Last Saturday, the snow-days count was 12 days with measurable snowfall out of 20 days. I had begun to wonder if my internal chronometer had gotten stuck and I was repeating the same day over and over - rather than moving on to the next day in orderly fashion. And our local weather guru says that the groundhog was wrong - no early spring this year (should have sent him my poem that I put on this site early February about Minnesota Fat Cat, our local groundhog prognosticator).
It's hard to complain about snow when we are still suffering drought conditions. But it is a bit hard on one's psyche. Friends and family alike are craving spring. Some people are having spring fantasies of gardening. At least no one that I know has moved from fantasies into hallucinations!
Around here, cabin fever doesn't usually strike until March. I'm not sure if it was the mild winter last year or one more reaction to the uncertainty in the economy and global threats. The need for something stable in our lives is a universal human condition. Perhaps even for the rest of the inhabitants of our earth.
To soothe my own need for daffodils and sandal-wearing weather, I have been re-reading some of my poetry. Here is a sample.
late March snowstorm
snow-burdened pine branches
bent low, move slowly with wind gusts
their tips trace delicate patterns
on blankets of snow covering over
still frozen earth
like white-haired old women's bodies
weighed down and waiting
for springtime resurrections
Or yearning for those first rains, washing away winter grime and signaling it is time for spring to come forth in her full glory.
listen . . . listen
silence broken by gusting wind
whirling dry leaves rush against walls
naked trees dance every which way
individual raindrops at first hesitant
begin to beat on windows, increase their tattoo
until they merge into a steady downpour
my rain-obscured vision forms
a cocoon around my body
as rain washes away remains of snow
the waiting ground drenched
where buried deep in dark loam
a multitude of yellow daffodils rests
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Monday, February 25, 2013
Basic Human Behavior 101
Why do men shave their heads and then grow beards? The first question is why shave your head at all. Do men (or women) think it is sexy to be bald? It would seem to me, never having shaved my head, that such artificially induced baldness creates a maintenance issue. I've always associated lack of hair with a man growing older - a field mark in birdwatchers' language.
The dreaded five o'clock shadow became fashionable some years ago rather than an indicator of "it's Saturday and I don't have to go to work today." Leaving several days stubble apparently became to be considered macho. Now, will shaved heads pass through the same phase and it become the thing to sport five o'clock shadows? Bringing back memories of the 50's heine haircuts, later dubbed crew cuts (and what crew referred to was always a mystery to me).
Who ever said it was women who spend more time than men fussing over their hair? Now, there are even a number of products for men to use in order to maintain their beards.
Why do women shave their legs and under their arms? There is an old joke that hair on women's legs ceases to grow as they age, relieving women of razor-burn and the need to continually inspect their legs. The reason for this phenomenon is so that women can spend more time plucking tiny little facial hairs, which increase in numbers correlated with a women's chronological age. (That is the joke).
Seriously, why is hair on one's legs not socially acceptable? And under the arms. Feminists during the 80's declared the practice more evidence of male domination and stopped the practice. However, I never noticed any men monitoring my daily shower (the place where women keep their legs hair-free) demanding it was razor-time if I was to remain respectable.
Why do men wear neckties? Especially when many men would rather not. Yes, some men do look quite dashing with that colored, very expensive, fabric tied around their neck. Women drape scarves around their necks in various and sundry ways - but they never tie them tight around their Adam's apple. Whereas many men in ties look quite uncomfortable.
And I always think neckties are a handy device to seize hold of in order to threaten a man. Why would men leave themselves so vulnerable?
Why do women wear high heels? Yes, I know the rationalization that heels make the lower legs look slimmer. But if that was the case, a woman would never wear heels while wearing slacks and one's legs are not visible.
Heels are a walking disaster (poor pun here). They leave a woman vulnerable to twisting an ankle and unable to run fast if pursued. And try walking across a grate in heels - such fun when a heel gets caught in one of the holes.
Additionally, protocol insists that a woman's heels are never to make her height greater than her male partner - a rule some tall women take pleasure in violating. Somehow, women are supposed to be shorter than men - a throwback to days when male egos were considered fragile and tall women needed to be sufficiently submissive.
