Sierra

She was a sweet little dog. Dark brownish with a kind of square head and body. Her best buddy was a dufus big black Lab named Bear. She was a neighborhood friend. After being abandoned by her owner in the 1990’s Sierra was adopted by all the surrounding families. She made the rounds, ate here and there, got biscuits from everyone and generally kept watch. And she hung out with Bear.
I met her and Bear when I came to look at a house for sale. I pulled into the driveway and two dogs, one very large black Lab and one small squarish brownish dog walked slowly up to the truck. I didn’t know they were pushovers looking for a biscuit then. They looked possibly dangerous, especially Sierra. So I waited in the truck and shortly they ambled off for a cool lay down on the road.
A few weeks ago someone killed Sierra. Ran her over. Bear is still moping around looking for his pal. I can understand how a small dark dog that likes to lie in the road could get hit by a car in the dawn light. What I can’t understand is just driving off. It is unlikely that the killer was a stranger. There is no traffic on the road that isn’t residents going to work, especially at that hour. Except the paper guy, and he has been on this route a long time. No, I think whoever killed her knew her. And that makes it even worse.
Sierra was near the end of her life, old, nearly blind, nearly deaf and in some pain from doggie rhumatiz. She would have gone soon anyway, but peacefully. This ending to a sweet life was just wrong. But then life sometimes is, isn’t it?
(The picture isn't Sierra, but she looked like this, only brown.)
www.hillstapestrydesign.com.au/kits.html

Piri Piri: A Love Affair

A simple small very hot pepper, sometimes called a bird’s eye pepper. But that is just the beginning.
Centuries ago, Portuguese traders introduced the piri piri pepper to Mozambique (1) and the use of this wonderful fruit spread across Africa. At home in Portugal, people rapidly developed a taste for the sauce made from piri piri. Over the centuries, various verities of hot peppers were used, and various recipes were invented to make a hot and tasty pepper sauce.
A few days into our trip to the northern half of Portugal, we had dinner in a small, local and new restaurant. No sign. No customers at first. Not really set up yet. The owner agreed to make us a meal with wine for 10 Euros each, and we sat and waited. Bread, olives and cheese to start, then small pitchers of red and white wine, both good quality table wines. Then the main course: thick grilled veal steaks and rice. The veal was perfectly cooked and the rice with beans was excellent. And spicy. Bernard, the chef, spoke some English and told us the main spice used was a piri piri pepper. He brought one out to show us, and it was indeed a bird’s eye pepper.
Since then we asked for piri piri (always available as a sauce) at every meal, and used it liberally on rice or meat or sandwiches. There was an almost endless variety of ways to make and serve it, but always it was hot, spicy and tasty. My favorite was peppers smashed with fresh lemon juice and mixed with a little Scotch whisky. The flavor of the whisky pretty much goes away, but the alcohol releases much more of the “heat” (capsaicin) and makes the sauce tangy and fiery.
In the South, we have several stock pepper sauces, like Tabasco, Krystal, Pick-a-Pepper and many others. These are all different and more or less used the same way. None are a good match for homemade piri piri sauce in Portugal. You gotta try it if you get the chance. I will perfect the whisky recipe and send it on. Bom apatite.
1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piri_piri
Image: http://www.fiery-foods.com/article-archives/89-photo-essays/1800-my-20-favorite-chile-photos

It Breaks Your Heart

I just watched a video clip of the “tar balls” on Pensacola beach. (Notably absent were Sara Palin and John McCain.) For many years Florida’s beaches were designated as World Class beaches, with white sugar sand, teeming wildlife off shore, and clean water. In one greedy moment that is all gone. Greedy? Yes, greedy. It looks like the BP folks on the rig authorized all kinds of marginal actions that combined to make the spill the worst in US history. The reason? Why, to cut costs and increase profits, of course. Why else would they reduce the margins of safety to minimum levels? The rent on the drilling rig is enormous, and the faster they drill and cap the well the less it costs BP. So they went to the edge of safety. One example: the device on the bottom that is supposed to close the well if trouble occurs, called a blowout preventer, has several sub-devices that are used sequentially. The “last resort” piece is a large shear that literally cuts the pipe off and blocks it completely. If there happens to be a joint directly in front of the shears, they won’t cut because the joint is too thick and strong. So, the device comes in two types: a one-shear and a two shear model. The two shear model is far better because if one shear gets fouled in a joint, the other will absolutely have only pipe to cut, thus shutting off the oil flow.
The BP device was a one shear type. Why? Of course you guessed it. Cheaper, and everybody knows that they will never have to use it anyway, so why spend the additional money? Why indeed.
Go to the beach yourself and see for yourself what the result of corporate greed is. Then tell me that “drill baby drill” is a mantra worth repeating. You want to get really sick, look at this video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UtGLBgTP8r4.

