News Flash: General Beauregard Lee In BIG Trouble!

I just received an urgent message from Minnesota Fat Cat. If you remember, he is the Midwest's honorable groundhog.

Minnesota Fat Cat says that his southern cousin, General Beauregard Lee, who lives in Atlanta, is in big trouble. It seems on Groundhog Day, Beau predicted an early spring this year for the south. 

However,  four - let me repeat that - four major storms have hit the south in just the last couple weeks. Some folks are suggesting he get his eyes checked. Others are reacting more strongly and suggesting he should be arrested for making false predictions. 

I hope he can weather this storm (pardon the puns) and clear his reputation. Because normally he is a reliable groundhog sort of guy. And a genial southerner. Why, he'll make up a batch of sugared ice tea when he sees you coming and sweep out his den to welcome you. He even will check to see if the pictures on the wall are straight. (He does worry about those many earthquakes in Oklahoma).

Because climate change has screwed up the winter weather big time and left meteorologists's computer models crashing, groundhog predictions are more important than they have ever been. Folks need to know when to put out the deck furniture and grill baby grill.And when to start walking in the woods looking for morels.

Speaking of spring say a prayer or two for the Massachusetts groundhog. They have so much snow in Boston that the poor fellow didn't even try to find his way through all the snow. Now there is a groundhog suffering cabin fever in a major way! When all that snow eventually does go away and he can emerge, he'd better have his sunglasses handy so as not to damage his eyes.

THREE LENTEN POEMS (2,4,6,8,2 syllables)

pinnacle

person
human being
two-legged, featherless
always striving to be on top
alone


living courageously

it is
right and proper
virtues become habits
temperance, courage, and justice
for all



challenge

our world
demands that we
persevere to always creatively
cope with the world
do it !

The Gift that Keeps On Giving

Every year we buy a balsam tree for Christmas. We can't remember where we bought our first tree. Though I do remember buying our first imported glass ornaments at the department store on Wisconsin Avenue. 

Every Christmas we add a new ornament or two to our collection. When we take them carefully from the box, they are a review of our life together.

I love the smell the tree radiates. It is a reminder of celebrations of Christmas past.

We have learned to make a fresh cut at the bottom of the trunk as soon as we bring it home on the day before Thanksgiving. Then the tree stands in a bucket of water in the garage - until it is time to bring it in and decorate it. This access to water - even if it freezes over - is the secret to keeping it fresh and preventing it from shedding its needles. Sometimes the tree even puts out new pale green tips on the ends of its branches.

After New Years Day, the tree is stripped of its lights and decorations. It is hauled outside and tied to the edge of the deck - next to the bird feeders. 

The birds are overjoyed at this shelter that suddenly has sprung up in their midst. They fly in and out of its branches all winter long, as they come to feed on seeds and suet we put out for them.

We call our balsam tree the gift that keeps on giving!

THAT ROSALYNN . . . SHE HIT THE NAIL ON THE HEAD !

Gosh . . . it seems a long time ago.  I was volunteering for the Minneapolis Habitat for Humanity and had been asked to introduce Rosalynn Carter to the crowd that had gathered. The pastor who had been asked to give the opening prayer had failed to show up on time and so I had been asked to do that as well. It seemed so "impromptu" and it actually was. Both of the Carters have been my heroes ever since the first Habitat home was built near Americus, Georgia.

Both Rosalynn and I were up at the podium and after the prayer, it was time to introduce her. (I think I was a little nervous.)

I had been given a two-foot long 2X4, a hammer, and a 16 penny nail to be part of the event. The plan was to dramatize the beginning of still another Habitat home on the lot just adjacent to where the ceremony was taking place.

Rosalynn was to pound the nail into the board.    So far, so good.

She kneeled down by the 2X4. With the hammer, she just got the nail started . . . and then looked up at me.  Then she said  "I bet that you don't think I can do this, right?"  (The look on my face must have belied the worry that she would slip and hit her finger.) Don't remember what my reply was . . . but the  crowd laughed.

Then, she deftly whacked in the nail with just three blows.  The crowd cheered. Rosalynn went on to say that she and Jimmie had worked on ____ (number to be filled) Habitat homes so far !

I so wish that I had thought to keep the board with the nail in it.

A Perfect World? B o r i n g . . . !

When I was a child, I noticed some major discrepancies in the Genesis story about Eden. I was old enough to know things died - but if Eden was the perfect world, did that mean there was no death?

That's where things got sticky in my child's mind. Either nothing new was birthed or major over- population problems would occur very quickly. Imagine a world overrun with squirrels - or rabbits!

So I concluded adults didn't know what they were talking about with this Eden-business.

By the time I became an adult I learned that stories were not always to be taken literally. Stories are not intended to be video clips of reality, but serve other purposes. They are a means to convey truths that need to be passed on from generation to generation.

