If You aren’t Cheesed Off, you should be.

There are times when it’s better not to know and this is one. Yesterday Afghanistan “donated” a million dollars to Pakistan flood relief. NPR mentioned this in a story about the relief effort. A MILLION DOLLARS of your tax money!!! Where the hell does everybody think the Afghanis GET the money they throw around and steal. Steal? So far more that 3 BILLION DOLLARS in CASH, that’s CASH folks, has openly left Afghanistan on pallets and suitcases (1). American tax dollars or worse, dollars we borrow from the Chinese or some other country.
God this cheeses me off (euphemism alert). The Taliban cut up and kill people, the government openly steals, and soldiers and civilians die.
It is really a catch 22 though, isn’t it? We and NATO leave and the Taliban takes over along with Alcaida, and everything gets worse. We stay and we go broke and Americans die. Who the hell got us into this in the first place, anyway? Oh yeah, Bush. And Obama isn’t making it any better so far.
Sally asked me last night after a series of minor rants (I really must stop that) “isn’t there any good news?” If there is, I don’t see it.
1.http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704638504575318850772872776.html?mod=ITP_pageone_0
Image: www.extravaganzi.com/1-billion-dollars-in-cash/

Guilt and Spirits

I have been mulling over the moccasin incident for two days now. I am troubled by the incident in a way that is new to me. I have quietly meditated on the problem and asked the spirit guides for insight and at first heard only silence. The second time I heard thoughts that seemed to be not my voice. The thoughts were this: “You (addressed to me as if someone/something not me was talking) didn’t give the brother a chance to escape, and you didn’t try hard enough to capture before killing. This was due to your own fear. The brother did not threaten you except by being, and that is not sufficient reason to kill. You will suffer for this for some time to come. You may be forgiven.”
I don’t know the origin of these kinds of thoughts, but I suspect they come from deep inside my own conscience, whatever that is. The alternative answer lies in some other source, a deep and present spiritual source. This morning in the periphery of my vision a grey shape moved quickly away as I contemplated writing this. I think this is the right thing to do and I am sorry to have killed my brother.
Image: cropped photo of brother snake, dead.

Hearing Voices in Your Head?

I do. All the time. I have conversations with myself, and hear music complete with lyrics. I hear dialogue and make up scenarios. I read out loud in my head. What some people think of as “thinking” others call “voices”.
We all think of things in terms of thought or voice or lyric or dialogue. We all practice confronting some uncomfortable situation in our heads. We rehearse speeches and what we will say to someone when needed. This is normal and healthy.
The voices that are unhealthy, if not normal, are those that tell you to do something, or somehow take control of your actions. This is thankfully rare. David Berkowitz, the “Son of Sam” killer is an example of someone who claimed to do things because voices told him to do them (1).
Voices are heard regularly during religious moments and considered normal. The point here? I guess when I write something that includes “hearing” things in my head I get a little uncomfortable thinking that whoever reads what I write will think “now there goes a wacko.” But I think this sort of thing is normal, the difference being that I do admit to having some strange thoughts from time to time. Or maybe the strange part is that I submit my thoughts to public consideration, while most people keep their innermost thoughts, well, inner. There is a certain risk to going public and I don’t have a clue what the motivations for doing so are. It just seems right, and as Davy Crockett is quoted as saying “Be always sure you are right, then go ahead” (2). So I go ahead, thinking in my head that I am right.
1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Berkowitz
2. http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Davy_Crockett#Unsourced
Image: http://www.utexas.edu/features/archive/2002/crockett.html

Beautiful Woman Mutilated

Synonym: different words with the same meaning, like Taliban and asshole, or, Taliban and demented sick bastard. The comparison can go on and on. Read on.


Take a good long hard look at this photograph. This woman was found guilty of fleeing abusive in-laws. Her sentence from a local Taliban commander was to have her ears and nose cut off. So they did.
If you ever had any sympathy for those fundamentalist bastards who routinely misuse the Qur’an to justify their miserable existence and pronouncements lose it now. Wiping them off the face of the earth is too good for them. First, unman them. Then uneye them. Then unlimb them. Then say “Have a nice day” and walk off. Am I pissed off? Aren’t you?