Image: http://www.csmonitor.com/USA/2010/0623/Gulf-oil-spill-Pensacola-Beach-covered-in-tar-balls

New use for old Genes

Just read an article (1) on so called junk genes. These are genes that make defective RNA, the stuff that helps make protein in cells. The junk genes have been considered useless remnants, or vestigial pieces of genetic material. Now we find out that these defective structures may actually lure molecules that might otherwise cause trouble away from their intended target to form a harmless unit. Or, more sinister, they might lure a beneficial control substance away from a normal gene, thus making it more likely to create problems, like cancer. Big deal? You bet it is. This changes the way we have to think about the control of all sorts of biochemical pathways, and open the way to research that could lead to solving some very perplexing medical problems.
For years, texts have reported lots of DNA in cells that was called “vestigial” and therefore considered useless. My students might remember me cautioning that just because we don’t know what something does, does not mean that it does nothing. In fact, because evolution and natural selection are such powerful agents in the world of the cell and organism, I think that it is likely that most or all of the so-called vestigial genetic material will eventually be found to do something besides just sit there and suck up resources.
Human hubris knows no bounds, so take care not to fall into that trap. Keep your mind open, watch, listen and be prepared to push the boundaries of human knowledge.
Who says science is dull? The image is of a mouse "hand" growing an opposable thumb. Cool, huh? The article that accompanies the photo explains.

1. http://www.sciencenews.org/view/generic/id/60515/title/Vestigial_no_more
Image: http://www.wired.com/wiredscience/2008/09/scientists-find/

The Lights Just Dimmed a Little More

From one Richard to another.
From his sense of humor to his commitment to education to his very name (I’m a Richard too), Richard Miller and I were much alike. When I first met him, years ago at a science fair, we realized that “raunchy” was a language we shared, and jokes were the currency of getting to know each other. We shared a professional interest in Med Tech too. His formal and mine less so. We had some great laughs together both in person and via email (all erased, so don’t ask) and ate some interesting lunches together at Med Tech committee meetings. We were friends in the sense of working together and kidding around when possible and enjoying each other's company. We shared opinions of people and had laughs over that, too. We were not friends in the sense of hanging out after work or going fishing or anything like that, but had an easy relationship. He was “there” for me when I needed him, and I would like to think the same for me. Our friendship was the kind that pauses, and then months later continued as if there were no pause at all. I know he will be much missed by his family and friends, and professional colleagues as well.
It seems that our own days are in some ways measured by the dimming of lights when someone we know, or know of, or respect dies. So on this occasion, the lights dim just a little more.
This last bit is for Rich (as we sometimes addressed other):” From one Dick to another, I’m gonna miss you, man.”

What is Wrong With John McCain?

LGBT
Willy Nelson: “Just when you think it’s all over it has only begun” (1)
And so the continuing fight for equality for our lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgendered brothers and sisters goes on. Make no mistake about this: you know and love and respect many of these folks. They are your children, relatives, friends, neighbors, bosses, coworkers, teachers, doctors, lawyers, entertainers, grocers, police, fire fighters, ER nurses and many many more. Maybe you know they are “out” and maybe you don’t. But do you really care if the first responder that saves your life has a same-sex partner? I think the answer is not just “no” but “HELL NO”.

And since the Revolution LGBTs (OK, no “T” until later) have been protecting you, sharing your foxholes and ships and planes. And your showers. That seems to be one of the real issues doesn’t it? “I don’t want them looking at me. They might “try” something”. What are they going to “try”? To be your friend? To save your life? Did you ever stop to think that they might be just as nervous that you might “try” something too? Like beating the shit out of them just for living? Try living with that fear and see how you feel.

It is time for all of you, my friends, to step up to the plate. You know the right thing to do, don’t you? The American Military is one of the last bastions of segregation for LGBTs. “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” is a disgrace and NOW is the time to end it. Now is the time to call your Senator (a few of these revered folks are queer, too) and tell him or her to vote to kill DADT once and for all. Use this link (http://www.senate.gov/general/contact_information/senators_cfm.cfm?State=IL ) to find your Senators. What if you don’t ? Only you will know that by being silent you are keeping hatred and segregation alive. Only you will know you failed your brothers and sisters. Only you.
And while you are at it, call Senator John McCain and tell him for me that I once thought he was a Prince, and now I think he is an asshole. It’s OK to use that word with McCain. He’s ex military and knows what an asshole is.

1. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1OXx4H9DuZY&feature=related
Image: editor-mom.blogspot.com/2006/03/another-strai...