Pity the poor short man and all the humor about little Napoleons and the like. I remember one occasion in a Paris hotel with a tiny elevator the size of a phone booth - and a very short French man who kept insisting on riding the elevator with me. If I had allowed him to do so, his face would have been snuggled right between my two breasts (a word we didn't used to be able to use in print). I won the argument, all conducted in his French and my American English - and universal sign language.He had to wait until the elevator returned for him. I did notice he was not interested in the elevator when shorter women were using it . . .
Perhaps there is something to the idea that size (height) gives one an advantage.
Why do men slightly older than middle-age buy power cars? Including convertibles. This question is more easily understood, though I have read no research verifying such assumptions. That is - men just past their prime, at the same time that their earnings have reached a peak, are able to afford such cars - as an outward sign of male virility.
Is this car-buying behavior related to men at this age, who divorce their long-suffering wives and replace them with blond bombshells who are 20-30 years younger?
I wonder if buying a power car is a variation of an older phenomenon. When I was young, big men tended to buy small cars while small men bought big cars. It was always quite interesting to see a six-foot four man fold himself carefully into a Volkswagen Beetle.
Why do women dress to attract men? This behavior echos the reverse behavior for many animals. In the animal and bird world (insects as well), it is the male who is the colorful one and who dances around the often drab females, hoping to be the lucky one she chooses. Somewhere in the evolutionary trajectory, women become the attractors and the "dancers," hoping a man might choose her.
Frankly, I'd be suspicious of any relationship based on outward appearance!
The dreaded five o'clock shadow became fashionable some years ago rather than an indicator of "it's Saturday and I don't have to go to work today." Leaving several days stubble apparently became to be considered macho. Now, will shaved heads pass through the same phase and it become the thing to sport five o'clock shadows? Bringing back memories of the 50's heine haircuts, later dubbed crew cuts (and what crew referred to was always a mystery to me).
Who ever said it was women who spend more time than men fussing over their hair? Now, there are even a number of products for men to use in order to maintain their beards.
Why do women shave their legs and under their arms? There is an old joke that hair on women's legs ceases to grow as they age, relieving women of razor-burn and the need to continually inspect their legs. The reason for this phenomenon is so that women can spend more time plucking tiny little facial hairs, which increase in numbers correlated with a women's chronological age. (That is the joke).
Seriously, why is hair on one's legs not socially acceptable? And under the arms. Feminists during the 80's declared the practice more evidence of male domination and stopped the practice. However, I never noticed any men monitoring my daily shower (the place where women keep their legs hair-free) demanding it was razor-time if I was to remain respectable.
Why do men wear neckties? Especially when many men would rather not. Yes, some men do look quite dashing with that colored, very expensive, fabric tied around their neck. Women drape scarves around their necks in various and sundry ways - but they never tie them tight around their Adam's apple. Whereas many men in ties look quite uncomfortable.
And I always think neckties are a handy device to seize hold of in order to threaten a man. Why would men leave themselves so vulnerable?
Why do women wear high heels? Yes, I know the rationalization that heels make the lower legs look slimmer. But if that was the case, a woman would never wear heels while wearing slacks and one's legs are not visible.
Heels are a walking disaster (poor pun here). They leave a woman vulnerable to twisting an ankle and unable to run fast if pursued. And try walking across a grate in heels - such fun when a heel gets caught in one of the holes.
Additionally, protocol insists that a woman's heels are never to make her height greater than her male partner - a rule some tall women take pleasure in violating. Somehow, women are supposed to be shorter than men - a throwback to days when male egos were considered fragile and tall women needed to be sufficiently submissive.
Pity the poor short man and all the humor about little Napoleons and the like. I remember one occasion in a Paris hotel with a tiny elevator the size of a phone booth - and a very short French man who kept insisting on riding the elevator with me. If I had allowed him to do so, his face would have been snuggled right between my two breasts (a word we didn't used to be able to use in print). I won the argument, all conducted in his French and my American English - and universal sign language.He had to wait until the elevator returned for him. I did notice he was not interested in the elevator when shorter women were using it . . .
Perhaps there is something to the idea that size (height) gives one an advantage.
Why do men slightly older than middle-age buy power cars? Including convertibles. This question is more easily understood, though I have read no research verifying such assumptions. That is - men just past their prime, at the same time that their earnings have reached a peak, are able to afford such cars - as an outward sign of male virility.
