression of agony that is today largely replaced in pop-culture by reference to various forms of poop.

"Aargh!"

It always rose in shaky black font letters above his unhappy head.

Today is an aargh day for me. Today I know how he feels.

In spite of writing the event down on not one but two calendars ...

In spite of a personal phone call that I received yesterday reminding me ...

Still I went about my work this morning somehow believing that Thursday (i.e., tomorrow), not Wednesday (i.e., today), was the day of the big event.

It was no less than a very important community meeting in which I would not only represent the school district, not only make the announcement that our school district would host the next meeting, but also would receive a nice, hot lunch.

Someone called me from the meeting an hour into it. My absence had been noticed.

Not that it did any good but I drove on out there post-haste, too late to do much of anything, certainly too late for the lunch.

I missed kicking the proverbial football and I can't even blame Lucy for this one.

I sat through what was left of the meeting with my tummy rumbling. I drove back to the office in the rain and ate a cold tuna sandwich alone in the break room.

Why is there some stubborn, stupid, part of me that resists looking at my calendars, that fights so hard against the attempt of the rest of me to actually be an organized, productive human being? Why cannot I extricate that part of me, pluck it out like some kind of tapeworm, kick its sorry %$^, then throw it beaten and bloody into the cargo hold of a plane bound for Mogadishu?

Mastery of metaphor

2010-10-18T13:26:00.000-04:00

“I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his head against anything, and really his damp, cold hand felt so like a frog in mine that I was tempted to drop it and run away.” – David Copperfield, by Charles Dickens.

To be my friend ...

2010-10-15T10:53:00.006-04:00

... To be my friend, requires a special kind of person.

You must be willing to endure what most people call being ignored, for indefinite periods of time, then take up where we left off. You must not take this personally. I have scatterings of friends all over the world and I attempt to tend to them all in turn. I stay busy with this frenetic, fascinating thing called life.

Plus, I am a military brat and shaped by ADHD, too. I'm not really sure I know all the rules or have the ability to form the deep, empathetic, sympathetic bonds that most people do. (How my Beloved endures me, is an unfathomable mystery.) I get uncomfortable hanging out and making small talk. I need to be doing. I'd rather help you tear up your deck than sit in your living room.

You must understand that I crave knowledge, but that to crave and to have are two different things. You must understand the difference between a know-it-all and a wants-to-know-it-all and not presume, when I bring up Augustus Caesar or Augustine of Hippo, or the Paleozoic Era, that I am challenging your personal intellect.

You must understand that when I make a promise to you, I WILL keep it, eventually,if it can wait. But if you need something immediately, like your furniture moved, I'm there.

In Chicago, of all places

2010-10-15T10:18:00.004-04:00

I have heard it said, and I believe it:

The tropical rainforest is important and we should teach its conservation. But it is equally important for an American child to love and value the forest just beyond his own backyard, that he or She may mature into a grown-up who cares.

Only today I have learned of a tiny, unique little flower, believed extinct. In a purely material sense, who knows what pharmaceuticals might have been extracted from it for the benefit of humankind? Thismia apparently had a relationship with local soil fungi. Perhaps it produced botanical chemicals to ward off other fungi or bacteria.

Who knows what a study of its DNA and habitat might have added to the discussion of continental drift, and how it came to be so far from its only living relatives in Australia.

You see, this little flower, thismia, wasn't found on some pristine Montana prairie, not even in a deep Smoky Mountains forest. It was found, in 1916, in a wetland in ...

... Chicago.

And since the initial report by a sharp-eyed scientist, it has never been seen again. And in the years following, someone smothered the site in fill dirt. And no one really cared, because it was Chicago after all, a city, not some wild wilderness. And so we may never know its story.

http://chicagowildernessmag.org/issues/summer2004/thismia.html

The man from Tagaste

2010-10-12T12:39:00.004-04:00

This week, I finished my reading of Confessions, by St. Augustine, described as the world's first autobiography.

I will not attempt to write a book review. The book was published 1,600 years ago and I am sure that whole libraries could be filled with the commentaries already printed about it. Plus, the latter half of the book was incomprehensible to me, reminding me forcefully, in paragraph after paragraph, of the severe limitations of my personal I.Q. number.

The logical next step is to read City of God, by the same. Logical, that is, for someone of my ilk who is either completely insane, a sado-masochist or an incorrigible optimist.

Some thoughts came to my mind that I will share:

Tagaste, birthplace of St. Augustine, is in modern-day Algeria. Scarely four centuries after Augustine, that whole region of the world was conquered by Islam and has remained in its orbit ever since. If Augustine had been born there in the seventh century A.D., rather than the third, would his astounding intellect have made history in the service of Islam, rather than Christianity? Would Christianity have gone down a different pathway without an Augustine to guide it from the Roman Empire into the Medieval Era? How different might Islam have been with him as its champion and a shaper of doctrine?

