Saturday, February 28, 2015

icicles dangle
from the bottom of a stop sign
on this gray morning.
a cedar waxwing drinks
from a puddle on the street -
they flock and float
like leaves on a breeze.
a gem of ice
falls from a tree
to the pavement before my feet
and sparkles.
a redbud stands
in full bloom.

Friday, February 27, 2015

Carl Sagan on Whales

I've had the good fortune today to read a bit from Carl Sagan's well-received book, Cosmos, published in 1980. On pages 272-273, he writes about whales. He recounts how whale songs can be as long a work as the Odyssey, that the whales can repeat again and again the complex material sound by sound. He reports incidents where pods of whales sing or speak the same song together, and that some repeated communications of considerable complexity change when the pod returns from a migration, as though they have edited their communication. Sagan states that hearing is their primary sense, which is one factor in the development of such a complex repertoire. He states the whales communicated across tremendous oceanic distances in the thousands of years before humans industrialized life, but that the noise production of commercial and military vehicles has greatly hampered their ability to hear each other. He expresses concern about the slaughter of such intelligent animals for unnecessary products.

'We humans, as a species, are interested in communicating with extraterrestrial intelligence. Would not a good beginning be improved communication with terrestrial intelligence, with other human beings of different cultures and languages, with the great apes, with the dolphins, but particularly with those intelligent masters of the deep, the great whales?'

Thursday, February 26, 2015

I watched a piece of roadside equipment today. I'm very ignorant of these things and don't know the names for the different machines along the streets and highways and public utilities today. This is the second time this week I've watched intriguing machinery. The first one that was breaking up road surface would take a while to describe. This one is a little easier, maybe. I'm so ignorant I don't even know what parts to focus on, or how to label the parts. The first thing I saw that caught my attention was a kind of jointed metal arm maybe ten feet long when extended, with a hinged, beak-like scoop at the end. It was attached to a vehicle. When I arrived, it was making a lot of racket, the arm aiming down at the ground and knocking like a slow-motion jack hammer, although not designed like a jack hammer. It looked like a shore bird pecking the sand for shellfish. It pecked in one spot, then cautiously tried another, as though it were searching for the right spot. Then it changed function. It gently scooped crumbled earth into a vehicle behind it. Very gently. I know these adverbs like 'cautiously' and 'gently' give it life-like attributes. Yet, they seem to suit what I saw. As I left, I could see there was a human in the little cabin of the vehicle. Was I watching a close-knit human and machine team - like that described in the very old children's book, Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel? How does the machine function with replacement drivers? With basic physics and our definition of life, we know the machine is not alive. But does it have feelings?

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

The only time I've worked with litmus paper was in Sister Guillory's classes around 1969. We dipped one end of a slip of paper into a dish of liquid to determine its acidity. We tested liquids like lemon juice, vinegar, Clorox bleach. If the substance was acidic, the paper changed color to a reddish pink. If it was base (alkaline), it turned blue. There was a number scale - the darker the red, the higher the number reflecting the strength of the acid. The darker the blue, the more basic, earning a negative number. There were some neutral substances - I think I remember water as one of them - that were right in the middle, ranking 0. The paper turned a pale purple. A brief glance at internet resources suggests that current tests and scales may be different than what I recall us using back in the 1960s. The litmus test was easy to use and comprehend, a fun way to learn about acidity.

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

plaid

a thread of gold
a river of grey
side by side.
the weavers ply
the colors -
some of impulse
some of slow consideration.
cross strings of thunderous blue
or shall the red join in?
over under over under
colors brushing side by side -
or a safe thumb's width apart -
the clack of the loom
sounds a woodsome rhythm
and a visual pattern
bold and noisy
subtle and wise
fabric so fine
is the plaid

Monday, February 23, 2015

When I was a kid, I wasn't very good at reading a map, or knowing which way was south or which way was east. I thought this was some kind of flaw in me, that direction was gift that you either had or did not and I was one of the have-nots in this particular skill. I couldn't point to Lafayette on an empty map of Louisiana. I was easily disoriented - and still have an embarrassing memory of getting a ride from school with some upper high school kids, and not being able to show them how to get to my dad's office.

Sometimes, life draws up its own teaching plan. At eighteen in 1971, I moved to Denver, Colorado for college, and lived there for three years. Without thinking about directions or studying any maps or books, an inner grasp of north, south, east and west came my way like a blessing, for in Denver, the mountains never moved. No matter where I was in town, the mountains were visible, and they were always to the west. The other directions fell into place from there.