Is this car-buying behavior related to men at this age, who divorce their long-suffering wives and replace them with blond bombshells who are 20-30 years younger?
I wonder if buying a power car is a variation of an older phenomenon. When I was young, big men tended to buy small cars while small men bought big cars. It was always quite interesting to see a six-foot four man fold himself carefully into a Volkswagen Beetle.
Why do women dress to attract men? This behavior echos the reverse behavior for many animals. In the animal and bird world (insects as well), it is the male who is the colorful one and who dances around the often drab females, hoping to be the lucky one she chooses. Somewhere in the evolutionary trajectory, women become the attractors and the "dancers," hoping a man might choose her.
Frankly, I'd be suspicious of any relationship based on outward appearance!
* * * * *
All of this observation of people around me is what happens
when it continues to snow outside.
Too much snow repeatedly falling day after day
(and cancelled appointments and slippery roads threatening cars)
addles one's mind.
However, the questions are reasonable ones about
the irrationality of human behavior, which in turn
provide amusement for the observant.
Friday, February 22, 2013
THE END IS NOT IN SIGHT
At first
we didn't think much
about water.
Water didn't matter . . .
always more in the well.
On soaring mountain heights
glaciers hide.
Their pure, crystalline ice
melts. a
rivulet
is born -
alpine streams
merge to descend
from unseen heights
fractured water hisses and
foams, then misty ribbons unite to
momentarily fan over rocks
and thunder into deep fjords over
which eagles soar
At first
we didn't think much
about water
Water didn't matter . . .
always more in the well.
we didn't think much
about water.
Water didn't matter . . .
always more in the well.
On soaring mountain heights
glaciers hide.
Their pure, crystalline ice
melts. a
rivulet
is born -
alpine streams
merge to descend
from unseen heights
fractured water hisses and
foams, then misty ribbons unite to
momentarily fan over rocks
and thunder into deep fjords over
which eagles soar
At first
we didn't think much
about water
Water didn't matter . . .
always more in the well.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Pope's Departure: Indications of a Cultural Massive Shift
Earlier this week, the resignation of Pope Benedict caught our attention. Speculation now swirls around the meaning of his action, as well as what the next Pope will bring to the Roman Catholic Church.
Setting aside the theological and ecclesiological issues, his resignation is an indicator of major changes in our global community. He cites that his mind and body are no longer up to rigors of "the job."
Think back fifty or hundred years.Consider what the daily schedule of a Pope might have been. The contrast with today is immense. And I am not referring to any issues that the church faced at that time or what involvement a Pope might have had in those issues.
When I was a child, people got old and died. But the definition of old, even in a child's mind, is not the same as today's definition. Living to a ripe old age is a contemporary phenomena in which being 90 or a 100 years old has become more common. For some, these extended years are a gift. For others - and their families - these years are a painful burden physically and emotionally. Mind-deteriorating diseases such as Alzheimer's are an increasing possibility for all of us. As is a life of hours spent waiting in clinics and hospitals, where elderly people seek relief from pain and chronic conditions.
Pope Benedict and his immediate predecessor are illustrations of what confronts all of us as we think about our own futures. My grandparents and great grandparents would have had difficulty understanding the concept of health care directives and making choices as we age about what treatments we wish or do not wish . Death for them was something that happened in due course - and they might have believed making such choices would be "playing God.."
But Pope Benedict's resignation signifies something even greater about changes that have swept our world. In the past, the job description of Pope did not include extensive global travel. Popes did not go gallivanting around the world, enduring the physical demands of such travel. Now, a Pope needs considerable physical stamina. Clem and I travel a lot - and have a way to go before we reach Benedict's age. When I look at the travel itineraries of these last two Pope's, I doubt I could deliver.
The reality is that the globe has "shrunk" - not literally, but it could as well have done so. We listen to events as they happen. I knew Monday night at 10 pm that North Korea had exploded a nuclear test bomb. I watched the State of Union address last night - as it unfolded. People who read this blog are from far away places such as Russia and India as well as close to home. And if I twittered (I don't, so don't even try), I would enter into an unimaginable (to me) flow of conversation. Even Benedict tweeted.