In City of God, Augustine will attack the premise of the day that the oh-so-recent sack of Rome (410 A.D., by Alaric, an event of huge pyschological impact, even though Rome's glory days were long gone and the heart of the Empire was now far east) was the fault of the Christian faith that the Empire had adopted.

It is not so well-known that the "barbarian Germans" who trashed the Eternal City, were in fact Christians. They were Arian Christians, believing that the Son was not equal to the Father. Arian (NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH ARYAN) and so-called orthodox Christianity waged war for centuries against each other for the title of true Christianity. The reach of Arianism extended all the way into China before it finally began to lose the battle.

I don't know everything about Augustine, obviously. I wonder how much time he spent in the contest between Catholicism and Arianism. I know he spilled quite a bit of ink attacking the Gnostic sect, Manicheism, that had once held his allegiance. If he had trained his cerebral guns on Arianism instead of Manicheism, would Christianity have been different?

Some historians consider Islam to be a sort of hybrid Christianity. After all, the faith accepts the New Testament and accepts Jesus as a prophet. However, anyone who has read the Quran, realizes early on that Islam fervently rejects the notion that God could ever have a son, let alone that such a son could be His equal.

Did Arianism help pave the way for Islam?

These are just a few of the questions now banging around in my mostly empty head.

Honey, about that hike to France we planned ...

2010-10-03T19:06:00.003-04:00

In August of this year, archaeologists reported the discovery of the oldest-known house in Britain -- 6,000 years older than Stonehenge.

It was built, they said, when Britain still was connected to continental Europe.

That gets me thinking. That means there had to be some particular day when humans in Britain woke up and discovered that they were suddenly upon an island. What was their reaction? Was it cataclysmic -- suddenly a churning channel where children had picked flowers the day before? Or was it an oh-so-gradual rise, with a few inches of water between France and England building to its current depth over the course of centuries?

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/education-10929343

Youth

2010-09-28T11:05:00.002-04:00

Upon contemplating the strong, young arms of Hilary Hahn as She plays Tchaikovsky.

Sturdy, strong
strutting like a stallion
pawing our piece of earth.

Supple sapling
we hold our fruit high upon
bold, brash branches.

We are first, fresh, forever.

Squirrely etymology

2010-09-28T09:35:00.001-04:00

So ... the German word for what we call in English a squirrel, translates to oak-kitten. Cute.

Even happier post ...

2010-09-14T15:04:00.003-04:00

I just got off the phone with my Beloved. It was such a pleasure to hear Her voice, soft and sweet in my ear, talking about what She has been doing today.

No man is more blessed than the man who has a Woman in his life to cherish, honor and uplift. Service, devotion and dedication to the happiness of a Woman, makes the life of a man complete, makes him whole.

My first childhood friend, as a mere toddler, was a little blonde neighbor Girl, followed a few years later by naive plans to marry Melissa Gilbert, star of Little House on the Prairie. I cannot remember a time when I ever believed Girls had "cooties," or a time when I did not count Them among my cherished friends. I was writing gooey love notes in third grade. From fifth grade, I still cherish the memory of a classmate named Dawn, who was truly a gifted artist -- and I still have one of Her drawings to remember Her by.

And then of course, adolescence turned the steady little flame into an inferno which has not yet burned out.

I read in a motivational book today about a fool of a man whose dear Wife gave him a picture of Herself for their anniversary. She had planned it elaborately, consulted with Her friends to pick out the prettiest dress, the prettiest pose, the prettiest hairstyle, even the perfect frame to put it in. She was so excited that She even gave the photo to him early.

And what did the imbecile do? He said that She looked like a slut and threw the picture down. The result was years of therapy for Her to rebuild Her shattered self-esteem, and, of course, a divorce from the caveman.

Some part of me should feel sorry for such a man, wandering alone in the mists of moronity, doomed to grow old with only his stupidity for company. Most of me wants to find him and throw him off a bridge.

But then I think about the beam in my own eye, the times that I have overridden my Beloved in conversation, the times that I have not taken Her ideas seriously, the times that I have initiated arguments because I was tired or whatever.

She still loves me, thanks be to heaven, in spite of it all. And I am a blessed, blessed man.

Happy post

2010-09-04T21:43:00.002-04:00

Okay, I realize that some of my recent posts have been grouchy. Not today. Had a blast with my Sweetie at the county fair. Finished reading a wonderful book, Three Cups of Tea, about humanitarian work in Pakistan. Feeling great.

Apparently, some people really do not have a life ...

2010-09-03T13:48:00.002-04:00

I was quite surprised to receive an ugly email this morning from an ugly-souled person regarding an ugly picture.