Serpent in Paradise

Yesterday as I walked past the French door that opens on to the porch/pool deck I noticed a brownish largeish snake slither under the old coal burning kitchen stove that decorates a wall out there. The stove was my grandmother's, and that tale is for another time. I called Sal to come look, and fetched my Snake Stick (pictured) to catch the critter. CRAP! A genuine moccasin!! Not a brown water snake or Hognose snake. These are often mistaken for moccasins. No, this was the real thing. And, it had just fanged a large skink, now twitching under the stove.
In recent years I have come to understand that living things are no less deserving of life than we are, and so have become more likely to catch and release than squash or kill. Example: Wasp in the house? Catch it in a glass and let it go. Ditto with a fly. Step over bugs or critters on the ground if possible rather than crush them. Catch and move snakes. (I still poison rats in the greenhouse, though, and eat meat too. And I understand the definition of “hypocrisy”.)
But I have a firm agreement with poisonous snakes. I don’t go into their territory to kill or bite, and I don’t want them in mine. Mostly it works. We live in an area criss-crossed with streams and not far from a lake. We have cotton mouths, pygmy rattlers, regular rattlers and copperheads in the watershed. They almost always stay away. And if I see one in the yard or edge, or on the road, I try to move them on. Not so this moccasin. This beauty was inside the screened porch. Inside with lots of plants and pots to hide in. Inside with the pool. Inside for how many days? Just luck that I saw it, instead of getting a bite under the table or when reaching to pluck a dead leaf. I did try to catch it, but couldn't, so I reluctantly shot it. At some level I am still sad, and am working through this with the help of some guides I have in the spirit world. I have written about this in earlier essays if you care to look. Yeah, that’s right: Search? Spirit world? If you know me you know my argument is with Religion, not Spirits. Big difference.
Paradise is again serpent-free (I hope) , and the loose screen found is now fixed. This morning both of us looked very carefully before stepping barefoot onto the porch. And will for some days to come.

The Mysterious Moonflower (Ipomoea alba)

The lush vine twines upward on the fence and as it goes produces large flower buds. These sit there, green and still, waiting for darkness to arrive. Well after the sun goes down one or two buds begin to stir ever so slightly. Then, in less than a minute, a four to six inch flower, pure white, opens to welcome the pollinators of the night. When the first rays of morning begin to lighten the sky, the edges of the flower droop in a kind of flaccid slide, and by full light the flower is a wilted shadow of its former self.
This is the cycle of the Moonflower, a kind of Morning Glory. Night bloomers are really special flowers. They take advantage of all the light of the day to grow but don’t compete for the daytime pollinators. Instead they attract night moths such as the hawkmoth.
I love a mystery, and in looking around for information on this beauty I found a confusing array of both common and Latin names. Numerous Moonflowers are out there. Mine turned out to be currently and probably definitely named Ipomoea alba . But take a look at the synonyms I found:

Synonym:Calonyction album

Synonym:Calonyction aculeatum

Synonym:Calonyction bona-nox

Synonym:Ipomoea noctiflora

Synonym:Calonyction pulcherrimum

This is the kind of thing that gives people headaches. What is it really called? Why the confusion of names? Where is a definitive source for this pretty puzzle? In addition to a mystery I love to ferret around looking for odd things, and this expedition turned out to be easier than I though. The USDA has a plant taxonomy (names and classification) data base called GRIN which stands for Germplasm Resources Information Network. Using DNA analysis and a classification method called Cladistics, the exact relationships of one living thing to another can be assessed. Voila! The statement below is the definitive position of my mysterious plant:

“Though formerly classified as genus Calonyction, species aculeatum, it is now properly assigned to genus Ipomoea, subgenus Quamoclit, section Calonyction.” (1) and my species is alba .

A beauty by any name is still a beauty, and this is one for sure. And, as a bonus, as are most moth pollinated flowers, it is wonderfully fragrant.

1. http://www.ars-grin.gov/cgi-bin/npgs/html/taxon.pl?20135

The Distance Between 60 and 100 Years Old.

“Diana Nyad, 60, Swimming From Cuba To Florida” the headline reads. Diana is a renowned distance swimmer, writer and commentator on NPR. She woke up at 60 and remembered that once years ago she had to abort the try from Cuba to Florida and now it was time to do it. For her and for all the boomers that think life is winding down. She said in the interview “Ninety Five is old. Sixty isn’t old.” So true. Even 70 isn’t that old. But 95? Might not be and here is the reason: Chester Reed. Postal worker retiring at age 95. He figured it was time to do other things in life. His goal is to reach 100. His secret is eating watermelon and onion sandwiches. The watermelon keeps him peeing and the onions keep the muggers away.
Both of these stories are inspirational, but for different reasons. Nyad’s because she is going to try to be the first person ever to swim the Florida Straits without a shark cage. And she is 60 years old. Younger folks have done this in a cage. Keep your fingers crossed that the shark experts on her team know what they are doing.
Reed is ending a career at 95 and since he is very hale and hardy he doesn’t have to retire. He just wants to do something new. At 95. Does he seem old to you? He doesn’t seem so old to me. I would agree that 100 is old, though. My thought here is that me and some of my friends are between 60 and 100, and somewhere in there “not-old” becomes “yes-old”. Where is the 64 billion dollar question? And the answer is (music) when you think you are old, you are. Nyad isn’t. Reed isn’t. I am’ent. (Like that? I made it up when I was 3.) And neither is Rich (although some would argue this point). So you “youngsters” out there get on with it! Make lots of money so Social Security and Medicare will be there for us “not-oldsters”. We’ll tell you when to quit. And that will be when YOU get old. Ha. Because we are planning for a long, long run.
Image: www.postalreporternews.net/.../06/creed1107.jpgImage and story on Nyad: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5

