Saturday, March 31, 2012

Blooms


          It was sometime in the late nineteen seventies that Richard Dawkins published the "Selfish Gene."  Back then I could read without glasses and probably I had gainful employment in the Milk Delivery Industry.  Dawkins work pursued an idea that the closer a person was genetically to another, the more likely they were to behave selflessly toward each other. That way a particular genetic pattern was more likely to produce more of the same.  An idea in keeping with an understanding of evolution and the mechanized  struggle to continue a trend, however horrible or unattractive that trend might be.
 
       A somewhat tragic conclusion, but one which struck the chord our species has struggled with since first we came to an understanding that either we live together to survive, or kill each other to survive.  Since history first was written this understanding has yet to achieve conclusion, which is why so many decide the simpler answer is for earth to belong to the strongest or biggest or wisest or gentlest or whatever other superlative language might have to offer. Which I begin to think is the reason I so venomously dislike the advertizing industry.


Friday, March 30, 2012

Ticks


          March should have been chilly and wet.  Instead we have had just the one rather pathetic Potato Rain, a couple of severe weather outbreaks, that included tornado which destroyed a town some distance to the north and sent mountains of perfectly good topsoil toward the Mississippi River.  Otherwise, ever since faulty wiring was blamed for faster than light neutrinos, it has been ominously warm and increasingly Tick laden. 

        Ticks are Arachnids, and so are Scorpions and Spiders.  Amongst Arachnids on the endangered species list, the Katipo, the Spruce Fir Moss and the Great Raft are all Spiders.  But Eaton's Beggartick, is an endangered member of the Aster family that lives in parts of Massachusetts and on into Canada.  Incidentally, Pussytoes and the Arkansas Dozedaisy are also members of the Aster Family, but they apparently are goodly enough to be nursed.


Soil


          So long as it's not too hot, there is no labor more conducive to calm than turning earth with a shovel.  As rhyme sets its pattern, the mind can wander along a path that permits the extraordinary vegetable.  Perfect in every way.  And I can see where the roots will live.

       As well, when the bed is raked and before it is stamped upon and planted, there is satisfaction in knowing exactly how deep the good soil is. Knowing its color and feel. It's when seeds go in that fret starts. And already there is that bastard Creeping Grass.


Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Gooey-ness


 
        I suggest if there was a love affair, it would place deep in the idea of "means," the understanding that the "means to an end" was an "end in itself."   Which most likely is why language includes words like virtue and honor.  Those sort of things that cannot actually be defined without a subjectivity so intense it should actually be called disbelief.  "Yes," I said, "I told you on Sunday I'm quitting."  And I kept the gloves, because the artist has designs upon them.  Venerable now, they are, with two hundred and ten hours since fresh from their maker.

       Pretty certain that such moments of thought and emotion are rare.  They soon pass into dream world as the "happy-happy" and gooey-ness fades.  Yet if the "means" were an "end in itself," I'd call it a straight line for certain and so would you.  But because these moments of "happy-happy" and gooey-ness are transitory, many are persuaded to look at such a moments as the one I enjoyed at five o'clock this afternoon, and hope again to hand the badge across the counter, on endlessly, everyday until the end of time. So best to let it pass, and by so doing avoid such a circle.


Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Until Bluebirds Flock


         A Virus is described as form that's unable to replicate without a host cell.  In the body of knowledge, a Virus is not considered a "Living Organism."   And this is only because life has a definition that's closely guarded by sentinels of virtue and proper-ness.

        All very well to draw that line between life and non-life, between feeling and un-feeling, between thought and un-thought. And I guess commas and colons and semi-colons have their sentinels too. But tomorrow is Wednesday and at five o'clock I'll be free of mail order retail until Bluebirds flock.


Monday, March 26, 2012

Machines


         From elemental particle to highest primate, it's comforting to argue that we are all cogs in a machine.  But the problem on Sunday is Monday.  And one question to ask could be, what exactly is it the machine does and why.
  
       Safe to say no one has any idea, and those of us who insist otherwise are either lucky or peculiar.  Me, I call myself peculiar.  And I do so because peculiar is a better word than delusional.