In some blog post here from more than a year ago, I used a photo from the internet of an ant -- an ant of all things -- to illustrate the point I was making.

Now, suddenly that appears to be a problem for that photo-snapper, who insisted that it be removed immediately. Big deal. It's down. Go find something else to whine about.

I don't make any money from this blog. I claim credit for a picture only when I have taken it myself. So lighten up. We are fellow enthusiasts of nature but your peevishness gives the passion a bad name.

I really hope, oh sad soul, that you do not waste too much of the time that you could be spending on your photography, policing blogs. You'll go insane.

Doin' the moron mosey

2010-08-25T08:15:00.003-04:00

"You're bringin' on the heartbreak
Bringin' on the heartache." --Def Leppard

Oh, you child of churlishness
you stalwart of stupidity
didn't your parents ever teach you
to look both ways?

My laptop and my lunch go flying
from passenger seat to the floor
My blood boils
and I hail you with my horn

Consider yourself lucky
that I blasted your ears
and didn't break your bones
with my bumper

You give a shrug
you idiot you
"What, me worry?"
Oh, you'd worry all right

If you woke up shattered
in a hospital bed
or worse, in that corner of hell
reserved for the incorrigibly stupid

You are a man in body
but with the naivete of a newborn newt
and the cranial capacity
of a punch-drunk 'possum.

Duck dread

2010-08-11T16:09:00.003-04:00

Anatidaephobia - The fear that some time, somewhere, somehow, a duck is watching you.

Cf. http://phobialist.com

I do not have this phobia. Just so's you know.

Nor am I bothered excessively by spiders and snakes, crowds, clowns or what lies ahead for me after I die.

I do fear needles and razor blades, claustrophobic situations, the rise of China as a 21st century military power, elevated superhighways, my own eventual old age and unemployment.

What do you fear? I promise not to laugh.

Humbled

2010-08-10T10:42:00.002-04:00

Yesterday I was invited to a lunch meeting with several regional representatives for the kind of work that I do.

Now, if I do say so myself, I consider myself at least as smart as the average bear. So it was very humbling to struggle to keep up with their conversation and to feel, quite frankly, like a six-year-old accidentally dropped off on a college campus.

I will never be invited to join Mensa. From time to time, that is made painfully clear to me.

On a lighter note: I had one dollar with me that day, since payday is still several days away, so my Beloved and I had agreed that I could put my lunch on the credit card.

"Just don't spend a lot," She said.

So I scanned the menu and found the cheapest thing on it, some kind of cheese and artichoke appetizer for six bucks that I could have made at home with a 50 cent jar of artichokes and some Cheez Whiz.

I ate my little meal whilst my lunch companions dined on huge, fancy sandwiches, fries and other succulent fare. I felt sorry for myself but hey, that's life. I also ate most of the garlic rolls in the communal plate since everybody else was busy with their food whilst mine had taken about twenty seconds to eat.

The time came to pay our respective bills.

"I'll cover this, my treat," said the meeting-organizer to us.

NOW he tells me.

Poverty sucks.

The harvest ...

2010-08-10T10:30:00.003-04:00

Last weekend, my Niece could hardly stand to finish Her dinner,so eager was She to get out into the backyard and help me, as She had been promised She could, to harvest the ripe Concord grapes.

She quickly dispatched the low-hanging ones, of course popping the purpley-est ones into Her mouth along the way. Then She took care of the ones that She could reach from a chair.

Since I have no ladder, the rest of them hanging from the top of the arbor posed a problem. Ah, but not to an enterprising nine-year-old!I was quickly drafted to put Her upon my shoulders.

"Am I too heavy?" She asked several times. With my face full of grape leaves and with bits of stems and detritus raining down upon me, I answered back, firmly:

"Absolutely not."

It was a bit of a fib. She is nine now, as noted, not five. My back and shoulders started to go numb fairly soon, but I gritted my teeth and said nothing, as She happily plucked and pulled grapes somewhere in the leaves above my head and I kept my grip upon Her ankles to prevent disaster.

Not if every disc in my back screamed at me was I going to give this child, who has been teased about Her weight [which weight, I hasten to add, is absolutely normal for Her age], any notion that She is too heavy.

So we persevered until She had a great big bag stuffed full of ripe, sweet Concord grapes.

"I hope," I told my Beloved later, "that She has a memory to cherish for a lifetime from this."

Aint' fair, Momma!

2010-07-22T13:32:00.001-04:00

I suppose that compared to being born in some horrible place like North Korea or Somalia instead of the United States ...

... or being diagnosed with a terminal illness when you've spent your life eating right and exercising ...

... my little whine is pathetic and I deserve to be slapped in the face with a wet fish until I cry.