Sometimes all this change reminds me of being a parent. Parents often are several years behind their children's functional ages - seeing their children as much younger than they actually are, while children believe they are grown-ups still in their mid-teens and chafe at any restrictions. It takes parents time to catch up. It is the same with our world - most of us still live in a past version, even as we use current technological tools. Then a Pope resigns because his mind and body are no longer up to the demands of the job. And we sit up and take notice at this unprecedented act.
Setting aside the theological and ecclesiological issues, his resignation is an indicator of major changes in our global community. He cites that his mind and body are no longer up to rigors of "the job."
Think back fifty or hundred years.Consider what the daily schedule of a Pope might have been. The contrast with today is immense. And I am not referring to any issues that the church faced at that time or what involvement a Pope might have had in those issues.
When I was a child, people got old and died. But the definition of old, even in a child's mind, is not the same as today's definition. Living to a ripe old age is a contemporary phenomena in which being 90 or a 100 years old has become more common. For some, these extended years are a gift. For others - and their families - these years are a painful burden physically and emotionally. Mind-deteriorating diseases such as Alzheimer's are an increasing possibility for all of us. As is a life of hours spent waiting in clinics and hospitals, where elderly people seek relief from pain and chronic conditions.
Pope Benedict and his immediate predecessor are illustrations of what confronts all of us as we think about our own futures. My grandparents and great grandparents would have had difficulty understanding the concept of health care directives and making choices as we age about what treatments we wish or do not wish . Death for them was something that happened in due course - and they might have believed making such choices would be "playing God.."
But Pope Benedict's resignation signifies something even greater about changes that have swept our world. In the past, the job description of Pope did not include extensive global travel. Popes did not go gallivanting around the world, enduring the physical demands of such travel. Now, a Pope needs considerable physical stamina. Clem and I travel a lot - and have a way to go before we reach Benedict's age. When I look at the travel itineraries of these last two Pope's, I doubt I could deliver.
The reality is that the globe has "shrunk" - not literally, but it could as well have done so. We listen to events as they happen. I knew Monday night at 10 pm that North Korea had exploded a nuclear test bomb. I watched the State of Union address last night - as it unfolded. People who read this blog are from far away places such as Russia and India as well as close to home. And if I twittered (I don't, so don't even try), I would enter into an unimaginable (to me) flow of conversation. Even Benedict tweeted.
Sometimes all this change reminds me of being a parent. Parents often are several years behind their children's functional ages - seeing their children as much younger than they actually are, while children believe they are grown-ups still in their mid-teens and chafe at any restrictions. It takes parents time to catch up. It is the same with our world - most of us still live in a past version, even as we use current technological tools. Then a Pope resigns because his mind and body are no longer up to the demands of the job. And we sit up and take notice at this unprecedented act.
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Poet's Window Panes
anthologies are a gift
anthologies are a gift
multi-paned windows, each one
an opening into a poet's soul
each pane frames inner wordless images
in a search for forms to express
the essence of some meaning
all these poems look outward at the world
some face south - or east, west, or north
each one so different from another
whether you claim to be a poet
or not, one pane boundaries poems
that belong just to you,
where does your poet's pane take you -
reflecting your soul in moonlight or
bouncing off the glare of bright sun?
with a new moon's absence of light
and your pane grows dark
where does your poem go?
close your eyes, pivot in place
perhaps another pane
will welcome you
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Minnesota Fat Cat Demands An Explanation!
Minnesota Fat Cat stuck his head out of his hole. It had been hard to maintain an opening large enough to accommodate his considerable body, what with all the recent freezing weather. But he knew his duty and was determined to deliver.
Wriggling himself out of the hole, there was no question. More winter ahead. His shadow was crystal clear, outlined on the fresh snow. He chatted for a few minutes with a couple of squirrels out foraging for food. They agreed with Fat Cat about his weather prognostication. Shaking their heads, the squirrels moved on. They were quite tired of the cold and were discussing a possible Carribean cruise.
Fat Cat descended back into his snug quarters and turned on the TV.
WHAT! His East Coast cousins must have been drinking too much lately and it wasn't Boston tea.
