Month: March 2024

Click

jono55

The above clickbait photo and caption caught my eye. My first thought was that there is no state more landlocked than Colorado. Even if one gets into a boat on the mighty Colorado River you run out of water long before you reach the sea.

And then I thought:

  • Being a senior-friendly cruise, will there be adequate Metamucil provided at the buffet? This could be a deal-breaker.
  • How good, really, is the dolphin-watching in New Mexico?
  • When the norovirus inevitably hits, will we be kept on the ship, or would we be issued one of those little camping trowels along with four squares of toilet paper and put over the side?

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From The New Yorker

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Sailing to Philadelphia, by Mark Knopfler

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There has been talk for years about building, if not an exact replica, a new version of the ship Titanic. In the stratosphere where the rich and eccentric live, it actually might happen. It’s bit controversial, especially with those who lost relatives when the original went down.

Let’s say that a modern reimagining of what is maybe the most famous ocean liner of them all does make it to being tied up at a pier somewhere. Who will get on it? The only connections with the original are the name and in the mind of billionaire promoter Clive Palmer. For the sea-going traveler there might be the smallest bit of a frisson at they walked up the gangplank, but unless one is exceptionally weak-minded, that would be about it.

There would be no Rose and no Jack. Steerage would undoubtedly be cleaned up quite a lot from those old days when you jammed non-affluent people into very close contact with one another, and paid less attention than you should as to whether they actually had a lifeboat seat to count on if things went south.

I will withhold final judgement until I see how it all turns out. In the meantime, if I want to travel by sea this ship at right has more appeal.

Wait … what’s that tiny green thing leaning over the rail and emptying it stomach contents into the Atlantic? Why, it’s me.

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More signage from El Arroyo

Screenshot
Screenshot
Screenshot

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Southern Cross, by Crosby, Stills, and Nash

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We were to have house guests this Easter. Amy and her family were to join us on Saturday, to return to Durango the following day. But weather has intervened. Just recently Robin was trapped for two extra days on a visit to Durango by snow in the mountains, and the reverse is exactly what threatened the Hurley family if they had followed through on the plan. So those plans have been scrapped.

The mountains are beautiful, often inspirational. Daily reminders of forces at work in Nature whose power we can barely imagine. Too big for my mind to really appreciate, no matter how much i might understand the science involved.

A crack in the earth appears, and one side of that gap raises up and slides over the other at a rate so slow that one human lifetime is not enough to track the progress without very sensitive instruments. But one day … voila! … the Rocky Mountains have risen. We come along and name them, and we use them as examples of solidity, changelessness. Which of course, they are not.

Before they were even fully formed they were already being worn away by wind and water. The Black Hills of South Dakota were once bigger than the Rockies, but now the tallest peak there is 7200 feet.Thinking about this whole process makes me feel … I don’t know … less of a big deal?

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Surprised by Grace

jono55

This post is a day late. Not my fault. WordPress.com was having a bad day.

I was never a fan of Ronald Reagan’s. To me he was an affable guy propped up by the powers-that-be in his party. A likable frontman for a group of largely unlikable people.

In his second term it was obvious to me (and I thought must be to everyone else) that his mentation was slipping, and yet nobody was willing to bring that into the discussion. The whole thing smelled awfully like a cover-up.

So when he left office I did not miss him. When he was officially diagnosed with dementia a few years later the news came as no surprise. But this week I became aware of a public letter that he had written in 1994, when his condition was first made public. I thought it was particularly graceful, and link to it here.

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One place where I wasn’t surprised was this week’s park bench talk from a princess. I thought that she carried it off extremely well. Dignified, straightforward, without maudlin appeals. The lady has class. (Even though class is something of which I have never been accused, I know it when I see it.)

Times like this I am glad to be a nobody and thus no one cares what I choose to make public or not. Kate’s widely broadcasted message will probably not stop the attacks from the weak-minded and the cynical, who will continue their carping no matter what. But it may be enough for the rest of us, and hopefully this family can get the room and time they need and deserve.

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One of Us, by Joan Osborne

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This morning I ran across one of those science pieces in the Times that just make my day. Where I learn something completely new and unexpected about the biology of our planet. Today I learned that there was such a thing as an olm.

An olm, you say, this is the first time you’ve heard about them? Why should anyone bother talking to you, you ignorant savage.

I admit it. I was ignorant of the fact that there are blind cave salamanders the size of bananas who meander up and down those springs that bubble to the surface.