Later, I learned that even the gold standard of memoir, in which people's account of some facet in their life, does not reflect some sort of "accurate" accounting. Think about your own life when you were twenty or thirty and how your story has changed over time as you changed while maturing.

As for perfection, we use the term as loosely as we use the term love - like saying I love your outfit or I love springtime. I even question whether anything can be perfect. Instead, I am a fan of uniqueness and the artistry of individual differences - not perfection.

Those apples in Genesis? Were there no apple-worms in Eden? Hold that fruit in your hand and wax eloquent about its perfection. But if you look more closely, no apple is identical to the next apple. So what does that say about perfection? Apple growers and horticulturists are continually tinkering with apples to generate more varieties with different characteristics. So what does that say about the existence of a perfect apple?

When it comes to us humans, imagine being married to a perfect person. Someone who never makes mistakes and knows all the answers.  I remember sitting in an East Indian restaurant in Santa Fe, where a man at the next table was "explaining" Indian cuisine to his wife. It was pretty humorous, because it was obvious he had never eaten Indian food. 

He concluded with a question: why would anyone travel all the way from India to open a restaurant in New Mexico? Of course, he had the answer to his own question. And his wife took it all in as if he was the authority to end all authority. Never occurred to either of them to ask the restaurant's various staff what motivated them to move to Santa Fe!  

Speaking of New Mexico, I once read an article in a very boring, but highly regarded psychology journal. I have long since forgotten what the article was about. But if I close my eyes, I can see the author's use of an example three paragraphs down from the beginning of the article. 

Here is his example. It has been my guide for a non-perfect life ever since I read it: 

   

       A man entered a shop. He was looking for one of those belts common in this part of the 

       country - silver-tooled ovals linked to each other, with turquoise embedded in each oval.  

       The  shopkeeper watched the man examine the merchandise. The man was obviously 

       puzzled. He asked the shopkeeper why the belts on the right side of the store cost so much 

       more than the belts hanging on the left side of the store. The man said "why are each 

       oval of the belts on the left side of the store perfect, while those on the right side flawed. 

       But the imperfect ones on the right cost a great deal more?"

       The shopkeeper smiled at him. "The ones on the right were individually crafted by artists. 

       While the ones on the right are factory-produced."

                        I am a work of art, not something produced in a factory!

WHERE?

Where does

        mountain water flow?

               To the sea?

                       To a bottomless

                             pit?

               To nurture life-giving 

                             crops?

Into our souls

         to refresh?

              Flow

                    carefully, 

                             water.

Always Something New!

After a recent snowfall, the trees were laden white with the fresh, clean snow. With every slight breeze, puffs would settle out like big globs of froth - on their way down to the ground.

The bird feeders over the deck were a busy place. Little birds flew into the balsam Christmas tree we placed outside in early January. They checked out what looked good to fill themselves with energy for cold days. Resident grey squirrels showed up to eat seeds that had fallen from the feeders - and they enjoyed a long drink of water from the pan that held a heater element, which keeps the water in it from freezing.

Today, it was the usual crowd - sparrows, an occasional cardinal and a saucy blue jay, nuthatches, chickadees, and juncos. Downy and hairy woodpeckers took turns at the two suet feeders.

It would be easy to say same-old same-old. The same flocks filling themselves with birdseed.

But this daily activity calls me to pay attention.

As I gazed out the window, I saw something I'd never seen before. A blue jay headed for one of the suet feeders and precariously balanced itself. With its long beak, it acted like a woodpecker, pulling bits of suet from the feeder.

If I had given the congregation of birds a cursory glance, I would never have seen this blue jay supplementing his diet with suet - and playing the role of a woodpecker - as though it had studied the smaller woodpeckers who had been coming all winter. His audition as woodpecker was a pretty floppy act and not likely to earn it an Oscar. Several times it almost fell off - like a clown entertaining its human audience of one.

But in the cold, a bird does what it needs to, in order to stay healthy rather than hungry.

Today, what have you paid attention to that brought a smile to your face?

(Part II) LITTLE NORELCO'S ESCAPADE: A JOURNEY OF DISCOVERY

                             (What follows, occurred within just a matter of minutes.)

O'Cleron relaxed and simply allowed the journey of exploration to unfold. First came a sense of skimming across endless furrows, first one and then another. Then he skidded directly into a patch of stubble that covered the terrain for what seemed like forever. O'Cleron had to be oh-so-careful as to not disappear into a gaping hole that presented itself almost too late!

Then a flapping protuberance had to be negotiated carefully (a second one was to appear later!) Whoever heard of such a trip!