The Colorado Rockies were one of the most moving natural features I'd ever met. The aspens shimmering in gold and white each fall - and just the weight and majesty of these giant formations stunned me. The sounds of the motion of the trees so high above, the lightness of the air in the high altitudes, the lively beauty of the streams and the stones polished smooth by centuries of the flow of water. When I'd leave Denver to return to Louisiana, it was often late in the day. From my airplane window, I could see the sun setting over the mountains, the sky veiled by strands of orange and pink and grey cloud. I didn't like the leavetaking, I was so attached, and hoped never to lose this life in Colorado.

Saturday, February 21, 2015

band-aid

there's no quicker way
to ease a kid's tears
or a grown-up's worries
about an injury than
to put a band-aid on it.
it's as though the problem
by no longer being visible
no longer exists.
I know the bo-bo hasn't disappeared
and what caused it hasn't disappeared
and maybe it still aches or itches
but i still cheer up
at the sight of a band-aid.
There's a sense of protection -
that there will be no more hurt to the wound
as long as there's a band-aid on it.

Friday, February 20, 2015

Johnson grass

Haven't seen much Johnson grass of late and don't know whether to be worried or relieved. For many years, we had Johnson grass show up in our yard and garden - simple looking plants with single shoots of strong, slender green - up to eight inches high maybe. They were considered weeds. Their reproduction rate was rapid and fascinating. The thin, stringy, strong roots were attached to a hard, black, seed-like ball. From there, more roots grew and another ball would develop, and another, and another and each had the shoot above the ground, and remained connected to many of the others - a kind of underground network that was difficult to slow down, but different from the other wild plants in this fascinating successful approach to reproduction. I'm not expertly knowledgeable about these plants, but you learn a bit from hours of pulling up the grasses over the years. If the root ball didn't come up with it, the grass was only temporarily daunted. Actually, I admired the sturdy little things. I liked the Johnson grass in the yard - drought and heat resistant. It's just we didn't agree on location issues when it came to the garden.

Thursday, February 19, 2015

late winter sunlight
filters
through unfurling flags
of delicate green -
newborn leaves
powdery bright
with light

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Our dad used to ponder that over 200 years after Benjamin Franklin tinkered with and wore spectacles to sharpen his vision, we humans are still wearing glasses - of varied sizes, materials, shapes of frames and formulae for the lenses. 'Shouldn't we have come up with some new and improved invention by now?' he asked. I look around the library where more than half of the patrons and staff are wearing lenses perched upon our noses, earpieces clasping our tender ears, and wonder the same.

Tuesday, February 17, 2015

meanings of spring

Many words in our English language have multiple meanings. I'm thinking about the simple little word spring. Without doing any prior research such as looking in a dictionary, a lot of uses come to mind. Spring is a time of year, one of the four seasons, the one where winter ends, and new leaves sprout, and birds flirt and dance and build their nests.

Spring is a coiled piece of metal with many purposes. When you wind an old-fashioned watch, you're tightening a tiny spring. There's a spring in a pogo stick. (The toy called 'Slinky' is nothing but a spring.) There are springs that keep the car chassis from bouncing too hard when traveling on a gravel road, and you can see springs on railroad car wheels. (I don't know the lingo about train mechanisms.) There are springs that pull the farm gate or the kitchen screen door closed after you swing it open. There is a spring in many ball point pens that permits us to tuck the inky point away so it doesn't smear on your shirt pocket.

Another use of the word spring is regarding a natural source of clean water, where the pressure and movement of the water below the ground forces the water to the surface through some natural passageway, like a chasm between rocks. Some surface ponds and streams are fed by springs. Many such springs have been turned into resorts or recreation areas. Hot Springs in Arkansas draws vacationers and people in search of healing. Our visits to a hot springs in southern Alberta, Canada are memorable - breathing the Rocky Mountain air - so cool and crisp - while immersed in a large pool nestled against a cliff, a pool of hot soothing water rising right from a spring. It's source must be very deep to be so hot. Here in Austin, Texas, Barton Springs draws swimmers, especially in the summer, where the 65 degree Fahrenheit water is a treat in contrast to a 100 degree afternoon. (Historical accounts suggest that many such springs were popular with those who lived in North America long before the arrival of the Europeans and Africans.)

There is a verb, to spring, which is to leap like a wallaby, a hare, a frog, or a kid competing in the 'broad jump' part of a track and field competition. There are even fancier springs for people who participate in gymnastics.

Amazing how far one can meander with one humble little word.

Saturday, February 14, 2015

the world
¡peligro! compliqué volatile
just a drop
in the great sea

Friday, February 13, 2015

easy recipes

Many people have grown up on the relatively cheap foods provided in fast-food restaurants. There are many advantages to eating fast food - tastes good, ready if you are in a hurry, no dishes to wash, available to those whose living situation does not include cooking facilities. The down side is that there is a lot of waste from the eating utensils and food containers (styrofoam or plastic or paper cups, plastic spoons and sporks, boxes, wrappers, et cetera for the main course).