Creatures that had eyes when they were first hatched, but then skin grew over them rendering the animals incapable of sight.

They are so careful about not wasting energy that one member of the species was observed to not move for seven years. Okay, that last bit about not moving for many years … that’s not news. There are members of congress who do that, and fail to make any contribution to the public welfare for decades. Take former Senator Strom Thurmond, for example:

Retrospectively, a Senate aide stated that “for his last ten years, Thurmond didn’t know if he was on foot or on horseback”, while a 2020 New Yorker article stated that he was “widely known” by the end of his career to be non  compos mentis.

I guess that somehow I had expected more of salamanders.

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I’m getting better at avoiding clickbait. Early on in my internet life I really thought that I would eventually see the image that had attracted me. I know now that it never happens.

Clickbait consists of a never ending loop of advertisements with a handful of images sandwiched in there which bear only the slimmest relationship to what you were looking for. Let me give an example. Here is the headline:

Here is the image that accompanied the headline. Impressive, but being a Subaru owner for a long time now, I suspected that something might be amiss.

Here is what the Subaru Forester really looks like. Boxy, utilitarian, not at all like the Blade Runner sort of vehicle in the picture above.

My experience is that the image you wanted is never reached. Eventually you slump in your chair contemplating throwing that paperweight at the cat but catch yourself before you do something you’ll regret. The cat then relaxes and goes on with her self-assigned task of pulling your perfectly good wool carpeting to shreds.

However. Every once in a great while what looks like clickbait turns out to be a chest filled with treasure. Such was the case of a notice of a restaurant in Austin TX called El Arroyo. It is locally famous for having a clever sign out front, and a host of pictorial examples were provided.

I’ve captured some of them, and will post them here in the days to come.

Pandemic stuff
Pandemic stuff

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From The New Yorker

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Spitting rain/snow intermittently now for several days. It’s the sort of stuff that takes away just slightly from the glory of going out the front door. Yesterday we went for lunch with a friend who was leaving for a month’s trip and which involved getting into a warm and dry automobile, a short travel, then a quick dash into a warm and dry restaurant. Instead of charging up and down the hill down along the Uncompahgre River, we walked on the indoor track at the recreation center.

I can actually stand quite a bit of meteorologic hardship when it serves a purpose or there is nothing to do but bite the bullet. For instance, on our trips into the Boundary Waters, friend Rich and I had made a pact that if it was pouring rain on the day we were to enter the wilderness, we would rent a cabin instead and do day trips in between rain showers. But if we were already out there when the rain started, we would change nothing and proceed in the soggy state which was by now a fait accompli.

How to put it another way? I do not deliberately seek to be miserable, but can accept it with something approaching good grace when it is unavoidable. If I have to, I can come up with as stiff an upper lip as anybody. The operative words are “have to.”

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Me and Bobby McGee, by Kris Kristofferson

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Home On The Ranch

jono55

As many of you readers know, I have an ongoing interest in the research coming out regularly on our microbiomes. To some of you obsession might be a better word, but I gently disagree.

The microbiome is the community of microorganisms (such as fungi, bacteria and viruses) that exists in a particular environment. In humans, the term is often used to describe the microorganisms that live in or on a particular part of the body, such as the skin or gastrointestinal tract. These groups of microorganisms are dynamic and change in response to a host of environmental factors, such as exercise, diet, medication and other exposures.

National Human Genome Research Institute

And why should I follow any news I can find on the contents of my intestines and what control it might exert on my behavior? Because it would finally explain so much. All those bloopers, miscues, mistakes, boo-boos, stumbles, fumbles, gaffes, slip-ups, foulups, snafus, lapses, clangers, indiscretions, and pratfalls that I have committed over a lifetime would finally make sense to me.

Note that I am not blaming anyone else, and take full responsibility for making that inedible and disgusting liver casserole all those years ago, along with a legion of other awfulnesses that were my contribution to the world’s treasure. But it never made sense to me.

In the privacy of my room I would say to myself: What the hell? What was that about? Why did I do that? Why didn’t I see that coming? Did I really say what I think I just said? Is there any reasonable alternative, or is this the time I should just commit seppuku and be done with it?

(Note: I am presently watching the new version of the series Shogun, on Hulu, where seppuku is a common occurrence. On your average day I never think about it at all)

But … and this is all still a very preliminary but … if all of that could be laid at the fimbriated feet of a zillion bacteria sending messages to my brain via the vagus nerve which were telling it to do dumb stuff, I would finally understand my life a bit better.