But how is it that the summer working hours in my school district are M to Thu 7:30 to 5:30 with a half-hour lunch break, and I have just learned that the special gifted school in our city works from 8 to 4, M to Thu with an hour lunch break?

"Mama, Billy got more orange juice in his cup than me!"

"Shut up, you snot-nosed little cockroach, before I beat your backside! Your brother is recovering from scurvy, that's why."

[Cue sniffles and sobs.]

Do the right thing for the Iroquois, Britain!

2010-07-15T08:51:00.002-04:00

"An American Indian lacrosse team that refuses to accept U.S. passports will not be allowed entry into England for the world championship of the sport the Iroquois helped invent, the British government said yesterday," according to the Associated Press.

The Iroquois' own passports have not yet been fulled upgraded to a new, higher-security version, the explanation goes.

The chances of these lacrosse players turning out to be secret terrorists hoping to blow up Albion seem quite remote to me.

Change your mind, Great Britain. Do the right thing. The Iroquois (Haudenosaunee)have been a nation since long before there was a United States or a Canada.

Warhol morning

2010-07-14T07:40:00.003-04:00

I am stuck behind a Ford Focus that is stuck behind someone else that is stuck behind someone else ...

The Focus is splattered with bumper stickers that are too small to read without risking a wreck, but the vanity plate intrigues ...

Warhol.

I presume the intention is to honor Warhol, Andy. The artist.

That someone would go to the expense and time-consumption of acquiring a plate to celebrate Andy, sets my thoughts a-spinning. I try to glimpse the driver, a man probably a few years older than me. Probably would be very interesting to sit down and chat with in a coffee house.

We are between cities and I wonder if he is traveling to mine. But my natural impatience eventually overcomes my curiosity and I shift lanes and leave him behind.

"Whammer Jammer" by J. Geils Band is playing on the radio. Great start-of-a-summer road trip kind of song. I thrash around appropriately in my car. But sadly, I am going to work, not play.

I think about that old country song, something to the effect that every day, a man pulls up to a certain stoplight in town and must make a decision: right means home to the Wife, kids, mortgage; left leads to the open road.

In the corner of my eye I glimpse a bearded guy sitting on a box by the side of the freeway, playing a guitar. Surreal. But since I am now going 81 mph in the left lane, I have deprived myself of the chance for a closer look, I am half a mile beyond him before my brain clicks into gear. Oh well. Surely in my life I will again see a bearded guy sitting on a box by the side of a freeway playing guitar and next time I will be going slow enough to pull to a stop and have a chat.

Billy Idol is screaming "White Wedding" on the radio. Against my will and the mood of the music, I slow down. Don't care to give a traffic cop a score for the morning.

I pull into the dismal parking lot of my place of employment just as Pink Floyd begins "Us and Them." I consider sitting there and grooving to the whole song and being rather late. I shut off the music and begin another day.

I will make the right turn at the stoplight tonight.

Word of the day: Ab

2010-07-13T15:22:00.003-04:00

Ab.

From the Egyptian.

The spirit of the heart. Seat of the will. After you kick the bucket, push up daisies, buy the farm, knock on the Pearly Gates, game over, your ab tells all and your afterlife is based upon its report.

So to borrow from the world of aviation, it is the "black box" of your life's journey.

Be good to your ab.

In praise of great Women -- Oriana Fallaci

2010-07-12T08:51:00.000-04:00

Power.

One word in whose echoed sound reverbrates every horror of human history.

Power.

Philosophers ponder it. Other men covet it. Tyrants wrap their bloody fingers around it; the democratically minded try to control it by spreading it, by balancing it.

Power is like the elements of the ancients: fire, wind, water -- forces for great good, and for great evil.

The late Oriana Fallaci simply loathed it.

"I see power as an inhuman and hateful phenomen," She once wrote.

Ms. Fallaci was the child of socialists. I see in Her life echoes of the late George Orwell, also a socialist early in life, who famously wrote against the horrors that it spawned.

I was too young to know of Ms. Fallaci in Her prime,during the 1970s and 1980s. But I am fascinated by this Woman who, according to the Washington Post, in Her long career as an interviewer "stripped apart the world's most powerful people."

She once confronted the Ayatollah Khomeini, no task for the faint-hearted. She also tackled Kissinger, Deng Xiaoping, even Sean Connery. The political left which cheered Her when She challenged what they spurned, was disgusted when She aimed the guns of Her intellect at their own sacred cows.

Continuing from the Post: "She [brought] to the interviews a ferocious manner that belied her diminutive, often-pigtailed appearance."

Ms. Fallaci was Italian-born, June 29, 1929 and passed away September 15, 2006. Like another Woman who I greatly admire,the late Audrey Hepburn, as a child She aided the resistance against WWII fascism. It is interesting to contemplate, though, the two very different paths those Women chose to take following that season of "bombing, terror and hunger."

