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 |   Thoughts destined to be washed away by the tides of life. |
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I've been studying my cover photo for a while now, and it seems to me that it is more than just a photo of what is there that can be seen, more than just three white rocks stacked on a beach. It contains an important question about the future, about what happens long after the photographer has gone. What will happen to our pile of stones when the tide comes in? Will it topple or has the architect built this structure at a safe distance? I don't know what will happen to these words that I stack here on the sand. They may prove safely distant, or they may be swallowed up by a rush of self-doubt. They may be here for a season. They may lose their balance and be scattered by the shoreline, or be hidden away under shifting sands. Perhaps someday, the tides of life will reclaim them. Or maybe that's just a bunch of poetic, romantic nonsense. After all, this is just a blog. |
| I am anxious to see today become yesterday. Today is the last day of June and it is also the last day of our current heat wave. I don’t remember welcoming July in hopes of cooler weather ever before in my life. I am beginning to think it’s also the end of my coffee maker. It still makes coffee but it coughs and spits all over the countertop. It does produce a cup of coffee very quickly, however. I have to decide if I hate wiping up the spills more than I hate waiting for my coffee. My grumpy mood was short-lived, because my attitude was accosted immediately by the antics of the cat. She and I locked eyes the moment I entered the room. When she was sure she had my attention, she began her morning rolls and stretches upon the top of her cat tree. These movements are meant to show off her fit and sleek feline physique in such a way that I will be powerless to resist. I will be drawn to her, overcome by the urge to stroke her silken coat. She will then have me in her grasp, clasping my hands with sharp claws and gently biting my hand. I believe she does this to remind herself that I do not taste very good and this is one of the reasons that she does not give in to her wilder instincts and try to eat me. Besides, I am the source of tastier food and can be commanded to play with her at any time by staring at me with large, round eyes. I am enjoying the brief respite from heat this early morning, but it’s time to get a few things done before the day heats up. |
| Everyone has heard of a “fish tale”. A fish tale is another way of saying “big lie”. The term refers to the expectation that a fisherman is likely to exaggerate when reporting the size of the fish he’s caught. But what about the size of the fish that caught the fisherman? A couple of weeks ago, a local lobster fisherman had a whale of a fish tale to tell. While diving to the bottom of the cold Atlantic to check his lobster traps, he found himself suddenly immersed in darkness. He thought at first that he had been swallowed by a Great White Shark, but the absence of teeth slicing into him or chomping on his bones told him that could not be the case. In fact, he had been swallowed by a feeding humpback whale. Luckily for him, he was able to reinsert his breathing apparatus and get oxygen until the whale decided to spit him out. Amazingly, he came through the experience without any serious injury. The tale is remarkable for the fact that it is not that rare or unheard of. This lobster fisherman was not the first man to tell this kind of fish tale, nor was he the first since Jonah. I knew you were thinking of him. All my life, the biblical tale of Jonah and the whale has been called into question by skeptics and defended with alternative explanations by religious scholars, but it seems that there is no explanation required. If you are in the area of a big whale with its mouth open, you might get swallowed up in the great rush of water going into its mouth. It makes me want to revisit Moby Dick. Maybe it wasn’t just a fish tale, after all. https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/us/a-lobsterman-found-himself-in-a-whale-e2-80-99... |
| When my son was born, his older sister immediately viewed him as an interloper. It was clear to her from the start that he was going to steal some of her spotlight and destroy her glorious only child status. As a baby, he got far too much of my attention and so, she ignored him. As a toddler, he was blamed for everything she didn't want to get into trouble for. When she became a teen, the five year age gap made him far too insignificant to be part of her life. Of course, that applied to me, too. Teenagers treat anyone who is not a peer as if they were a disease. When my daughter reached her twenties and moved out of the house, I didn't see their relationship ever changing. As a parent, you worry about what will happen after you are gone. Some day, they may have only each other as family. But no one in their twenties listens to anyone, right? Think back. Of course, circumstances change and The Girl (her official internet name) has moved back home. The Boy has graduated from teens into his twenties and is also part of the working world. Finally, there is some level of equality. But I didn't really detect any kind of loyalty or concern for each other until last night. The Boy had an unfortunate episode with his car while working. His car is essential to his job. If his car breaks down, he doesn't make money and his job is threatened. Not only did the The Girl research the problem online, find a YouTube video on how to fix it, but she took time off from her job to go show him what she learned and help him get the car going again. She actually offered to let him drive her car in a pinch. I was flabbergasted. I guess there is a time when siblings of all ages find their common ground. There is a time when the jealousy over mom's attention fades (probably about the time they decided I was too old to know anything). There is a time when she forgives him for being born and he forgives her for trying to dress him in her ballerina tutu when he was four. A time when the bickering, bumps and bruises of childhood are forgotten. Even though it means I am even less important than before, it still warms my heart to see this time arrive. Maybe someday, I can grow up and get my own place. |