Here is a TED talk on this very subject. That is, the influence of the gut microbiome on health and behavior.

I’m sorry to cut this thread off, but apparently my descending colon is uncomfortable with these secrets being revealed and is threatening to send a medievally epic diarrhea my way if I don’t quit right now. Mercy!

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River, She Come Down, by The Journeymen

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The Fearless Leader of the GOP is starting to squeal a bit as New York State closes in on his wallet. I suspect that it’s the demolishing of his myths of omniscience and invulnerability that will hurt more than a building or two being seized, but how would I know?

It is totally mean-spirited of me to take pleasure in the misfortunes of another … but I am doing exactly that (sometimes I am such a baaaad little Buddhist). In fact, I look forward to many more adversities showing up on his plate.

I haven’t had this much fun since 1974 when the Nixon administration was being taken apart piece by piece and crook by crook, as the newspapers were filled each day with more bad news for Tricky Dick and his band of merry malefactors.

Hmmmmm … that was the Republicans that time, too, wasn’t it? Fancy that. Must be something in the water.

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Success in the fermented pickle department! My first batch had been a failure, with some other microorganisms having hijacked my cucumbers and turning them into something that didn’t smell promising at all.

But this time the smell was right, the pH was right, and they looked attractive, so I summoned my courage and ate one. Sharpness and a light bite from the lactic acid. Good dill and garlic flavors.

I’ll wait a couple of hours and if still alive, well, I might just have another. The mind boggles at the sheer numbers of little beasties that have done this work for me.

Kind of like cowboyin’ … ridin’ herd on a couple of zillion rambunctious lactobacilli, fermentin’ under the stars, strummin’ my guitar, shakin’ rattlers out of my blankets in the mornin’ … ahhhh, there’s the life for a man!

Tumbling Tumbleweeds, by the Sons of the Pioneers

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Gosh, Who Knew?

jono55

What a morning this has been. The sun won’t be up yet for three hours and I’ve already learned:

  • that there are many species of legless amphibians that secrete something like milk for their babies. They don’t have breasts so they just sort of spew it out and the pups lick it up. I guess that way they don’t have to get up for those $@#%^*€£ night feedings
  • that there is a bird in Colombia that is male on one side of its body, and female on the other. Not an entire species of bird, just one. I get a headache just thinking about it. Don’t even get me started. My own left and right sides don’t always agree, even now.
  • that Elon Musk is a perfect example of something I’ve brought up a couple of times over the years. A person can be gifted in one area and because they are celebrated get to thinking they are expert in all areas of life. That is okay until they open their mouths, as Mr. Musk has, and reveals himself to be a scientific genius who is also a social and political nutcase.
  • that OTC birth control pills are now shipping and will soon be available in drugstores everywhere. Business is expected to be brisk. At the same time the Legion of Decency’s chain of Abstinence R’ Us stores is facing bankruptcy.* since only six people visited their establishments during the month of February, nationwide.

So who knows how much more knowledgeable I will be by the end of the day, and whether I will remember anything this evening of what I learned before breakfast.

*I totally made that part up. The Legion of Decency ceased operations in 1965, after 31 years of trying to be censors, and finally
disbanding when they realized that young Catholics were choosing to attend in droves the films that had received “morally unacceptable” ratings..

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Coming Up Close, by Til Tuesday

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From The New Yorker

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Robin and I are watching Resident Alien, on Netflix. If you haven’t seen it, it’s a series that has come down from the SyFy channel and is completely silly and not worth your while except … it is funny. Really funny. Laugh out loud stuff. The main character Alan Tudyk is a comic find, and there is a smart-aleck kid in it (Max) whose role I actually like. (Usually I am put off by such kids)

By the end of an episode you realize how many little bits of dialogue or action that the writers put in there that were hilarious but so small they were almost throwaways.

That’s all I’m going to say about it. Someone else might dislike its satire intensely, it is slightly naughty at times, and the alien has been sent to destroy all human life in earth, so there is that sober aspect. But it is likely that at supper tonight either Robin or myself will start chuckling at something we remembered from last night’s episode.

And … it takes place in Patience, Colorado.**

**This is not true. While it allegedly takes place in Patience CO, don’t bother to try to find it on a map because there is no such town. It was really shot in British Columbia.

Come Sail Away, by Styx

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Had to make a trip to Grand Junction Tuesday, and noted that daffodils and forsythia were blooming, the buds on the willow trees are ready to open, and GJ is usually about a week ahead of us. We’ve stringing several 60 degree days together this week, which will push everything along.