Somewhere out there in the world are good and honest people who had the privilege of knowing this Woman -- and scoundrels whose pyschological clothing She ripped off in front of the world.

What an amazing Woman She was!

Adventures in the Amateur's Kitchen -- enter and dine at own risk

2010-07-07T08:40:00.005-04:00

I set my heart on making a new recipe last night, Caribbean Shrimp.

I got home at the usual hour, 6 p.m., and discovered I had no rotini pasta, as called for. I fumed. My Beloved suggested that the "pasta" entry on last week's grocery list should have been more specific, because obviously I had only bought macaroni -- our contribution to the family Fourth of July.

So out to the store we went. Saw no rotini at the Dollar Store. Went to the regular grocery. Discovered there to my annoyance (readers, please cover your eyes if ignorance offends you) that rotini pasta is the same thing as "spirals," which the dollar store had had. A fancy foreign label that added about 50 cents to the price.

Got the $#%^ pasta and headed home. 6:45 p.m. Recipe called for green pepper. Minced. Thought we had a whole green pepper. We had one lonely little fragment up in the freezer. No big deal -- Sweetie doesn't like green pepper much anyway.

Never had found the required chili paste anywhere for sale, so tried to find a recipe online at home. Browsed about three that all called for three or four ridiculously exotic ingredients. Decided that chili powder would do just fine. Sweetie reminded me that She doesn't much care for chili powder, so I sighed and halved it.

You must peel and seed the tomato before mincing it, said the recipe. Do you know how hard it is to peel a tomato? I peeled as much as I could before reaching the danger point when a person is very close to simply beating the tomato to death with his fist. Remove the seeds, said the recipe. The hell with that. Who cares if there are tomato seeds in the pasta?

The ginger root was not much easier to peel than the tomato. Somehow, I managed, without also peeling my fingers.

Now things were rolling. Mix this, boil that.

The cheap salad shrimp that we bought, eschewing the pricier normal shrimp, shrank down to the size of watermelon seeds upon cooking. Ah well, you get what you pay for.

Of course, even though we had every other spice ever dried and ground and sold by man, we were out of curry. I ransacked the fridge before remembering that I threw our supply out two months ago because it was at least a decade old. Called the in-laws. They had some. It was about a decade old. "You can have it," Mom-in-law said. "The whole jar. I hate the stuff."

At long last, dinner was ready. Circa 8 p.m.

Sweetie did not like it.

"It's too hot."

"There is nothing HOT in this recipe," I said.

"The chili powder," She said.

Sigh.

I will not be making this recipe again.

Incident Report

2010-07-06T08:04:00.004-04:00

I crouched upon the top of a step-ladder, screwing a hook into the wood to hang the new wind chimes at the in-laws' house.

Hard as a fist, hard as the blow from a baseball bat, something struck me on the side of the head.

My attacker was the fast-spinning wooden blade of the porch fan, which had lashed out at my cranium's crass and clueless invasion of its orbit.

So I sat there for a while that afternoon, in the muggy porch heat, holding an ice-pack to my head, musing upon my talent for clumsiness -- a lifetime of broken toes, broken ankles, sprains, gashes, burns and concussions.

I am back at my work desk now, with a decent-sized gash upon my temple, contemplating. Years back, a little Girl, God forgive Her for She knew not what She did, whispered to a friend as I passed by, that I looked a lot like Frankenstein. Today, I am a little closer to that ideal. Maybe I will have a manly scar from it all and I can blame it on a bar-room brawl. Ya shoudda seen da other guy.

And not being a big-time celebrity, this may be the only time in my life I can report, that I was assaulted by a fan.

Strange things from York

2010-07-03T22:10:00.002-04:00

Ah, York.

Little northern English town that started as a Roman settlement, much later inspired New York in the New World.

In old York lately they dug up a bunch of old bones -- headless human skeletons -- while clearing for a housing development.

Experts think they have discovered a cemetery for Roman gladiators.

We are conditioned to think gladiator=Colliseum-in-Rome, but apparently those tough dudes ranged all over the empire to satisfy the blood lust of the citizenry. Even, apparently, to old York, as far from the Eternal City as one could get and still be in the Empire.

One of the items of forensic evidence is that something very large and carnivorous apparently chewed on one of the poor guys in his last moments of life.

To quote Michael Wysocki, an expert who studied the skeletons, for those who suggest these might have been your average daisy-push-uppers:

"It would seem highly unlikely that this individual was attacked by a tiger as he was walking home."

http://cbs5.com/watercooler/gladiator.graveyard.england.2.1738255.html

So goeth the year

2010-07-01T12:49:00.003-04:00

(Above: Moon River by Jay Ouellet)
Here we are in July. With the dawning of this day, we have entered the seventh month, and passed the half-way point of the year. The summer solstice is already weeks behind us. And we are just a few months away from officially entering the second decade of the new millennium. (The experts will tell you that 2010 still belongs to the first decade).