| A meme in my Facebook feed this morning poses one of the most challenging questions facing those of us living in the modern world: "hmm...should I spend two seconds clicking unsubscribe or spend one second deleting an email from this company every single day for the rest of my life?" This is a real dilemma because to unsubscribe is to cut yourself off from any future messages from this source. The possibility exists that even if I am not very interested in reading that email today, at some point in the future, there may be something of great interest and if I unsubscribe, I will miss it. Actually, that's not true. The truth is that I am inexcusably lazy. I don't read emails if the subject line tells me all I need to know. I don't click unsubscribe because I don't want to spend the time and effort. And I don't even delete the emails every day, or sometimes ever. I am so lazy. But I cannot be the only one who gets emails they don't read from a source they have only a slight interest in. It's so easy to get on a mailing list - it takes nearly no effort at all and it can be done without even being aware of the commitment one is making. Unsubscribing is a conscious decision and requires a directed effort. Google is being helpful these days by having my Gmail ask me about senders that I ignore. "You haven't opened an email from so-and-so in a while" it will tell me, and then ask if I want to unsubscribe. This is incredibly helpful. I know that Google has become evil and overtaken by megalomania and a desire to rule the world, but sometimes it's worth it to sell my virtual soul because Google excels at making life easier for lazy people. |
| I don't know what this post is, maybe it's a lament. Maybe it's a longing for the days when I could concentrate all my focus on the computer, when the phone didn't ring so often and there were fewer voices calling my name. At my age I should be much more lonely and forgotten. That pulls me up short. There's a thought that yanks on the reins of my mind's wandering. There will be a day when these interrupting voices are silenced in death and even fade in memory. There will be a time when no one will ask my opinion because I am too old and out of touch. Then I will be truly alone and with all the time in the world. When that happens, I probably won't be blogging, or writing poetry or concocting wild stories except in my confused reveries. I won't be phoned or sought after for advice. I will be lonely and forgotten, but maybe I won't know it. It's odd to think that dementia might be the way to escape the inevitability of being forgotten by others - to simply forget about them, too. |
Speaking of poison… In my last post I talked about poisonous plants. Well, I have found another one. Maybe. It might also be a health superfood. I bought some ground flaxseed because I had heard in a YouTube video that it was a very healthy addition to other foods and generally good for digestion. As usual, I decided to do my in-depth research after I purchased it and not before I wasted my money. I found an article in the Daily Mail from 2019 which claims that flaxseed contains a compound that turns into cyanide gas as it breaks down. Ground flaxseed has apparently become a popular topping for porridge, and it’s nearly a staple for people on a ketogenic diet so if it is really full of cyanide, I would have expected to hear of at least a few deaths attributed to mysterious cyanide poisoning in otherwise healthy people. But, nah. So, I decided not to give much credence to the Daily Mail article (which is often the sensible option) and dug even further for information. I happened upon another article on a health-related website which listed many interesting facts: Flax was grown in ancient Egypt as a staple grain. However, I will note that all the ancient Egyptians are dead now. Flaxseed contains phytoestrogens which either prevent or cause breast cancer. Opinions differ. Some research indicates that it might lower cholesterol. It may improve diabetes in rodents, but no one knows if it will do so in humans. Flaxseed might help constipation, it might cause diarrhea or it might cause intestinal blockages. Something for everyone. It might reduce physical damage from radiation exposure. For me, this last claim is a reason to keep it in the house. I mean, in case of nuclear bombs or leaking radiation from a nuclear reactor, I would probably eat lots of flaxseed and not care if it does anything for my diabetes or cholesterol. I wouldn’t give the cyanide a second thought. Apple seeds contain cyanide, too. Sounds like it’s a seed thing. I probably won’t be eating the flaxseed, but it will go into the bomb shelter (if I ever build one) to prepare for the coming apocalypse (if there ever is one). Overall, the rumors about flaxseed have contributed to my growing suspicions about the true nature of plant life on Earth. I think the plants have plans to take over. |