Another interesting phenomenon is that now, two or three generations of people in some families have grown up without learning how to prepare food, without ever having shopped for and handled some of the basic ingredients. Many, though, are pleased to be introduced to these experiences.

Here are two recipes: homemade potato salad and apple pie. These should be fairly simple. If you like your results, you can always experiment with a more sophisticated version on your next try.



Baking a potato is a cinch. Wash a medium-sized Idaho potato (or use smaller potatoes, like reds, which would less time to bake) with water. Put it in a regular oven, or in a toaster oven that has 'bake' on one of the knobs. Bake at 450 degrees Fahrenheit for about an hour. Remove carefully with a thick pot holder. Tada!

You can eat your potato plain, or with salt and pepper, or butter, or sour cream, or chopped onions, chives, green onions, or some bits of cheese, or salsa, or all of the above.

If you bake an extra potato, or have half a potato left, you can later make:

Baked Potato Salad

cold baked potato
your favorite ranch salad dressing
your favorite mayonnaise
bread and butter pickle slices

Remove the potato skin (not necessary for red potatoes). Cut the potato into little cubes. Chop some of the pickle slices. Place potato and pickles in a bowl. Add equal amounts of salad dressing and mayonnaise, enough to coat the potatos, to your liking. Mangia, mangia!


Apple pie

Buy a package of 2 frozen pastry pie crusts. Almost any type apple will work - you'll want three to six depending on the size. The hardest work is peeling and cutting the apples into thin slices approximately the same size. Then, put them in a bowl. Add a couple spoonsful of sugar or honey or syrup, and stir with a big spoon until the apples are lightly coated. (You can add spice like cinnamon or nutmeg or a tiny bit of clove if you have it on hand, but not too much. Too much spice will overpower your fresh apples. You can add a tablespoon or two of flour if you like thicker juices. Lemon juice for a little spark.) Fill one of the pie crusts with the slices of apple. Dab some butter or margerine (or pour a little olive oil) on the apples if you have some.

Some people place the other crust carefully on top and pinch the edges of the two crusts together. Mine ALWAYS breaks. I cheat some times, and just place squares and triangles of the pastry on top of the fruit. It looks beautiful and artistic when it comes out, and no hassles with pinching the crusts together. Sprinkle a little sugar on top of the crust. Place the pie on a sturdy pan and bake at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for about 45 minutes or until the juices are bubbling and the crust is happily browned. Let cool for an hour - it stays very hot for a long time! A slice of cheddar cheese, or some vanilla ice cream goes well with apple pie. You've baked an American tradition!

Thursday, February 12, 2015

it's 1925

it's 1925
six men in black jackets flapping in the breeze
men with horns and drums and tambourines
rumble down the street
making a fat noise
for old Mr. Martin
God bless

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

The other day, as I walked home from the post office, house sparrows were darting to and fro in the limbs of a tree. One was on the ground, pecking about in the dust and winter-bleached grasses. When I approached along the sidewalk, the sparrow shot straight up, a perfect vertical line, to a twig some twenty feet high in the tree. This took no more than a second. Although it's possible the wings fanned so fast that it wasn't discernable to my eye, I saw no flapping of wings. I asked, how'd you do that?! The sparrow gazed down at me like a proud little stuntman.

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

the invitation

Come find me
called one hedgehog
to another
on the far side
of the crumbly stone wall.
you'll know me by
the smell of the February sun
on my head
and the green clover
near the roots
of the old weeping willow.

OK was the reply.

Monday, February 9, 2015

map

'I'd come visit you,' he said, 'if I could just find Mars on my map.'

Saturday, February 7, 2015

drum

we come into existence
to the drum of our mother's heart

Friday, February 6, 2015

touch

There are many studies that demonstrate the importance of touch in the development of a healthy mind and body. The two studies - that go quite far back now - that come to mind now and again involve primates - monkeys and humans. One was a lab study from the 1960s that now would be considered unethical, but attracted quite a bit of attention at the time it was reported. The researchers separated monkeys from their mothers after birth. They constructed a cylindrical object about the size of a mother using wire and attached bottles of formula as needed. The infants learned to feed from the wire mother. The researchers also constructed another wire frame, but this time with no food. The wire was covered with thick soft fabric. When frightened, the researchers discovered baby monkeys did not seek out the source of food. Instead they would race to the cloth 'mother' and cling tightly to it.