Fat Cat pulled out his smart phone and texted Punxsutawney Phil. His hypothesis was correct - Phil obviously had downed a few too many. (Wanting winter to be over can do that to a ground hog). Fat Cat then dialed up Staten Island Chuck. At least Chuck was coherent. But Chuck declared his shadow had gone to the Bahamas last week for some badly needed sunshine and warmth, invalidating his promise of springtime soon on the way.
Fat Cat settled back into his sagging couch and ate another handful of buttered popcorn. Minnesotans were depending on him to be accurate. Everything from spring garden-planting to vacations in Arizona depended upon his accurate prediction.
After some deep thought and three dark chocolate bars (ground hogs are unlike dogs and cats - chocolate gives them longer lives, not chocolate poisoning). Fat Cat eased his bulk up and checked airline schedules on his computer. He certainly needed to do something about this situation.
He had heard that everything important happens in Washington DC. He bought a ticket in business class, packed light, and breezed through the TSA check. He would investigate the contradicting shadow-sightings - as every responsible citizen of this fair land is called to do when they think something is out of whack.
My goodness! It IS big! Fat Cat said as he stood at the bootom of the steps of the Rayburn Office building, where all the Representatives do their important work. He hustled up the steps and marched down long corridors and up an elevator or two, searching for the office of Keith Ellison. Keith would give him some straight answers. He knocked on the door, then pounded on it. A Security Guard told him to quiet down - that it was Saturday and no one worked on Saturday.
The idea surprised Fat Cat. He thought running the government meant working hard seven days a week.
After all, the whole world depended on the United States. He decided to try Senators Al Franken and Amy Klobuchar. He knew that they were both persons of great integrity. However, he had no luck finding either of them or any of their staff.
Since the Senators enjoyed a long tradition of delicious bean soup, he felt a warm bowlful would hit the spot - and his stomach, which was grumbling. Maybe that's where some of the Senators were.
Fat Cat was right. Although the cafeteria was almost empty, Senators Lindsey Graham. Orrin Hatch, and John McCain were huddled over a table deep in conversation. They were haggling over who should be the Secretary of Defense.
Figuring he would not get straight answers from any of them, he looked around the room and spied Senator Mitch McConnell sitting at a table all by himself - and looking very lonely. Fat Cat thought to himself Just the person I need to talk to. I've seen him on TV a lot. A very important and powerful person indeed! And maybe he wouldn't look so down-in-the-mouth if he has something important to address.
Fat Cat hurried over and stood by the Senator. Clearing his throat several times, he stated that he had an important matter to discuss. McConnell looked up. Fat Cat explained the situation to him - that there had been a great discrepancy in shadow-sightings. Senator McConnell muttered to himself, another nut to distract me from really important things, such as investigating that tornado that missed Kentucky and threw cars up in the air on the freeway in Georgia last week. The Senator said he knew just who Fat Cat should talk to and hurried across the room. Fat Cat had to work to keep up to him.
This is just the man you want to talk to. Senator Inhofe is very interested in weather phenomena. Minnesota Fat Cat felt unease growing inside of him. Searching his memory, he remembered that Senator Inhofe was the legislator who believed that climate change was a conspiracy. And since this serious business of ground hogs seeing or not seeing their shadows was real and not some hoax, Fat Cat mumbled something about pressing business elsewhere and waddled across the cafeteria as fast as he could move his furry body.
A congressional investigation by this Senator was the last thing that was needed! On the flight back home, Fat Cat continued to think more about what he could do. With Phil partying away and Chuck's shadow out of the country, causing potential havoc in the Bahamas, Fat Cat knew he needed to consult with a person with real expertise.
As the plane taxied up to the terminal, Fat Cat had his answer. He would call Paul Douglas, the Weatherman. Paul knew so much about this new normal weather-predicting. Fat Cat was certain he now had the right person. And he wouldn't have even needed to fly to Washington with the spare rations provided on the plane. A little bag of peanuts, for heaven's sake. Not enough to sustain a squirrel . . . much less a ground hog!
Wriggling himself out of the hole, there was no question. More winter ahead. His shadow was crystal clear, outlined on the fresh snow. He chatted for a few minutes with a couple of squirrels out foraging for food. They agreed with Fat Cat about his weather prognostication. Shaking their heads, the squirrels moved on. They were quite tired of the cold and were discussing a possible Carribean cruise.