Then O'Cleron carefully nosed his way toward a looming pinnacle that was just ahead. One or two (maybe three) stiff hairs stuck straight out from its somewhat oily surface. Moving closer to what he thought to be along the front range of the pinnacle, he saw two, small, closely positioned cave entrances. Peering into one of them, O'Cleron wisely made the decision not to go spelunking. More than one tantalizingly small, gooey, roughly spheroid balls were lodged just within each dark cavern.

                                                           O'Cleron moved on.

Positioned on either side of the pinnacle, two clear, azure-blue pools came into view - each one was protected by a bushy, overhanging brow. Careful not to become entangled in the fringe-like barriers, he masterfully avoided stepping into the pools. One of the pools suddenly disappeared, but only momentarily. (For an instant, O'Cleron wondered if he had only imagined it.) Presently, the other pool was gone in a blink . . . then reappeared like magic. What an amazing world!

                                                                        * * * *

The time came for O'Cleron's exploratory escapade to come to a close. He felt his battery power was waning to a low ebb. He carefully nosed his way into a seemingly wide-open space, free of bristles and caves. Pausing for just a moment and being careful not to succumb to an urge to lie down and rest, O'Cleron just knew he had to return to his drawer of safety.

Upon his return, he found the drawer still ajar, as if waiting for his arrival. It was just open enough for Little Norelco (oops! O'Cleron ) to regain the protection of his cozy abode.

                      O'Cleron had a dream that night . . .  a voice echoed through an empty room . . .


                                                      Oh Norelco, 

                        so much remains ripe for exploration. 

                                       You are the one! 

(Part 2) LITTLE NORELCO'S ESCAPADE: A JOURNEY OF DISCOVERY

(At the end of Part 1, we had left O'Cleron as he "felt himself hoisted to a considerable height and then turned on.")

      What follows, occurred just within a matter of minutes. O'Cleron relaxed and simply allowed the journey of exploration to unfold.

First came a sense of skimming across furrows, first one and then another. (These furrows were not what one would call deep crevasses.) After transversing the furrows, he skidded directly into a patch of stubble that covered the terrain for what seemed to be forever. O'Cleron had to be oh-so-careful as to not disappear into a gaping hole that presented itself. It was almost too late but he managed to avoid falling in.

Then a flapping protuberance had to be negotiated carefully ( a second one was to appear later!) Whoever heard of such a trip! Then O'Cleron cautiously nosed his way toward a pinnacle that presented itself just ahead. One or two (maybe three) stiff hairs stuck straight out from its somewhat oily surface. Moving to what he thought to be the front range of the pinnacle, his eyes fell on two, small, closely positioned cave openings. Peering into one of them, O'Cleron wisely made the decision not to go spelunking. More than one small, tantalizing gooey, roughly spheroid balls were lodged just inside the entrance of each dark cavern.

                                                        O'Cleron moved on.

Positioned on either side of the looming pinnacle, two clear, azure-blue pools presently came into sight. Each was protected by a bushy brow. Careful not to become entangled in the fringe-like barriers, O'Cleron masterfully avoided stepping into the pools. Then, one pool disappeared, but only momentarily. For an instant, he wondered if he had merely imagined it all. Then, in a blink, the other was gone . . . then it too reappeared like magic. What an amazing world!

The the came for O'Cleron's exploratory adventures to come to a close. He knew his battery wouldn't last forever. He carefully nosed his way into a seemingly wide-open space, free of bristles and caves. He paused for just a moment being careful not to succumb to an urge to lie down somewhere and rest.  O'Cleron knew he had to return to his drawer of safety. He found the drawer still open and just wide enough for Little Norelco (oops! O'Cleron) to regain the protection of his cozy abode.

                  O'Cleron dreamed that night . . . a voice echoed throughout an empty room . . .

 
                                                                Oh Norelco,

                                             so much remains ripe for exploration.

                                                            You are the one!

LITTLE NORELCO'S ESCAPADE: A JOURNEY OF DISCOVERY (Part One)

I recently bought a brand-new Philips Norelco Aquatec electric shaver. It is a beautiful black, silver, and red machine The old one just finally gave up. This new one has a "life-time guarantee" which doesn't mean much, since I have traveled a little over seventy-four times around the sun. (However, I'll take the guarantee as a vote of confidence.)

The story I wish to tell is one of discovery through the "eyes" of my Norelco shaver. I should explain that, throughout what you might choose to read, the word O'Cleron appears. O'Cleron is simply Norelco spelled backward.

But, I must move on and tell the tale, for as Eugene Ionesco (1909-1994) is quoted to have said: Over-explanation separates us from astonishment. What follows is a strangely intimate, yet astonishing account.                And- it recurs often . . .

* * * * * *   Part One

Little Norelco realized he simply needed to disguise his name. There was no question about it. His ensuing journey has to be one that absolutely no one would ever discover that he had undertaken.

              Hence, it came to be that Little Norelco, took on a new name.
                                        He renamed himself.
                                                O'Cleron.