The other studies followed an increase in deaths from a syndrome known as 'failure to thrive'. These were studies conducted in hospitals that were concerned about babies - such as those born prematurely or those awaiting adoption - who seemed to have no serious physical problems, but didn't respond to treatments and didn't take to feeding.  The failure to thrive syndrome became such a concern, that it was studied closely.

It seems that after WWII, medical services became more programmed and regulated. Babies were to be fed by the clock rather than according to their show of hunger - that kind of thing. Babies were not to be handled too much because of fear of germs. The influenza epidemics - such as that around 1918 - and the polio epidemic peaking in the 1950s - had changed the emphasis from hands-on treatments to sterile procedures. Fear of germs had increased tremendously.

The failure to thrive studies looked at babies who, with the cautious practices of the era, were handled very little. The studies also recorded data on babies treated more like infants at home before the new science of infant care. The studies discovered that babies who were held while fed and cuddled close to a caregiver's body several times a day had a much greater rate of thriving and surviving than those infants that were handled the new way, as little as possible.

The importance of touch - to horses, cats, dogs, whales, et cetera - to old and young - has long since been documented and acknowledged. Many interpret these kinds of findings as demonstrations of the innate nature of love, and that love is integral to life on this planet.

Thursday, February 5, 2015

Jack o' Lantern

Jack of the Lantern (a.k.a. Jack o' Lantern) got into trouble a long long time ago some place in Europe. One version has it that he was kind of a greedy guy and didn't share with those about him who were hungry, but who knows what he really did to earn being in some kind of hell for eternity. He knew he was assigned there for forever, and even though he may have changed (over the years, the decades, the centuries) and maybe even was kind and considerate of those around him, he couldn't get a pass out of jail, so to speak. Still - a resourceful and determined fellow - he didn't give up. He carved a big old turnip into a lantern, and used a stick to nudge a burning lump of coal inside. During the night, he wandered about the infernal territories looking for the trail to heaven.

In the United States of America, we carve pumpkins into Halloween decorations and call them Jack o' Lanterns. I've never heard an ending to the story except that Jack o' Lantern continued to walk the nights in search of an exit.

I like to imagine the original Jack o' Lantern one night found his way out. Maybe he learned the passageways of the cities and countryside so intimately that he became a guide for lost souls in and out of the gates of hell, his funky lantern a kind of dim and faithful eternal companion.

Wednesday, February 4, 2015

i slog up the sidewalk
meeting life like a roadblock.
a thin square of paper
perched on a twig
floats on a whisper.

Tuesday, February 3, 2015

rip flag

We were a girls' school but we got to play football sometimes. American football - the man's game with the ball that isn't round and with touchdowns and field goals and dropkicks and all. We didn't have tackles, though, like the real thing. We played a version called 'rip flag' in a field across from the school buildings. Each player wore a belt with two small pieces of cloth in the team's color. An offensive player ran with the ball toward the goal line until a defensive player caught up with her and grabbed a cloth - a flag - ending the play like a tackle ends a play in standard football. The ball went into play again at the point where the flag was taken. We didn't play rip flag often but with lots of running, screaming, chasing, and scoring, it was high-spirited fun.

Monday, February 2, 2015

After moving to a house in rural Central Texas in 1980, I fell in love with the blackness of the sky. Our first night, we had no electricity. There were no street lights. It must have been near new moon - I don't remember the moon in view. Just an amazing darkness sprayed with thousands of stars, points of bright light from varied distances afar. The air was crisp and clean and scented with cedar. What good fortune.

At that time, very much the amateur, I could easily identify only two constellations - the Big Dipper and Orion. Living where the sky opened so beautifully, over the years on clear nights, I gradually learned a number more.

The zodiac consists of 12 constellations along the ecliptic, the same circular path as the sun, one for each month of the year: Aquarius, Pisces, Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Cancer, Leo, Virgo, Libra, Scorpio, Sagitarius, and Capricorn.  From our perspective on earth, they are lined up in the sky and during the course of each year, one after the other, month after month, processing west, they catch up to the sun and gradually reappear in the east, visible once again just before sunrise. The wobble of the earth on its axis can affect our view of the path of the constellations, meaning if events such as major earthquakes or volcanoes shift the tilt of our planet, that zodiacal path - and the pattern of the stars within each constellation - can change. I believe there has been evidence, and observational documentation by ancient astrologers, suggesting such change has happened in millenia past (and possibly more recent times as well).

All those years, 1980 to 2006, I only easily recognized (meaning, without a guidebook) three of the constellations of the zodiac: Scorpio and Sagittarius, the scorpion and the archer (or teapot), bold and cheerful in the summer sky, and Gemini, the twins, a pair of brilliant stars (Castor and Pollux), not physically close to each other in space, but appearing visibly close to each other from our perspective on earth.