Sunday, March 25, 2012

The Pope



        When a particular mind hears the Pope of Rome will be visiting Cuba, and it's first response is to ask whether Fidel Castro is still alive, then it's reasonable to bring the word decrepit into the forefront of that particular mind.  Pretty certain I am almost at the sharp end of the decrepit point, because I cannot remember whether Fidel Castro is alive, but I can remember that Castro was excommunicated by one of the Pope John's in 1962.

       In that year, I was at a boarding school, somewhere amongst the English, where prayers were said  and praise given to the lord at least four times day, and many more times on Sundays.  Prayers and giving praise was serious business with no joy attached to them at all.  An agony of monotone and duty and solemn-ness.   Being young and foreign and still anxious to raid cattle from the Karamojong, I remember suggesting to a school master that I too might be excommunicated. Nor was I remotely interested in heaven, and hell still does sound like more fun.


Saturday, March 24, 2012

1816


        I just wish the cold spell would come, do whatever it has to do and then go away.  This waiting around, peeping at the short trousers, wondering whether they have been through the washing cycle since last time they were worn, grates the nerves and puts a person completely off stride. Then there is this preposterous argument that chases an idea that there might not be another frost until October or November. 
  
       In April of 1815 Mount Tambora erupted.  It was the fourth in a series of volcanic eruptions around the world that caused "The year Without Summer."  On July fifth 1816 there are reports of frost in Kentucky.  It was 1816 that saw famine in North Eastern USA and Western Europe. And it has been argued, that this famine lead Karl Drias to consider the Velocipede, as a means to mechanize  personal transport and do away with the horse.  And it was in 1816, while on summer holiday in rain soaked Switzerland, Mary Shelly wrote Frankenstein.


Friday, March 23, 2012

Fuels


         There will be a visit to town sometime today.  I'll park the vehicle three times.  In total I will walk about one hundred yards in a journey of nearly twenty five miles.  And when I return I will have consumed more energy from fossil fuel than a Beaker Person or an Ancient Egyptian did in a lifetime.

        A sort of round and round into oblivion.  And I guess if that's what you want to call progress then good for you. However, one things for certain, whatever else  progress might be it should never have included horses.


Thursday, March 22, 2012

Mental Patient



        A time comes when eye-glasses need to be replaced.  Sit on them a few times.  Lose them occasionally.  Kick them around.  Drop them in  mud. It's a rough and tumble, and a person can't help but develop a friendship with a particular pair.  It's a loyalty, I guess.  Maintained by apologies and cursing and interdependence.  And when it's that time to say goodbye, there is considerable angst, because a person is never quite certain whether the new pair will work as well or tolerate as much. Then there are the rows and rows of new eye-glasses in  the bloody Grocery Store, all of them different, and god knows what.  And, of course a person needs his old eye-glasses to see the new eye-glasses, which is is a terrible way to end a friendship.

       There are some who thrive on variety, they see it as their chance to elaborate, or reinvent. It's the steam behind capital enterprise, and look at me aren't I new and important, and special and critical to the survival of the species. As well, I can see job creators desperately trying to maintain the flows of eye-glass product design, stamping up and down the halls, ranting and raving about staying ahead of the competition. And I see the drawing boards, the worried expressions upon the faces of those eye-glass designers struggling with a creative blockage that could lead to the employment exchange.  Just give me the same pair that isn't scratched, then go outside, watch the birds and get some fresh air, and stop dicing around like mental patients at pill time.



Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Friday


         Was it Spring yesterday?  I don't know.

         But today feels like Friday, and that's good enough for me.


Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Labor


 
        It's interesting to be called an "Associate."  I have never seen myself as one.  And it can wander on into a nuptial of words that soon lose all meaning as idea joins a realm of pure pretend, which I suppose is called "feelings." Then I become  the "Associate Assistant to The Associate's Assistant." Or AAAA for short.  But I have always been proud to be called "Labor," so long as I'm not called "The Help."

       The word "Associate" is from the Latin for "companion."  Not quite the "Man Himself," or "The I Part." Rather one who is "nearly equal," or "almost there." "Concomitant" I guess or "want to be."  Of course if I were cynical and bitten by an anti-social nature my definition would include the words "first to fall."  Which is something Labor knows all about.


