Computer Down.. etc...

Computer has been down for a while...but back now for blogging!



There is something about summer that seems to attract funerals. Maybe it's the heat. Maybe it's the humidity. Maybe it's the television reruns, but a larger than normal amount of people seem to die in summer. Particularly famous people. Lately it seems as if you can hardly pass a newspaper without seeing a famous person's photo splashed across a tabloid cover with a sentimental headline bidding him or her farewell.

In my own honest opinion, a death is a family tragedy, not a public occasion, and there is something tacky and grasping about newspapers, gossip columns and television newscasts that are so desperate to include us in a family that we were never actually a part of. And is the death of a famous person really more tragic than the everyday ordinary deaths that happen all around us and still go unmourned? What is it about fame that makes human life seem more important and more valued anyway?

Famous people seem like a kind of virtual family sometimes. We know all about them, sometimes we know more about them than we do about our own families. The trivia of their personal lives, their marriages and pregnancies, their breakups and relationships, their adulteries and drama, are in the air all around us. But a virtual family, is not a family. Though you may think you know a famous person, you are only an observer in the drama of their life and their death. And an observer is not family.

Every person's death is tragic. Each man's death diminishes me. But why value tragedy based around fame. When all is said and done, famous people put on their shoes, do their hair and go off to live their lives. And when their time is up, it's up, just as it is for any other man and woman. Nothing is immortal or undying in the end. Not even fame.

Weather reports don't really tell you how hot it really will be.
So there.

There are times when you want to feel the sunlight on your skin, to let your eyes soak in the rays of sunshine and to be able to look clearly at the world around you. And then there are times when you want nothing so much as to sit in a dark corner, hidden by shadows, and let the world pass you by. Call them visible and invisible days. Days of light and days of darkness. Just as the day and night cycle have their shifting periods of darkness and light too, so does the human mood. And there are times when you want to see and be seen and times when you want nothing more than a dark corner to sit in, and cry into a glass. Maybe it's the pressure of the sunlight, as fun as it is to be out in the sun, each ray of solar radiation comes with its own invisible sense of pressure as it touches you. So much so that the cool darkness can be relief from its light. And then there is such a thing as seeing too much, too much noise, too many crowds and too much tumult, that it can be a weary pleasure to find refuge from them in the peace of silence and darkness. And that dark corner too brings its own flavor and brand of peace, an easement of the soul from the strains and pressures of the sheer packed masses of humanity. That is why it is always good to have a corner of your own to retreat to, a place in which to sit, sip and regard the night.

I was off for a holiday. Back to posts now....

Should politicians be career men? I mean, should they make a career out of politics?
I think strict term limits are better so that men can't make it a career and just do pretty much nothing.
I would love to see citizens in the government with term limits rather than career politicians who arent good for the nation.


Well today is the first day of autumn and already some trees are turning colors.
A few seem to do that ahead of the crowd.
Willow turns a bit yellowish and seems to be one of the first to drop it's leaves.

Lovely cool sunny sharp bright weather....
Who invented seasons when this is so perfect and should never be changed at all?
Cool, even chilly nights, but the sun fiercely shining by day with just the merest hint of breeze at times ..the right times only you see.
We don't need the fridgid.
We don't need the beating down hard sun that burns and makes you pant for water.
We don't need cold, wet springs.
We need only this, the perfect , lovely days.

Rainy Day Images.

Sometimes when it rains the streets become like little lakes.
Early falling leaves float down the gutter streams to their final destination , a "lake" at the end of the street.
There they join the floatilla that sails all over the rippling surface. Bumping into one another here and there they bounce off and float someplace else for a while til ,at last, they bump again and about face to find their own way.

At it's height of power the gutter stream runs along like the great rapids of the large rivers.
Moving in a blur at times, stopping only to splash up on some obstruction , or move around it in circles it slows as the rain comes to a stop. Little by little it finishes its course and then there is a lake to show for it's efforts.

Deer come out to drink from the new lake, emerging from the woods with wide eyes. Dry, having hid under trees. They walk slowly to the edge of the new lake and sip up the fresh rain water , content and happy.

Caesar's Ghost

Great Caesar's Ghost. And I mean Sid Caesar of course. With the proliferation of channels, television is more haunted than ever by the past. Where is that MGM line now you wonder. Where are all those people who were laughing, screaming, jokes and tweaking each other's noses in black and white. As the time between the early days and the middle age of television stretch out further and further, the television programs of the past turn into black and white ghosts haunting our monitors and TV screens.

It wasn't always that way but the passage of time has kept the past alive as a faint shadow of itself, mocked by the latest generation of Plasma TV screens, HDTV crispness and Blu Ray technology. The past seems positively unreal compared to the latest rollout of computer generated special effects in the latest forgettable big box office summer spectacular. But in some ways the past is much more alive, much more vivid and vital, despite not being widescreened or having the right resolution, or being equipped with computer generated special effects that determine to make everything seem impossibly larger than life.