I can remember reading "1984" in grade school, when it still referred to a future date. I can remember calculating in third grade, how old I would be when the millennium turned. Seemed so distant.

Gone are the peas and raspberries in the garden, their season of the year having ended. Silent are the spring peepers, yielding to the summer chorus of the katydids.

Time flows on and I am but a little twig, a leaf, floating upon its river into the sea.

OneRepublic

2010-06-30T07:47:00.004-04:00

So I am a little behind but I just heard this song for the first time today. Like the song, love the string instrumental intro, hate the fact that I can't figure how to post a clickable link on this blog.

Well, if you are willing to copy and paste, you are in for a treat.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qHm9MG9xw1o

A man is a facade ...

2010-06-29T12:40:00.002-04:00

I put on a clean shirt, clean pants and a tie every day. I scrape off the beard that insists on trying to grow anew each morning. I behave in a serious, respectable, responsible manner. I project dignity, gravitas and maturity -- or at least make an effort.

It's all a sham.

I am just a little boy trapped in this overgrown man-shell, who would happily spend the day examining ant hills and splashing in puddles if I could.

And I am just a teenager still riding the raging stallion of passions that will dog me,probably, until the day I die. I cherish the gold band upon my left hand and my beautiful Beloved is and always will be my Goddess, She and no other. But I would be a liar if I were to say that there is no other beauty in the world and even if there were, the presence of such beauty would have no effect upon me.

A visitor came to my office today -- like my Sweetie, a trim, brunnette Lady with a delightful smile. She wanted to talk about a computer system that we have installed. I kept a professional air, forced myself to look away when She leaned over the desk, refrained from drooling -- in short, struggled mightily in a manner that I certainly would not have, in the presence of some aging, balding man.

Why is it so hard in such a situation to even make eye contact?

Ah, I am pathetic. All men are pathetic. Marionettes dangling from invisible strings. Monkeys nicely dressed up to mingle with the crowd.

Do You Women just laugh at us amongst Yourselves?

Exuberance!

2010-06-29T08:51:00.002-04:00

Oh, life is an epic opportunity!

For a few short years, we sojourn upon this planet and then continue on, I hope, to even bigger and better things.

To every human being belongs the sunrise and the sunset, rain upon your face and the pleasure of food upon your tongue, however meagre your daily allowance may be. Some cannot see or hear or walk but still, there are joys to be found in your life -- no living being is without the gift of any senses at all.

To all of us belong hands or the equivalent tools, and a brain, whether that of a genius or just an ordinary Joe, or even a brain that has certain limitations -- still, we all have the tools to make our world a little better.

I wake up each morning with a list of things to do of which only a fraction will get done. Yet I persist. There are books I must read, music to experience, friendships to strengthen, new foods to taste, thoughts I must write down, places I have not yet put my feet.

There are times when I lay my head down on my pillow at night so tired that I immediately go to sleep -- other times when my mind is still racing with ideas and it takes a good,long time for the Sandman to conquer me.

Trekking through time

2010-06-27T16:53:00.003-04:00

Like old-fashioned carnival bumper-cars, or like lovers swept up in passion only to bitterly break apart, the pieces of our world have come together, separated and come together again.

I know well the Appalachian Mountains that span my country's eastern edge and continue into Canada. A continental collision eons ago thrust them up. But not until recently did I stop to think about the tectonic partner, the spurned spouse in this titanic clash.

It is, of course, Europe. And so, it makes geological sense that a range of mountains spans western Europe, north to south, from Scotland all the way through Spain and even into Morocco, Africa. They are the trans-Atlantic reflection of the American Appalachians -- the eastern consequence of the crash.

Now I read that some enthusiastic folk are planning to expand one of our country's great ideas, the Appalachian Trail, across the Atlantic and down the spine of those European mountains.

Very neat.

http://www.forbes.com/feeds/ap/2010/06/07/general-international-appalachian-trail_7665369.html?boxes=Homepagebusinessnews

India on the corner

2010-06-25T11:03:00.003-04:00

I stopped by a place in town yesterday called Taj Mahal.

Yes, I'm very much still in Virginia, USA. This was a grocery store, not the overly-famous masoleum from all the postcards. I wonder if it irritates Indians to have that rather johnny-come-lately building, lovely as it is, be all that most people picture when they think India.

When I stepped inside, a tall man in a turban strode towards me, a Sikh, I am sure. A wave of fragrant spices filled my senses. I told him I had come for chana flour. He swiftly took me to its place of honor upon the shelf.