The Enduring Wisdom of Clarence

Last year I wrote a small essay about a man named Clarence, and the impact he had on my view of racism. An old friend just experienced something frightening and the first thing I thought of was what Clarence said about predicting the behavior of people by the way they look. In this little sentence, Clarence was talking about white people reacting to an unknown black man: “If a man steals corn from your field that doesn’t mean the next man coming down the road will steal your corn.”
My friend was working late and a homeless man walked into her office and asked for money for food and a shelter for the night. He was dirty and smelly, but not threatening in any way except the way he presented himself. She called her son who was about to get there anyway, and he gave the man a few dollars and sent him on his way. No harm done except a bad fright. So the question is why the fright? We are conditioned by what we hear and see not to trust the homeless. They are portrayed as a group as being aggressive in seeking handouts and potentially dangerous. Mostly they are not. Mostly they are sad down-on-their-luck people who just need a bit of help and want to be left alone. They are more often targets of aggression that perpetrators. But there are among them some bad actors. And these few make the rest potentially threatening. Like the man walking down the road, you can’t predict the behavior of one from the behavior of another.
What to do? Be careful and watchful. Use what I call the “reasonable person test” (1) which asks “what would a reasonable person do in this circumstance?” I guess that means locking doors after hours, walking in well lighted areas, generally being aware of your surroundings. Have a cell phone handy and a plan of action if trouble approaches. My experience with the homeless and panhandlers I have run into is that most of them leave you alone if you look at them and keep walking, or give them something or ignore them.
I am glad my friend was not threatened or attacked. But even if she was, remember the wisdom of Clarence and don’t be too quick to judge the next one.
Image: jared-and-eryn.com/?m=200802
http://searchesworld.blogspot.com/2009/12/clarence_15.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reasonable_person

Steak Diane - Yummy

Casting around for a different kind of dinner to construct when “Steak Diane” popped into the old bean. There was a restaurant in Tallahassee in the old days that was part of “Andrews” but was sort of in the basement. Upstairs was more bar-like and downstairs was a nice quiet restaurant with good service and very good food. They had two dishes that were prepared at the table. Caesar Salad was one: all fresh ingredients and prepared from scratch before your very eyes. Delicious doesn’t even get close. The other was Steak Diane. A nice thick filet mignon cooked with shallots, cream, brandy, and some other things before your very eyes again. What a treat. Sal and I would go there for special occasions and have both, and a bottle of plonk (drinkable but cheap red). We felt like and were served like Royalty, which of course she is, being British.
Alas, they are gone now and as far as I know there is nowhere else in Tally Town that has table side service for these dishes. A few Chinese places will cook some sizzling dishes at the table, but that isn’t a quiet meal served with relaxing ambiance. Pity. There are generations of youngsters (there, now I’ve said it. Youngsters. It hurts but sometimes you gotta face the mirror) that will never have a quiet Steak Diane and Caesar Salad in a low stress place. Maybe that is exactly what is wrong with the world we know. Too damn noisy and busy.
Bye.
Image: http://www.channel4.com/food/on-tv/cookalong-live/cookalong-live-the-series/week-4/how-to-make-sauce-for-steak-diane_p_1.html

White Ghost

This morning we woke up to a real treat. Several years ago we bought a white night-blooming water lily. It bloomed the first year, and maybe the second and that’s it. We haven’t seen it for at least 4 years, and were not even sure it survived.
Three summers ago we moved the entire pond, plants, fish and all. All the potted water lilies and a few rogues (just growing in the muck in the bottom of the pond) came with us. Most have bloomed including some pink, blue and yellow day bloomers and a very bright pink (yes, even I can see the color) night bloomer. But no white flowers in evidence.
Then, this morning, there it was. Radiantly white, and big, too. What a treat. The photo doesn’t really do it justice, but rather than go to the web for someone else’s picture, I thought, “What the hell, just use your own”. So I did. Enjoy.