His escapade would require a healthy dose of spizzerinctum to be truly successful. And spizzerinctum was something O'Cleron possessed from early on. His creators took note of his guts, nerve, backbone, verve, and zeal from the very first. In fact, he was almost assigned the name Spizzer when he came to life on the factory assembly-line.

              But now . . . to O'Cleron's journey of his lifetime.

With his sleek form newly re-charged, he was more than ready for whatever might lay ahead. And, O'Cleron was up to it. How his naive curiosity would come to serve him, is just part of the story.

              Thus begins the journey of his lifetime.

With his brand-new, fully-charged battery -  O'Cleron whirred and whirred inside the closed drawer. The vibration was too much . . . and the drawer opened just enough for Little Norelco (oops! O'Cleron)
to jump out and tumble to the floor. Lucky that a soft rug broke his fall. As luck would have it, he unfortunately fell directly on his switch and his whirring came to an end. But, not before the sound attracted the curiosity of Pixie and Maggie, the resident cats.

Initially, the cats tentatively pawed away at their newly found toy. Then one of them gave it an exploratory nip. The bite was just hard enough and at the precise point, to trigger O'Cleron back to life! That spooked the felines and they skittered away and hid. All the buzzing attracted one of the two-legged inhabitants who came, retrieved O'Cleron, and turned him off.

Peace and quiet again . . . but not for long.

O'Cleron felt himself being taken out of the drawer, hoisted to a considerable height, and then . . . turned on.

                   His journey continued!                  (end of Part I)

Minnesota Fat Cat Discusses the State of the World

Minnesota Fat Cat writes his yearly column: (He is not quite as cranky as last year, enduring the polar vortex that was stuck above his burrow.)

It has been a year since I last wrote to you, my trusted and sometimes ornery friends. Yes, I know - today is the day groundhogs across the country are  supposed to predict when spring will arrive by emerging from our cozy dens and checking out our shadows. Alas, with climate change altering the weather map so drastically, any predicting that we might attempt is about as accurate as those meteorologists predicting a New York City blizzard.

Yesterday as is my custom, I watched the Super Bowl. The big controversy this year was over the inflation level of the footballs. Deflategate, I'd call it. Some folks don't seem to have anything better to do than to mess with the footballs - or spend endless media time discussing the whole scandal - which was more exciting than the game itself. Next year, maybe the focus will be on the size of big toes used for the kickoff. How trivial can you get!

Nevertheless, I gathered together my favorite snacks and settled in before my television. Eating seems to be the most cogent ritual associated with the big event. A groundhog can't eat enough unhealthy food on such occasions.  Same to all of you who did likewise on Sunday.

Fortunately, only humans have been the target for this obesity scam. Eat this, don't eat this, eat that, don't eat that. Who can keep track of the latest edict anyway. I mean, we groundhogs have to keep our weight up so that we look all sweet and cuddly. Who would listen to a scrawny groundhog on the 2nd of February? It would just set off another media blitz. Which then would distract from the importance of shadow-observing and non-observing.

Actually, this winter here has not given us  much to complain about. Video clips of the Northeastern part of the country have been another story. There, driving has become like dominos.  Who can create the largest number of cars, SUVs, trucks, and semis piled up and obstructing the traffic flow? If humans were as smart as I am, they wouldn't be out driving around in such bad road conditions. (I just park my Maserati for the winter's duration. Saves getting salt in its underparts). They'd stay home, watch PBS, or do sudoku and crossroad puzzles. Or settle in with a good book.

And they wouldn't get measles form those unvaccinated children either. If you get lonely, send out a flurry of emails and you will be connected - just like that. Even to my cousin Phil in Pennsylvania.

Speaking of books, lately I have been reading about rivers. A fascinating topic for groundhogs since we tend to avoid rivers like the plague.

Speaking of climate change, listening to climate change denying  rallies is like watching the Ku Klux Klan in its heyday. Speakers (and floods of printed media) prey on people's fears. No, not fears of some apocalyptic world that has become inhabitable. Fears of unemployment have been the ticket. Want to scare someone - preach the loss of jobs.

And fears of government regulation. Even a groundhog such as me can see the fallacy in their arguments. It is a given that energy is needed to run the world - why not try sunshine and all those other clean sources? I say, keep your nose to the ground and you can't go wrong. And don't get into this fracking business - a terrible means of destruction of the underground.

And all that gun violence? Believe you me, that's another thing to pay attention to. I don't take kindly to all those guns. Shooting up schools is not fair play - and the solution does not lie in issuing every kid a gun. Nor is hunting groundhogs for sport fair play. Horrors!

As for all the warring and hate directed at anyone who is different. What kind of world would it be if there were only groundhogs. No coyotes or wolves. No squirrels or rabbits. No deer or elk. And for that matter, no humans.

I rest my case.