How I longed to linger, to pick up the boxes and bags of mysterious things that were emanating these delicious odors, and to read the labels and just wander around. But as usual, I was due home and could not.

As I cradled the bag of chana flour in my hands, for a moment I listened to the chatter in Hindi of the other customers, wishing as I so often have for the superpower of understanding every world language.

The chana helped me complete a delicious recipe for deep-fried string beans. As I sifted together cumin, carom, ginger and the other ingredients, home in my own kitchen that night, the sweet, spicy fragrances filled the air and gave me a peek into the pleasures of that faraway place.

Quote of the day

2010-06-25T08:27:00.000-04:00

"I wouldn't exactly call you a liar honey but oh, how you prevaricate!"

-- Line from some old '40s song.

Sharing our space

2010-06-24T10:20:00.002-04:00

It hurts my heart every time I pass the dried-up remains of a certain turtle, on the shoulder of a certain stretch of I-95 that I traverse daily on my way home.

It takes a long time for a turtle to grow to large size. I wonder how long this one had lived before it met its demise on this unforgiving freeway. I wonder, too, if its ill-fated decision to try to cross the freeway was motivated by the recent obliteration of the adjacent forest to create yet another useless new development to put money in somebody's pocket.

I read a bittersweet column today by a resident of my city, offering ways that we can -- having stolen so much from nature -- give a little back. Poignant was her depiction of the annihilation of a large meadow near her home where killdeer birds once nested. It is now eye-sore sprawl and roadways.

We have claimed so much of the earth as our own -- cleared it, paved it, spread buildings across it. We never consult the previous occupants, whether plant or beast, as to their opinions in the matter. In some cases, we don't even regard the feelings of the human occupants. Ask any Native American, or the Bikini islanders, or the descendants of the Appalachian mountain folk driven out by 20th-century government decree, or the victims of that pernicious evil called "eminent domain."

Can we ever say enough is enough? Can we please just assess what we already claim as ours and clean it up and deal with it more efficiently? Can we accept as a fait accompli what we have done in the past and have the decency to wreak no more misery upon our beleagured world?

Can we end our addiction to destruction,and once and for all declare that what little we have left in a natural state should stay that way? There are thousands, perhaps millions of acres of so-called brownfields, homes standing empty, poorly planned industrial complexes. Those are ours. Let's clean them up and make no more.

If I ruled the world, the bulldozers would grow cobwebs and rust away, damn them all! No bloated developer would ever again waddle onto the edge of a woodland with his golden shovel and his Jabba-the-Hutt grin, announcing yet another gas station to go up where birds once sang, unless and until we had fixed the messes we have already made.

And even then, the lousy ogre would have to move every single plant on the site to another location at his own expense, even if he had to get down on his hands and knees with a trowel to do it. And if a single birdnest or rabbit burrow were found it's sorry Charlie, take your blueprints and stick em where the sun don't shine.

My kind of yum!

2010-06-24T10:11:00.003-04:00

How about a two-egg, venison, feta cheese, tomato, hot pepper, cumin and paprika omelette for breakfast?

Won't find that at Denny's.

Nice way to start my morning.

A good day to all.

Morning!

2010-06-23T08:21:00.004-04:00

6 a.m. Up, not willingly.
Sweetie gets the bathroom first, a Lady's perogative. I check my Facebook account. Get annoyed because I am still blocked from adding friends because I have "added too many too fast," which according to the gods of Facebook, constitutes abuse.

6:30: Bathroom is mine. The usual.

6:45: Out and have a little breakfast of toast with homemade fig jam. Forget until an hour later and far away when I am writing this post that we have orange juice in the fridge, too. Put eggs on to boil for our lunches.

Give the cockatiel her breakfast and medicine -- flaxseed oil and powder for her achy little old joints. Listen to the weatherman gloat that the temperature could reach 101 degrees this week and it will most likely never, ever, rain again here.

Venture outside into the already murderous heat and put the sprinkler on the potatoes. Wonder for the 4,359th time why I am still using the busted-up old plastic sprinkler that requires being held in place with a stick and a rock and never remember to get a new one.

7 a.m. Help my Beloved with a few things that She needs done. Trek outside again to move the sprinkler onto the okra. Curse the fig tree for still being covered with hard green fruit that is determined never to ripen. Feebly attempt to uproot some tenacious wire grass that is thriving amidst the wilted flowers.

7:30: Fifteen minutes late leaving for work. Contemplate for the 4,359th time that I ought to start getting up a half-hour earlier. Reject the notion for the 4,359th time.

Sink into the blissful air conditioning of my car and immerse myself in a Dvorak violin concerto performed by Sarah Chang. Listen to the announcer inform me that 19th century violinists found this piece too difficult. Think to myself, they never asked a Woman. You want something difficult or impossible to be done, and done well -- ask a Woman to do it.