Maybe that is because vitality doesn't come from a computerized army of ghosts and shadows but from life itself. If the past haunts our TV screens, if there is an entire cable channel dedicated to reruns of classic television shows, and more channels still dedicated to classic movies, that is because the past holds a special place out of more than just sentimentality toward past ages and past experiences, but because in the absence of lazy vulgar shortcuts and easy computer rendered tricks, the past had to do it the hard way. The pioneer way. Great Caesar's Ghost. Some days the past seems more alive than ever.

Waves

It is amazing sometimes to think that we live on a world that is mostly water, oceans, rivers and streams are not the aberration, but the norm. It is solid land that breaches the surface of the water, rather than the water breaching the land. And when the icebergs melt, even if we don't find ourselves playing through our own version of Waterworld, we may as well move to Holland as to Iowa. And with all that water, is it any surprise that people have been using it as their own private liquid telegraphs for thousands of years.

I'm talking of course about messages in a bottle. The concept is simple enough. Just toss a bottle in the water. Put a note inside. Do the second thing before the first, or you may find the process a little confusing and awkward. Then wait for the tide to take it up. Who will your message reach it? A better question is who can't your message reach. With most of the earth filled with water, with so many thousands and thousands of miles of coastline between and around the continents, why your message could end up positively any place at all.

And that is the appeal of the message in a bottle. It is a message that is likely to reach no one, but can in theory reach anyone. It is an open statement, an open appeal, an open message, an open ended venture. Today people may stick to Twitter and blogs and bulletin boards, but there is something refreshingly daring about the courage to finish that old fashioned glass bottle of Coke, scrawl your message to the world on a piece of paper, tuck it inside the neck, making sure to get rid of the straw first, and let is sail on the waves.

Merry Flamingo Day!

It is interesting that every time archaologists dig something up they label it a god.


I can imagine that in the future salt and pepper sets made in the shape of animals or people will be declared gods by someone who digs them up. More than that they will say that they dispensed incense or something.



Lawn gnomes and 1950s yard flamingoes will be the gods we worshipped as they write their long tomes about us.










Look, these people worshipped the great Flamingo god at one point but then, suddenly and unexplicably his worship fell out of favor and they began worshipping small funny little god in a pointed hat. His statues were worshipped in gardens and front lawns of homes until , just as quickly as the Flamingo god , he too was relegated to obscurity. What a fickle people they must have been!



Here is the great Flamingo Religious holiday! Everything pink and spiffy for the honor of the great Flamingo god!







"Oh, how did they ever lose site of these wonderful traditions?


When did it fall into disfavor and the happy sound of Merry Flamingo Day become disparaged?" is what the text books of the future will say.

"People sent one another Merry Flamingo cards and decorated their dwellings with pink fairy lights and pink tulle, pink glitter and all things Flamingo pink!"the book will declare.


"Pink foods were eaten and special music played to honor the day of the Flamingo".


Actually, it would make a rather pretty holiday wouldn't it?

Lazy Day

I am having trouble rousing myself today.
Last night I had the littlest hint of a headache resulting from stiff shoulders but it was enough to make sleep difficult as lying down made it worse.So, I sat up in bed reading til early in the morning.
I slept til 2:30 and now I am functioning in a groggy manner. Ugh.
Coffee makes no difference at all. I should get myself together and head out to the shops for a bit of wake up call.
Sometimes walking around does the trick when nothing else will.
The weather is fine, cool, sunny and a good day to be outdoors.
The fact that it is early evening makes it worse though for going out, since shops close early on Sunday, those which are open that is.
Maybe tomorrow...sigh.
Well, next time it will teach me to sleep so very late into the day no matter what.It really goes put off the schedule and make you feel yukky.

Autumn Almost Here

The light is different in the autumn than in summer. No one seems to know what I mean by that.
Well, its less intense, gentler, more filtered somehow. The angle is different too.
Whatever, it is different.
I guess I enjoy the lighter intensity of autumn a bit more than the direct dead on harshness of summer light.
There is a difference , they say, between autumn and fall also. Autumn being the whole season but fall being the time when leaves begin to drift down to the ground.

I used to enjoy the piles of leaves in fall and when people could burn them the smell was wonderful and so traditionally "autumn". Burning leaves, soft afternoons with gentle breezes and that hint of increasing chill in the mornings and evenings.
Some mornings you wake to a hint of frost on things...other mornings have that bit of extra dew.
Makes me think of the Folgers Coffee commercial that used to play.
"The best part of waking up is Folger's in your cup".
It was a very effective campaign for them I bet. The tune was catchy and the films that went along with it were nice and homey.
Anyway it's a lovely day today. Cool enough to open windows.. breezy enough for it to fill the house with lovely aromas of outdoors and just sweet.
Almost Autumn now...................