| Today, I want to talk about poison. Poison was a big part of my childhood. We didn’t keep poison in the bathroom medicine cabinet, if that’s what you’re thinking. Nothing like that. But it was at a young age that I first came across some Agatha Christie novels in a church rummage sale, and it began years of seeking out and reading all the adventures of the delightful Miss Marple and the fastidious Hercule Poirot. Quite often, the murder weapon used in her stories was poison. Her sleuths moved in upper crusty circles, after all, and poison is a very quiet and civilized way to murder someone. Not flashy and noisy like the firing of a gun. Not visceral and personal like stabbing with a knife. Poison allows for a certain detachment. Dump the vial in the tea or a medicine bottle and you can be elsewhere when the deed is done. I learned a lot about poison from Agatha Christie. I learned the names of lots of poisons and where they might be found in common household products. Many poisons grow right in the garden, and it is these poisons I want to talk about. If you’ve read any Agatha Christie, you will be aware that you can get digitalis from foxglove and that belladonna (deadly nightshade) is a beautiful but deadly flower. Christie even used ricin and hemlock to dispatch some of her victims. All harvested from the home landscaping. So, even in my youth, I knew that wild-growing plants had to be viewed suspiciously. But I never realized that many of the foods common in the modern diet are also quite poisonous. These poisons mostly affect pets. Humans manage them quite well for the most part (except for some of us who are sensitive). For instance, humans consume onions and garlic all the time, using them to season many kinds of food. But these tasty and spicy foods are toxic to domestic animals like cats, dogs and even guinea pigs. Which brings me to flowering plants. I have received several beautiful and colorful flowering plants as gifts in the past few years. In every case, a quick Google search provided a detailed list of the frightening things that could happen if your cat decided to chew on the leaves or blooms. I have had to move these potted plants outdoors where they do not long survive, but at least my indoor cat does. See, if you’re an animal and some other animal wants to eat you, nature has provided you with some defenses. You can run away, you might have colorations that help camouflage you or a deep burrow to hide in. If you are a plant, you have no place to hide, and you cannot run. Highly edible plants like roses have thorns to discourage anyone from messing with them. But there are a lot of plants that defend themselves with poison - Poinsettias, Calla Lily, Bird of Paradise, Jade plants, Wandering Jew, even Aloe Vera for crying out loud! I have recently developed a real sense of caution when it comes to any plant, even vegetables. For a very long time, tomatoes were considered to be poison until some brave soul invented pizza. You can’t blame them as tomatoes (along with eggplant) belong to the nightshade family. Just the name gives me the shivers. The point of this blog, however, is to encourage people to research any plant they intend to gift to a household with a pet. I feel really bad about putting your beautiful gift outdoors, but I have to choose the cat over the flowers. Beauty and bright colors is how the plant gets you to take it home and poison is how it kills off its enemies. So, beware. |
| I have a mail dysfunction. Mail is very important. Bills, for instance, need to be paid. But if I know I don't have the money, it seems silly to open them, so I just put them aside. Other letters may be important too, and so one day I must read them. Clearly, I must set them aside. And even if I read them, I need to keep the important ones - so I set them aside. Now my aside is so full, it hurts to move. There are so many good and psychologically sound reasons for this dysfunction. My mother never threw any piece of mail away without first tearing it up into tiny pieces so that no one could find her trash and read her mail. She was particularly worried about her name and address being decipherable. She taught me to be paranoid about privacy and security long before the NSA scandal and internet phishing scams and the rest of modern day intrusions. I don't even want to tell you what a problem the mail is for me. I cannot tell you how much backlogged mail I have that simply needs to be thrown away. But every pile of mail may contain an important letter or piece of documentation, and so every pile must be thoroughly investigated before it is chucked in the bin. It also needs to be shredded. Sometimes I pour the coffee grounds or some other unpleasant garbage on top of it to discourage anyone from piecing it together. All of this would make sense if I were some international spy or highly-placed government official. The truth is that I can't think of anyone who would want to read my mail for any reason. I was gifted a shredding machine recently. It would be a great idea, if only shredding paper were as much fun as it looks. It tends to get a bit samey after a while. I doubt I am going to get better, and so I can only hope that whoever cleans out the place after I die will shred the piles of mail. I don't want anyone assuming my identity in my absence. |