Please stand still sir, so that I may more easily choke you. Much obliged.

2010-06-15T09:15:00.002-04:00

Civilization is built upon the premise that harmony can be created by suppressing the urge we feel to squeeze the throats and punch the faces of the incredibly annoying, obtuse people we encounter in our daily activities and leaving the task of punishment to others.

Such a blissful ideal is rarely met. The stupid are rarely punished. That is why people go camping to get away from it all. Or take drugs. Or go insane.

Girl raises thousands for Gulf wildlife

2010-06-15T08:40:00.003-04:00

I found this to be an inspiring story -- one person with a good heart can make a difference, no matter Her age:

"Olivia Bouler doesn’t have time for anything else these days except to draw and paint. But that’s OK for the artistic fifth-grader, because everything she does is for the birds.

The Islip, N.Y., girl, who turns 11 on Friday, has raised an estimated $80,000 by sending her sketches and paintings of birds to people who donate to organizations helping with relief efforts in the Gulf of Mexico spill disaster."

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/37620887/ns/us_news-giving/

Eucalyptus in space and time ...

2010-06-14T08:23:00.005-04:00

"The ordinarily musty interior smelled of pine and eucalyptus."

-- Julian, Gore Vidal, p. 47.

Eucalyptus: A genus of evergreen timber trees mostly native to Western Australia.

Eucalyptus, interestingly enough, is a Greek word for a tree that no Greek -- nor any other European, unless he were shipwrecked on his way to China -- ever saw before the 18th century.

You see, I may not be the world's expert on Australia but far as I know, Europe knew nothing of the land down under until about that time.

So unless that "mostly" means that some kind of eucalyptus is native to somewhere beyond the land of koala bears and wallabees ...

... or unless "eucalyptus" -- like corn in America -- is an old word that was in use for something else before it became attached to "a genus of evergreen timber trees mostly native to Western Australia..."

... yes, unless that is the case, then celebrated author Mr. Vidal goofed, in hanging eucalyptus boughs in the courtroom of a 4th-Century Roman building.

If so,it is a reminder to the rest of us, just how hard it is to write credible historical fiction. You must know when even the most ordinary objects were invented,such as a pocket watch; what foods they could not have eaten, such as tomato soup in the Middle Ages; and a thousand other sundry details, that, if neglected, will leave annoying know-it-alls such as myself clucking our tongues.

In spite of that, I am enjoying his book on that Roman emperor, Julian, who tried and failed to turn the ship of his state back on a course to the old paganism and away from its devotion to Christianity.

He said his name was ...

2010-06-11T08:28:00.003-04:00

He said his name was Fred Raspberry.

I am used to kids that age trying to flash gang signs or cheesy grins when I take their pictures and write down their names as part of my school PR job.

But never has anyone made up a fake name.

I must surely have flinched. But I kept my composure. I said, in a calm, even tone: "That's your name?"

"Yep," he said.

I checked discretely with his teacher a few minutes later.

"The IIIrd," she said. "His name is Fred Raspberry III."

Wow.

I felt a little guilty for doubting. But I can't be the first person to ever have been caught off guard by his exceedingly unique name.

Hey, if you have a name like that, don't be sensitive about it. Enjoy it. Embrace it. In a world of John Smiths and Jen Jones' -- you, my friend, are Fred Raspberry III. Obviously, Fred 1 and 2 understood that concept.

Oak babies

2010-06-10T11:58:00.002-04:00

Although I did not have the good sense to take any pictures today, I can happily report that the five native oaks our school children recently planted in a local park are flourishing.

That is in addition to the four pines we planted last year.

I wish these little baby trees all the best. Someday, birds will nest in their branches and squirrels will hoard their nuts and pinecones.

It is a little thing, in the scheme of things -- eight little trees when greedy idiots are obliterating forests many times that size even as I type these words. But a little thing is better than nothing.

Evening in the yard

2010-06-09T07:58:00.003-04:00

I sat upon the front sidewalk last evening and attacked the mat of weeds that had spread over our flowers since last I was there. We have the usual vegetative villains here that everyone has -- dandelions and crabgrass -- as well as some that may not be as familiar to you, such as a horrible creeping calamity called wiregrass.

A few minutes into my work, I was joined by a small, warty neighbor. A toad emerged from somewhere and sat upon the sidewalk observing me. I addressed him every now and then; he did not reply. Seemed content just to sit there upon his small haunches and watch. I gave him a slight sprinkle with the hose, which he appeared to enjoy.

By now,it was getting dark and the weeds no longer were strangling the flowers but lay in a defeated, wilted heap upon the grass. I got up, satisfied.

My amphibious companion bounced away into the lavender bed and I headed inside.

My kind of evening!