Monday, March 19, 2012

Turkey Calls



        Turkey calls are hard to describe.  There are probably five or six distinct sounds a Turkey can make. Sometimes for me, a word once put in place, tells of an impression, and it is this impression that lasts to the point of dominating.  Which is why I try to get away from a description of Turkey calls as coming from one who is either exasperated or nervous or worried.

       The calls include a "clip-clip" which may be followed by a "gobble."  When there is thunder in the sky it's the "gobble" you mostly hear.  As well , they can "hiss" for irritation and they can "whisper" for comfort. Then when it's serious business a Turkey "clucks."  It's this "cluck" that has most meaning, and it's this "cluck" hunters try to copy. 



Sunday, March 18, 2012

Higgs Boson


        I think there are a few more weeks of mail order retail in me. More likely I'll fail the test of diligence and enthusiasm and maybe this time I will greet the lay off with another sort of resignation. It is the case that Spring is not a time for the foolish spiral into which my own species has succumbed. Rather, Spring is a time for life.  To watch and feel the elemental process that a Higgs Boson might be. And this is not accomplished when locked away from the call of being and under the eagle eye of a hand held device, while Wrens are nesting.


       I know I am biased toward the infinite straight line.  In the mathematical expression this infinite line is dismissed as an arc of a circle so vast that the curve is imperceptible, and its anomalies, they say, are dictated to by gravity or the mass of others. All the same, it's this arc that makes it possible to conceive of a space beyond which one might never travel, because round and round it goes.  A necessary assumption that fills the belly with cash money.  But how much nicer it would be to see eternity as maybe the wind does. Which would mean believing in circles and I am stubborn, or dumb.


Saturday, March 17, 2012

Potato, Sweet Potato.


         There will be no planting of Potato.  If this place was five hundred miles north, then maybe. And I could say, it's the hot summer, which might suggest Potato do not grow well here. But the truer reason for no Potato this year, lies in the problem of Potato storage.  We'd need a cave to keep them in.  Somewhere airy and dry that meets a temperature standard for wearing an overcoat and long trousers.

        But there is a relative of Morning Glory, that matches the criteria.  When it is time to harvest Sweet Potato, the ground has already seen frost. So  the little darlings have many a suitable place to stay all the way through the winter until Springtime, which by mathematical calculation apparently begins March 20th.  Meanwhile, there'll be Eggplant for Colorado Beetle this June.


Friday, March 16, 2012

White Feathers



        In 2010, March 28th was Forsythia Day.  In 2011, March 22nd was Forsythia Day.  Before these dates, notes are in pencil, so not to be trusted. This year, however, Forsythia Day was yesterday, March 15th.  But, yesterday might also have been called Bumble Borer Sighting Day.  And typical of them to wake to the warmth, then  bumble around following the person in sensible shoes, just in case something that also bumbles around knows what's going on.

        It's possible too,  that yesterday could have been called Doodlebug Day, because the little patch of Doodlebug that faces the morning sun sprang into busyness. It was sometime in the afternoon.  Cleaning out I guess, getting ready for Ant.  And  the white feather is back, in the barn, on the dust, by the mowing machine. Exactly the same place as it always is.  If the past has anything to say, then in the next couple of days there could be more of them, which is a something I find so very sinister.
 

Thursday, March 15, 2012

Forsythia Day

 
        I'll call today, Forsythia Day.  It's yellow, and I remember well some years ago, how the fashionable liked to put Forsythia in the same category as  things like giant satellite dishes.  It was reckoned common, I guess.  And I remember the bright eyes of one particular customer, showing me a plant catalogue that contained a picture of a white Forsythia and a white Redbud, both of which she believed only proper for the flavor of her garden.

        Bloom is a relationship with pollinators.  Creatures that fly or crawl, and many of them bite.  Some say the color we see as yellow,  insects see as a blue.  And it is a true thing, that of those blooms that have been hybridized to meet the needs of the fashion market, insects have found them increasingly confusing. What we see as a blue flower, insects can hardly see at all, which is why so many blue flowers when they are pollen rich, cleverly hint at purple. Vipers Bugloss is my favorite of these, and for them, we have to wait for Summer.



Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Bloodroot And Ginger


         There is advantage to wearing sensible shoes and wiser socks. Suddenly a foot enters a phase where its heel is soft as an ear lobe.  But there is a curious and rather unpleasant burden that first has to be endured. 

        Probably it is true that most household dust comprises skin flakes.  So fine a dust, it's a haze. But heels, after a week or two in sensible footwear, begin to produce what I would call scattered hail.  Nor is it very attractive.
 

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Made By Man


         Of all products made-up by mankind one of them must fall into the category of "Most Pointless."   Certainly the measure of "Pointlessness" is wonderfully subjective, which means hard thinking and good reasoning is necessary.
  
       If I was to say "Oil" or "Diamonds" there would be caterwauling from the balcony where the most favored are seated. And I'd quickly become one of the impossibles.  Whether I am right would also be irrelevant. 

 

Monday, March 12, 2012

Tuesday


 
        Today is my Tuesday.  And it's evening.  So for me, Tuesday is almost done.  Tomorrow is my Wednesday.  And on it goes in what some will call circles, but I will insist upon calling a straight line.

        Was my Tuesday a good day.  And I guess the answer has more to do with the next time Tuesday happens, than it has to do with a repeat of today.


Sunday, March 11, 2012

Blue Tooth


        Of the great mysteries, there is "Bluetooth."  When I first read it I saw "Blue Tooth" and reckoned it belonged to some pointless gadgetry designed to further the well being of the wealthy.  Along the aisles and aisles of similar esteem maintenance, which I will try not to call "crap" because I have a table top full of  "useful things,"  it occurred to me that somewhere, someone decided upon the name "Bluetooth" and maybe had reason.

        I saw the committee room, a bright young spotty thing, his or her enthusiasm well-bounded in that obnoxious way, standing there before the old farts, who hopefully like me thought "Bluetooth" a good name for a pirate.  But I guess if our children share the same name as baby goats then "Bluetooth" could be something else as well.   Quite what "Bluetooth"  does or is I have no idea, and I guess the question is, should I.


Saturday, March 10, 2012

Summer Territory


        Have to conclude that Mockingbirds have paired.  I think boy and girl Mockingbirds spend their winter watching each other.  And sometimes they might allow their dreams to stray.  Then about now it's the familiar face, the ordeal of Summer territory and a sturdy nest. So better the devil you knew this time last year.

       In the community of birds life is fairly short.  There is no medical profession.  No Quack with black bag doing the rounds.  No stethoscope.  And unless you are chicken or live in a zoo, their are no inoculations.  Which leaves loyalty or a sense of freedom. 


Friday, March 9, 2012

To Hell With November

  
        This month of March there are anniversaries that include sadness.  Yet this month of March is a time of seasonal movement.  The North retreats and the South advances.  Here where I live Forsythia is deep in thought and soon it will bloom.  Great yellow clouds and the grass beautifully greening.  And there will be Dandelion and sprout of Thistle that clings flat to the ground in what I guess is an attempt at innocence.

        Hard to get away from Hoppy Bug and the Bean Beetle when Dove flat foot across the seed beds looking for vitamins.  They are in love at this time of year, their little hearts squashed by an evening coo and a plump of feathers against morning frost. I'll tell you this, alive is a moment that comes when the body is strong, the lungs clear and winter almost beaten.


Thursday, March 8, 2012

Higgs Boson

 
        In the physics of us Human Beings made rotten by gainful employment in the internet mail order industry, it becomes perfectly clear the Higgs Boson is an equivalent to Mandatory Overtime. 

        The particle that gathers mass knows only that an end point is to be cherished. So inevitably death is also described as rest or perfect peace. No wonder I hope the professionals at CERN never find this cog in their General Theory.


Wednesday, March 7, 2012

"Z"

 
        I can't remember when  I first suspected the world. Oh certainly there's work to be had and when it's cold and windy it's easy enough for a person to close both eyes. But what gets to me the most is something not easy to define that I will call "Z".
 
       "Z" is a "Cigarettes are not addictive," or a "Roundup is bio-degradable," or a "Lifetime guarantee," or a "Back to the grind," or a "Monday."  And too, "Z" is a  "Genocides are conducted by people just like you or I."  And of course we'd all want to insist otherwise.