| I was considering a few ideas for the blog this morning, some of them topical, some philosophical. But, as I type this, I am sinking below the level of the keyboard, and below the high-toned conversations I intended to have on important questions of the day. The only question on my mind right now is: "Why does my chair hate me?" Finding the right chair from which to conduct all online business is a serious matter. And for many years this chair provided all I could desire. It was adjustable to a perfect height, it swiveled for easy exit or even just for dramatic flair, and it didn't roll away out from under me too quickly. I had a chair with fast rolling wheels once that threw me onto the floor and then I couldn't sit for a week. No, this chair doesn't roll too easily. In fact, it barely rolls at all. I don't mind that. I don't mind the spots where the fabric on the seat is torn or unsightly. That's what they make duck tape for. By the way, "duck tape" is the original name for the tape. I know it sounds wrong, which is why many people assume it must be "duct tape" and also because you're much more likely to need to securely tape ducts than you are ducks. Taping ducks sounds like animal abuse. The name "duck tape" refers to the waterproof material from which it was originally made. It's also a brand name. Nowadays however, the term "duct tape" is just as widely used to describe the product, and most people don't care what you call it as long as you have some when something needs to be repaired or the ducks get loose. So, the ratty appearance of the chair doesn't bother me and it never tries to pitch me out by speeding across the hardwood floor. The only direction that this chair goes unbidden is down. I've just had to stop typing in order to get up and raise the chair to desk level. This is the third time since I began this blog post. Already it is ratcheting down an inch at a time. I can continue typing for a bit, until the chair is so low that I am reaching up to hit the keys. Someday, I will need a new chair. But new chairs are not broken in to fit personal contours. New chairs roll too well. I don't feel that I have the patience to break in a new chair or to wait for enough cat hair and lint to gather around the wheels to form a natural brake. This chair doesn't always lower me to the floor, after all. Sometimes, it goes for tens of minutes at a time without losing height. It's the devil you know, isn't it? Sometimes, it's better to take a little duck tape and patch up the problems as best you can, than it is to buy new problems that duck tape can't fix. |
| I turned the coffee brewer on without placing a cup under the spout this morning, so perhaps I am not in the best mental position for discussing philosophical issues, but I may have a bash at one anyway. I wiped up the first ten ounces of coffee with a kitchen towel and set up a retaining wall with another as the kitchen counter flows downward to the right, then made another cup of coffee. A few more sips and I will be ready to type (this much has taken ages, but I feel the synapses coming alive and the signals beginning to connect with my fingers). First, let me say that I hope no one takes memes on Facebook seriously enough to alter their worldview. Facebook philosophy is flawed at best, dangerous at its worst. I remember when I first saw the word "meme", I mistakenly thought it was borrowed from the French même, meaning "same". A little research reveals that it is a made-up word based loosely on a Greek root word meaning to mime or mimic, and was coined by Richard Dawkins in 1976. However, I think a more literal meaning can be taken from pronouncing it as not one, but two syllables as in “me-me”. Because the majority of memes are all about “me”. They are screaming “me, me!” and it seems like an unhealthy trend on a site dedicated to social interaction. The me-me that I saw this morning (and which led to this diatribe) declares that someone found the author intimidating but the question was “is she intimidating or are you intimidated?” and then declares that the author refuses to take responsibility for how others react to her. It’s a good thing that Emily Post is dead, or this would have killed her. Hey, I believe that everyone is entitled to be their own, true, authentic selves. I also believe that civilization depends on our ability to follow a few rules of behavior that make it possible to live together. One of those rules would be to not go around intimidating people unnecessarily. Admittedly, there may be times when intimidation is a good thing, such as in war or political negotiations. It absolutely is not necessary to be completely self-absorbed in social interactions, however. While it is true that some people are more timid and easily intimidated, it is still a better answer to find out what about you intimidates people so that you can make sure that your message isn’t lost in the delivery. Other me-me messages that draw attention and sympathy abound. These are annoying but much less harmful. They generally tell you that the author possesses some faults but that they are wonderful and lovable anyway (and if you don’t agree you can do something obscene to yourself). They might declare that the author is silently suffering but will never complain (which they have just done in the me-me). These me-me messages fulfill the need for attention that caused the poster to spread them. But they don’t encourage anti-social behavior. The perpetuation of the me-me does help one to understand the study which found that the use of Facebook had a detrimental effect on mood. The more time users spent on Facebook, the sadder they became. User, beware! And if you find this blog post intimidating, then it’s not my responsibility. |
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Not quite what I meant. "Pufts" was a sidelong reference to the famous dog show, Crufts