Tempus Fugit

Today is 9..9..09. And as I begin this post it is 1:11.
How cool is that?
Its interesting how we are curious about sameness in numbers and some ascribe all kinds of magic meaning to them
Ask around if people seem to see the same numbers on a clock over and over and so many will say, yes, they do.
I am not sure what that is about. I don't believe it's anything magic or mystical though, just an interesting thing that happens to us from time to time.
Look, it has to be 1:11 twice a day !! So nothing mystical there.

What does amaze me is how short summer was and how we perceive things as being short or long even when the time is the same.
Summer was the same length as always but it was rainy and cool for a significant chunk of it and made it seem more early Spring than Summer for a long while. I believe the temperatures have a lot to do with how we see things.
For instance, it is not yet autumn. That has to wait until September 21, yet, since temperatures are cooled off a bit, after a hot spell in August, people are already calling it autumn.
It seems that Labor Day also is a cut off period as well as return to school and these make people perceive Autumn even if it really isn't.

I am not a fan of cutting life short by saying seasons are over or by wishing them gone. It's like wishing your life away.
Each season of life has something nice about it and it's time we all thought in those terms rather than moaning and complaining how bad things are all the time.
Just saying........

Labor Day

Labor Day today. For many it's just the end of a three day weekend. I guess that there are those who do truly remember the whys and wherefore's of its beginnings though.


It has been suggested that this article or section be merged into International Workers' Day. (Discuss)
Labour Day or Labor Day is an annual holiday celebrated all over the world that resulted from the labour union movement, to celebrate the economic and social achievements of workers. The majority of countries celebrate Labour Day on May 1, and it is popularly known as May Day and International Workers' Day, while some celebrate on the first Monday of September.
The celebration of Labour Day has its origins in the Eight-hour day movement, which advocated eight hours for work, eight hours for recreation, and eight hours for rest...from wikipedia.

Interesting to see where these days have their beginnings. Things get muddled over time and we forget what they are for.
I mean who knows the meaning of many of the holidays we have or even their meanings anymore?
It could be that if you asked around people would tell you that they have no clue.
Lately I have made it a habit to look up each holiday and see a little about it's history etc. because I saw that even if I knew something about it, I didnt know all about it at all and much of the most interesting parts of it are.

The labor movement in the US was important because workers were sometimes very exploited .
It might be stretching it to think that anyone would remember the Triangle Shirtwaist fire in NYC.
Those women were treated badly on the job. No fire doors, they were locked in the room to work and so when the place went up in flames the women burned or jumped. Some went through the sidewalk... breaking the concrete, so hard were their falls.
Of course they needed a union to fight for their rights.
Not to say the unions were not sometimes bad and corrupt, but, for the most part they did a good job.

Lost and Found

One summer I had the task, among many other tasks, of managing the Lost and Found box. While managing the Lost and Found box seems simple enough in theory, in practice it can be another thing entirely. Sure on the surface it's simple enough. First you take a box, write "Lost and Found" on it in bright red magic marker, if you have one available. Then plant it at eye level where everyone who passes by can see it. And then stand back and wait for the people to show up.
It is a natural law that more people will seek out a Lost and Found box and its managing person to look for things they lost, than to turn in lost things that they actually found. This is not necessarily caused by a deficit of honesty produced by people not turning in the things they found, but by hope.
People who lose something turn to the Lost and Found box, having already worked out a vision in their imagination of how someone at the fair has already found their lost watch, their lost son's teddy bear or their lost car keys, and put it in the box. You can see their eyes darting to the box, their hands itching to search through it, and you hate to disappoint them by telling them, "I'm sorry folks, but there's actually nothing in the box. No, nothing at all."

Managing the Lost and Found box can be a bit like running a dead letter office. Very rarely do you actually return something to someone that they actually lost. But there are those rare shining moments when you do and that can be priceless.

To see a hand reach into the box and pull out an old weathered hat and exclaim over his shoulder to his wife, "Here it is Dora, my lucky hat!"
Of a time aged hand that clutches up a sweater that's seen better days and hug it close, an old friend returned. Then a tiny hand that pulls out a drooled on Pooh Bear and a little face lights up with joy.

Running Lost and Found as great rewards.

Gordon the Turtle

The first turtle I saw eat a pizza was named Gordon. He crawled out from between the weeds one day, his shell yellowish and discolored in places, moving restlessly, but still with the classic slowness of the turtle. I stayed watching him for a few minutes, waiting for him to do something interesting. It seemed like a futile effort. Turtles are known for many things, well perhaps few things, but being interesting is certainly not on the list.