Food Series: Meatloaf *

My good friend and college roommate got married to the girl of his dreams while we were still undergraduates. (I was at the wedding and got the garter, but that is another story for another time).Since we shared the same bedroom for a couple of years I can vouch that he dreamed about her often. (She popped up in mine a few times too, but don’t tell Charlie.) When the happy couple set up house, an early agenda item was having me over for dinner. I would never say “no” to dinner anywhere, but these guys were special, so dinner at their place was a social as well as gustatory treat. I arrived in time to smell something really good wafting from the kitchen. What’s cooking, Charlie, I asked? Marie’s famous meatloaf (the first one, too). All the trimmings to go with it and probably some beer, although I don’t remember for sure. I never went anywhere without beer, so probably either I had it or they had it. Maybe ice tea. Anyway, as it got closer to the meal, we got hungrier. Finally, the announcement: time to dig in. And there it was. A big beautiful meatloaf. Fragrant. A little catsup on the side and this puppy would be gone in no time. The carving went well, and we each got nice big slice. Mine was from near the middle. Rare. Very rare. I ate the rare middle and the medium outside and it was good and tasty. It was also to be one of those lifetime stories repeated when ever friends get together. That was probably nearly 50 years ago, and the memory is fresh; rare, really.
Thanks guys for a great meal, for a great memory and for an enduring friendship.

Image: mydeliciousfoods.blogspot.com/2010_03_01_arch...

*told with permission of the happy couple, just recently grandparents!

back to normal

Life goes on
The alarm went off at 6:15 as usual. Coffee pot gurgled. Shower ran. Hair dryer. Then a few minutes pre-briefing about the day, write some checks, make a list of things to do today. Finally walk down to the gate to let Sal out and keep the dogs in. A quick kiss and “See you tonight. Take care. Love you” and she is gone.
As I shut the gate I though “And so things get back to normal and life goes on”. The weekend is still reverberating and the memory of family and friends strong. Everybody got home safely and their lives are now going on, back to normal.
Life may be like a box of chocolates, but it is also a narrative, written in everyday events and punctuated by memorable moments, some lasting seconds or minutes and some days. The total is the story being written as it is lived. And because of the path taken (or not) the ending is a mystery. Like all good stories, one can hope the ending is both satisfying and a takes a while to get to. After all, how many times have you read a book or seen a film and said to yourself “I wish it had never ended”?
So for the near time, life goes back to normal, carrying with it the afterglow of a weekend well spent.
Image: www.gettyimages.com/detail/82129868/Photodisc

A Very Big Surprise

Last week or so I wrote an essay on lies. I had detected one from a family member and among other things wanted to say that “white lies” are OK in service of doing good. Little did I know how close to home that would get. As many of you know, my birthday (woody 7.0) was last week. I ferreted around a bit where I was told I shouldn’t go and found a suspicious sum of money spent. I figured it was for a surprise laptop. On Thursday Sally told me “The tracking # says it will be delivered on Friday”. (I of course denied any hint of knowing of what was arriving, but I was sure it was a laptop.) She comes home from work on Friday afternoon and what do I see? Two strange men getting out of the car. What the hell? (Sanitized version)
Remember Desert Storm II? Shock and Awe? I had both, and great joy. She had arranged to have my son and his husband (yes, legally married, so there) fly in for my birthday. From Iowa!!! Thoughts of prezzies of a lesser kind fled in the face of seeing their happy faces. What a gigantic surprise.("He Had Wrinkles from Smiling") What a bunch of white lies leading up to it. After a lot of hugging and all talking at once I asked if Hal and Cori (other son and wife, legally married) were coming. Yes was the answer, and a few other friends for a jam up birthday dinner Saturday.
I will tell the truth here: I was totally and utterly caught by surprise and thrilled in a way that no other present could bring. My present was my family, and some friends to help enjoy with.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
And thanks to the more that 30 Facebook friends that sent good vibes my way for the 70ith. You didn’t get to the party, but you were not far from my heart.

Image: unrepentantoldhippie.wordpress.com/.../

In Flanders Fields - - -

In Flanders fields, the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below...
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields...
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands, we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields... (1)

And so another memorial day approaches. I was at Publix today and an old submariner was at a folding table handing out paper poppies. No charge. Just take one and be damn glad men and women were willing to go to war to save your ass. But nobody stopped while I watched, first from the truck and then from the store.
Have we all forgotten what the Poppy represents? Blood red poppy? Flanders Fields? Well if you have you had better look it up and learn it. And if you haven’t already done so, go out today or tomorrow and find one of these vets, take a poppy and say “thank you for your service”. If you can spare a buck or two, drop it in the jar. If not, don’t be worried. They didn’t serve and die for your dollar. They served and died for you.

Poem: Lt. Col. John McCray quoted from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_McCrae
Image: cornsss.blogspot.com/2007_11_01_archive.html