Fat Cat descended back into his snug quarters and turned on the TV.
WHAT! His East Coast cousins must have been drinking too much lately and it wasn't Boston tea.
Fat Cat pulled out his smart phone and texted Punxsutawney Phil. His hypothesis was correct - Phil obviously had downed a few too many. (Wanting winter to be over can do that to a ground hog). Fat Cat then dialed up Staten Island Chuck. At least Chuck was coherent. But Chuck declared his shadow had gone to the Bahamas last week for some badly needed sunshine and warmth, invalidating his promise of springtime soon on the way.
Fat Cat settled back into his sagging couch and ate another handful of buttered popcorn. Minnesotans were depending on him to be accurate. Everything from spring garden-planting to vacations in Arizona depended upon his accurate prediction.
After some deep thought and three dark chocolate bars (ground hogs are unlike dogs and cats - chocolate gives them longer lives, not chocolate poisoning). Fat Cat eased his bulk up and checked airline schedules on his computer. He certainly needed to do something about this situation.
He had heard that everything important happens in Washington DC. He bought a ticket in business class, packed light, and breezed through the TSA check. He would investigate the contradicting shadow-sightings - as every responsible citizen of this fair land is called to do when they think something is out of whack.
My goodness! It IS big! Fat Cat said as he stood at the bootom of the steps of the Rayburn Office building, where all the Representatives do their important work. He hustled up the steps and marched down long corridors and up an elevator or two, searching for the office of Keith Ellison. Keith would give him some straight answers. He knocked on the door, then pounded on it. A Security Guard told him to quiet down - that it was Saturday and no one worked on Saturday.
The idea surprised Fat Cat. He thought running the government meant working hard seven days a week.
After all, the whole world depended on the United States. He decided to try Senators Al Franken and Amy Klobuchar. He knew that they were both persons of great integrity. However, he had no luck finding either of them or any of their staff.
Since the Senators enjoyed a long tradition of delicious bean soup, he felt a warm bowlful would hit the spot - and his stomach, which was grumbling. Maybe that's where some of the Senators were.
Fat Cat was right. Although the cafeteria was almost empty, Senators Lindsey Graham. Orrin Hatch, and John McCain were huddled over a table deep in conversation. They were haggling over who should be the Secretary of Defense.
Figuring he would not get straight answers from any of them, he looked around the room and spied Senator Mitch McConnell sitting at a table all by himself - and looking very lonely. Fat Cat thought to himself Just the person I need to talk to. I've seen him on TV a lot. A very important and powerful person indeed! And maybe he wouldn't look so down-in-the-mouth if he has something important to address.
Fat Cat hurried over and stood by the Senator. Clearing his throat several times, he stated that he had an important matter to discuss. McConnell looked up. Fat Cat explained the situation to him - that there had been a great discrepancy in shadow-sightings. Senator McConnell muttered to himself, another nut to distract me from really important things, such as investigating that tornado that missed Kentucky and threw cars up in the air on the freeway in Georgia last week. The Senator said he knew just who Fat Cat should talk to and hurried across the room. Fat Cat had to work to keep up to him.
This is just the man you want to talk to. Senator Inhofe is very interested in weather phenomena. Minnesota Fat Cat felt unease growing inside of him. Searching his memory, he remembered that Senator Inhofe was the legislator who believed that climate change was a conspiracy. And since this serious business of ground hogs seeing or not seeing their shadows was real and not some hoax, Fat Cat mumbled something about pressing business elsewhere and waddled across the cafeteria as fast as he could move his furry body.
A congressional investigation by this Senator was the last thing that was needed! On the flight back home, Fat Cat continued to think more about what he could do. With Phil partying away and Chuck's shadow out of the country, causing potential havoc in the Bahamas, Fat Cat knew he needed to consult with a person with real expertise.
As the plane taxied up to the terminal, Fat Cat had his answer. He would call Paul Douglas, the Weatherman. Paul knew so much about this new normal weather-predicting. Fat Cat was certain he now had the right person. And he wouldn't have even needed to fly to Washington with the spare rations provided on the plane. A little bag of peanuts, for heaven's sake. Not enough to sustain a squirrel . . . much less a ground hog!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)