People may point and say, "What a Ferocious Lion", "What an Intelligent Dog" or "What a Clever Raccoon", but the only thing turtles are known for is slowness, which has in time acquired a certain perception of wisdom. But how wise is it to be slow? Well Gordon showed me by outwaiting me. Each time I grew tired of waiting for him to do something interesting and went inside, some food would turn up missing. While I waited for Gordon to do something interesting, all the time Gordon was waiting for me to go away.

And so it went. Each time I was determined to outwait Gordon, and each time Gordon outwaited me. Finally one day late in summer, I stocked up on good books and lemonade and sat waiting. Day passed into afternoon and into evening, and still Gordon did not move from his place in the sand. I turned on the outdoor lamps to see better and still nothing. The sun set, the stars came out, a million glittering jewels on dark sand. And finally I saw Gordon creep slowly to the hole in the trash can, cut through the bag, and begin munching on a pizza. Sitting there in the dark, I felt a certain satisfaction at having finally been more patient than a turtle.

When fall approaches there is a change in the light as it settles down on the earth.
Its thinner, less strident and angled differently. Even on hot September days the light is just a bit different as the earth and the sun move into different positions to begin their fall dance.

The Choke Cherry trees and the Willows are the first to show signs of approaching cold. Their leaves begin to yellow here and there as they look forward to a winter nap.

What I will miss about summertime is the riot of flowers that cascade out of planters, window boxes and hanging pots. I love the pinks, reds, yellows, violets that party all over the yard. Autumn is pretty with its oranges and red glows but, it's just not the same as the riotous colors of summer.
This year summer was late in coming because of the cooler than usual spring and early summer.
It actually seems like Summer is just getting started rather than just ending for that reason.

I hope there is a longer growing season next year and more time to sit outdoors and take all that color in.

Autumn Beach

The weather changed from hot to chilly almost in one day.
It will warm up later in the week but nights are very cool right now and days are perfect and clear. A bit of a break from rain is kind of nice.
Autumn is coming in just a couple of weeks and I feel as if summer has not yet really started. I think that is because I didnt get to do all I wanted to do.
Certainly the beach was on hold this year again and I am disappointed.
Thankfully the beach year doesn't end in August but goes into October if we are lucky and the weather stays moderate.
There is something special too about the beach when there are fewer people around.

Skyward

Everyone looks at clouds to see shapes of castles, animals, dragons, familiar faces and unfamiliar heads scudding along. That is part of our nature and our imagination that makes us want to see what we can find and its our inclination to always find new frontiers. In reality the sky is that thin envelope, on the solar scale anyway, that keeps the breath of the earth inside. The sky isn't even blue, that's only a reflection, but isn't that what looking up into the sky is all about?

Seeing ourselves reflected there, our wishes, our hopes, our dreams and our aspirations. What is looking up and finding familiar shapes in the clouds but a great cloudy Rorschach test, with cumulus, cirrus and all the other c clouds, instead of inkblots there as molds and forms to wrap our imaginations around? And when it comes right down to it, isn't a great cloud so much nicer than a blot of ink. And wouldn't it be nicer for a psychiatrist to ask a patient to step out and look up at the clouds, than to look at some smeared blots of ink?

Maybe Rorschach tests don't seem to produce positive results because they reduce the human mind to a blot of ink, instead of a noble cloud, a great formation of air around which the light shines. When you look up at an inkblot, you see an error, a mistake, something dirty and wrong. A cloud by contrast is filled with hope and potential. In Rorschach inkblots people may see their mistakes, but in the islands of the sky, their dreams take wing.

Watches

I can't even begin to count how many watches I've had over the years. That isn't because I'm old, but because somehow my wrist and a wristwatch have just never gotten along. Ever since my first wristwatch at the tender age of three, which I managed to smash into a wall only a few hours later while sliding down a park slide, my history with watches has been fraught with danger, drama and lots and lots of breakage.

I have known many fortunate people who buy a watch and then go on to wear it until it wears out or until some of their progeny inherit it.But, for me that is never the case . They break and in much more unpredictable ways. It does not matter if the watch is expensive or dirt cheap. Whether the watch is plastic or metal. Built tough or as delicate as a crystal rose. Once the watch touches my wrist, its days of active life are numbered. And that is no exaggeration.

Sometimes the watches perish in good old fashioned collisions with kitchen cabinets, car doors and pot lids. Often they just seem to give out with their batteries dying, and no amount of new batteries will make the little hands run their race around the clock again. Sometimes more mysterious things happen. A watch melted on my wrist once, with no UFO presence anywhere in sight. A watch was snatched off my wrist in Times Square. Another watch that I had taken off my wrist and set down on the veranda was snatched up by a baffled gull. But no watch that I bought or was given as a gift managed to last more than a month.

Since then I have given up on watches entirely, as they seem to have given up on me. And if no watch will have me, then I won't have them either.