All I can say is that it’s a pretty hazardous thing to do, this putting out vulnerable leaves and flowers so early. If I were advising these plants I’d suggest holding back for awhile. Hotheads. I find it really odd that since I make no effort to hide my qualifications, that the Universe so seldom asks for my advice.

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From The New Yorker

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Even if they aren’t wearing their MAGA hats on a particular day, there are some clues to identifying the Cluckians among us. This is helpful to know, just in case one was thinking of starting a discussion with one of them. A total waste of breath, that is.

  • Cluckians do not own Priuses
  • If a pickup truck is flying one American flag, it is likely being driven by a Cluckian, if there are two flags it is a certainty. My further observations are that as the number of flags per vehicle goes up, the IQ of the driver goes down
  • Older Cluckian males invariably sport the facial expression of the terminally constipated
  • Younger Cluckians tend to wear t-shirts with particularly offensive slogans on them, often suggesting the sort of behaviors that their leader has popularized

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Them Old Doorbell Blues

jono55

The British claim to have a laser that will shoot down drones and missiles for only $13.00 a shot. This compares rather favorably with the present approach using a defensive missile to down an offensive one at two million a pop.

This is all well and good but my question is can we scale it down so that it would be useful around the home? There are many vexing problems that could use a boost with technology.

For instance, a guided anti-mosquito laser that would continually search the air around a picnic table and blast each winged terrorist as it comes into range.

Or take the example of the children who have lately been ringing our doorbell and then running off before we can catch them and tie them up while we look for their parents. They do no harm, really, but I think a response more than just standing at the door like a dummy is called for, if only to add a little spice to the conflict.

I have also thought of installing a camera that would be activated by ringing the bell, and then posting the picture of their cherubic little faces on the community bulletin board by the mailboxes with the accompanying legend:

If anyone knows the identity of this little s**t of a bellringer, would they please have a talk with them?

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In both of these instances I would be upholding the time-honored tradition of the old geezer yelling “Get off my lawn.” I think that traditions serve a useful purpose, and I would be glad to add my contribution, now that I have worked myself up to that esteemed status.

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From The New Yorker

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Robin left on Tuesday for a planned two-day visit to check in with grandchildren, but has been trapped there by an inconvenient snowstorm in the mountains between Paradise and Durango. It’s not likely that travel will be possible until Saturday, and in our conversations I remind her repeatedly that she is safe, warm, with a bed to sleep on and food to eat where she is, and doing anything riskier than staying put should not be on the table.

She chafes at this advice, and resents being held back from what she wants to do by anything as ephemeral as the weather. But we both know well that the weather is absolutely indifferent to our wishes. It holds all the cards.

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From The New Yorker

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A couple of years ago Robin and I were drawn into the air fryer universe for two reasons. One is that we didn’t want to appear to be just one more set of out-of-date senior citizens. The second is that one day we Zoomed with grandchild Elsa and she told us that she owned one and found it to be useful. That was enough for us, so we went out and purchased the exact same model that she was using.

Before plunking down the cash, however, we did a small amount of web research on fryers, and were amused to find that each review started out like this: There is no need for you to buy an air fryer if you already have an oven of any kind anywhere in your house because that’s all it is, a teeny version of a convection oven.

We did have a perfectly usable oven of large capacity in our kitchen, but went right ahead and got an air fryer anyway because we (mostly me) desperately needed to feel au courant. Sometimes you just have to go out and waste money to feel … I don’t know … alive.

But this morning I came across this article about Best Buy having to recall a quarter of a million of their air fryers, which if the stories are accurate, are the appliances from hell. Imagine having an electrical device on your countertop that can overheat, and if it does, several interesting things could happen:

  • the handles could melt
  • the handles could fall off
  • the glass viewing window could shatter and slash you
  • it could catch fire

Sort of makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up, no?

All of this just to be able to make Arby’s Frozen Curly Fries even better than those served at the restaurant. Really, you can, because you have total control of the crispiness and do not have to depend on the high school junior in the Arby’s kitchen who has so many things to keep track of and is totally focussed on the girl working the counter.

But in the case of the Best Buy Signature Air Fryer, you have to balance this advantage against the chance of your home becoming a smoldering ruin while you are having your burned and bloodied hands bandaged. Of course, this is America, and you get to choose for yourself. My only suggestion would be to buy this suit in the photograph at the same time you get your fryer.

