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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 feeling a bit genetically modified today. How can you tell if your DNA has been altered while you were sleeping? It's funny. I went to bed with normal DNA, but I woke up feeling all NAD. |
| This might be a strange blog post to return to the blog with, but it sort of follows a theme with the last post. Because lobsters are not fish, either, but like mermaids, they live in the ocean. First, let me say that I have never eaten lobster and it is very unlikely that I ever will. But that doesnât stop me from thinking about them. Not really sure what makes me start thinking about them, but this morning I got lobsters on the brain. Thinking, thatâs what itâs about. And brains. Because for years, scientists said that lobsters donât feel pain because their central nervous system is too rudimentary. They havenât got a central brain. No brain, no pain. I have always been a bit suspicious of people who purport to know what another creature is feeling. You and I are humans - the very same species - but I can never know exactly what your pain feels like. I can tell you I have a headache and you can accept that, but not feel it. And there could be times we think others are faking. Right? So, how do we know lobsters donât feel pain? Scientists said so. But now some scientists are saying the opposite. Canadian scientists, even, which would make it eminently believable according to my mother. And surprisingly, people who used to say there was no better way to kill a lobster have come up with some new and more humane ways to kill a lobster. In case it feels pain. Which they still deny. I donât eat lobster and have never ordered one to be killed for my pleasure. So why do I care? Itâs just this thing I feel about having great responsibility and taking care to not do harm on purpose and to try to give voice to the voiceless. The non-verbal make really easy targets for injustice. If you are going to make decisions that might cause pain, that might be cases of life and death, I think youâd better be sure about all your facts. And in some cases, where you canât be sure, you have to err on the side of caution. Anyway, I donât know what a lobster feels or thinks, which is no good reason to drop it alive into a vat of boiling water. Personally, I think they are nothing more than big insects that live in the sea, but I donât step on insects that are too big to kill with one attempt. Thereâs that squishy effect, too. Yuck. But my personal opinion on lobsters and whether or not I want one doesnât really have any influence over whether they deserve humane treatment. I guess I am saying that just because someone gave you the right to kill something that has no power to object, it doesnât mean you should or that you know everything you need to know to make an informed decision. Can Lobsters Feel Pain  |
| I need to write a blog post. It isn't as if I don't have any ideas, it is just that I question whether those ideas are suitable or wise. And well, I figure that I may as well be hanged for a sheep as two lambs, as my mother always said. This is something that has been bothering me for days. I don't know what sort of attitude to have towards it because I can't decide if the perpetrators of this act are truly stupid, or if they have some sort of dry Scandinavian humor that maybe only my father could have understood. I would prefer the latter, because it's discouraging to think the former might be true. Maybe you've seen my profile photo of The Little Mermaid. This statue is in Copenhagen, Denmark and it pays tribute to Hans Christian Andersen, the author of many stories for children (though The Little Mermaid is far too sad for children - it's nothing like the Disney version). This mermaid sits on a rock in the harbor, looking out to see sea. Too bad she was looking away or she might have seen the vandals who defaced her. For deface her, they did, with graffiti that reads: RACIST FISH. Now you can see why I hope this is someone with a twisted sense of humor. Because it is really, really sad to think that there are people out there who do not know the difference between a mermaid and a fish. It's even sadder to think that there are people out there who cannot tell fictional, mythological creatures from actual, historical figures. And how unhappy a person do you have to be to be mean to a mermaid? Especially the Little Mermaid, a tragic figure who sacrificed herself for love of a human? That is so the opposite of racist. And, this is just my opinion, but if you can't tell a mermaid from a fish, you may not be ready to step up and run the world. |
| I think itâs time to discuss privacy issues with the cat. I mean, it didnât bother me when the cat used to go into the bathroom with me, but she doesnât do that anymore. And it didnât bother me when she would stick her paws under the door. That was cute, really adorable. These little white paws stuck onto spindly black legs reaching under the door to try to retrieve a piece of paper sheâd managed to chase through the gap at the bottom of the door. Wow, so endearing. I donât mind that at all. No, the problem is that she tries to open the bathroom door. The cat knows how doors work. Sheâs seen us opening doors by turning the door knob. Now, the cat is not equipped with the right size of paw or whatever else she needs to be successful at turning door knobs. Thank goodness. If she ever learns to open the door, my life is over. I already went through this when my son was a toddler. He became the reason for highly placed locks and chains on doors. I am older and less resourceful, I could not handle it. No, the cat tries but cannot open the bathroom door. What she can do is rattle the door knob which always gives me a start, thinking someone is about to walk in on me. The knob rattles, it shakes, nearly turns and I begin to form a warning scream when I suddenly realize itâs the cat. Itâs like living through a brief, tense scene in a horror movie, but only for a moment and there is no danger. So, not like a horror movie at all, but you will allow my exaggerated emotional response. The thing is, she doesnât answer when I call out âwho is it?â and thatâs just what a killer in a movie would do. But I suppose that if the cat trying to open the door freaks me out, then finding out the cat can talk would be enough to send me over the edge. |
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I'm headed for my first cup of coffee now...