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Let me finish with something that might be a bit more uplifting. It is Sunday, after all. One of the pleasures of getting into a boat with my friend Bill H. is that if the fish are not biting every once in a while he will come at you out of the blue with a question so non sequitur that you are caught flat-footed. One such exchange went something like this:

Do you pray?

Yes, I do

I know that you are an agnostic and Buddhism is a non-theistic religion, so why do it?

Longish pause.

Because whenever I do, I feel better. Not at some unspecified future date, but right away.

Longer pause.

I don’t get it, really.

I don’t either. In Buddhism there is this kind of meditation called metta, where you say repeated phrases that are just like prayers, without the expectation that there is a deity that is listening.

Still don’t get it.

Believe I have a bite!

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Leonard Cohen wrote so many great songs that I don’t even try to pick a favorite. But if I did, If It Be Your Will would be a contender. And it is a prayer.

When asked in 1984 which song, “you wish you had written?” Leonard Cohen famously replied, “If It Be Your Will and I wrote it.”

There are loads of renditions available to choose from, but one of the most distinctive is by the performer Antony, and I offer it here.

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A metta meditation for you –

May you be safe
May you be happy
May you be well
May you live at ease

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Magical Reality

jono55

It was one of those magical unscripted moments in life. Robin and I were taking our first brisk walk of the year on unpaved paths. We climbed up a rather steep section and voila! We were greeted by a flock of about twenty mountain bluebirds.

As we continued to move forward so did the birds, fluttering up and resettling a few yards further along time after time. After a few minutes they decided to try another part of the park and at that point took off without us.

Beautiful birds with that iridescent blue plumage shining in the sun. Natural magic.

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The Beautiful Lie, by the Amazing Rhythm Aces

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From The New Yorker

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I am presently fermenting mushrooms and cucumbers, and am about to start some sauerkraut. Fermentation is an interesting discipline with its own lore. For me it’s a new hobby but once it was a large scale mode of home food preservation.

As hobbies go, it’s a very inexpensive one to get into. A few jars, some salt, a handful of vegetables and off you go. Wait a few days and get a (so far) pleasant surprise.

Unlike the heady aromas when I used to brew my own beers, lacto-fermentation produces only the mildest of odors, all of which are compatible with life.

One of the websites promoting this process warns that if you ferment for long enough one day you will likely get a jar that has gone off, and the odor produced is “putrid.” That is a word that doesn’t even look good on paper.

I’ll keep you posted. BTW, the mushrooms were delicious.

[BTW – that image above of the beautiful vegetables in jars on a shelf was taken from the internet to illustrate an article on fermentation. They only look like that for a day or so and then they begin to lose that bright color and appear much more subdued and dull. But it makes for a better photo.]

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Watched yet another video clip of Caitlin Clark, as Iowa beat Nebraska for the Big Ten title. It is phenomenal what she has done for not only women’s basketball but for basketball in general.

When I was a teenager and watched tournament play I would afterwards be inspired to go out in the backyard, turn on the yard light, and play a game of 1 on 1 with my brother, imagining myself as playing in the game I had just watched.

That was, of course, men’s basketball. When I was a kid the women’s game was invisible.

Today if I were a teenager and had just watched Clark play I would be out there at that backyard hoop once again. Pretending I was sinking those dropback three pointers. Just like #22 did. It’s come to this. I have a girl for a hero.

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Who You Are, by Pearl Jam

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The movie Barbie didn’t win much at the Oscar ceremonies, but let’s face it, the Oscars are a self-promotional exercise for the movie industry and why should you and I care about who gets what honor? But Barbie will be forever (which means at least until next Tuesday) remembered by me for this short speech by America Ferrera’s character. Not being a woman, of course, brings into question my legitimacy in even making a comment, but if it isn’t the truth … well … I bought it as the truth.

I thought it encapsulated the impossibilities and contradictions inherent in being a woman in America very well. I thought to myself how exhausting that life would be. How much easier to be a man, which of course has its own set of impossibilities and contradictions, but that’s another story for another movie character to tell in a movie that hasn’t been made yet.

Kudos to Barbie for telling truths and making them look so good we almost don’t notice that coloring gut-wrenching pain and sorrow a vibrant pink doesn’t mean that they hurt one bit less.

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From The New Yorker

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Back when I began to explore Buddhism, more out of curiosity than anything else, there was a recurrent theme that attracted me very strongly, and it went this way:

Wanting to be taller, better-looking, smarter, more athletic, a better dancer, more successful, and more empathetic are all just stories that you are telling yourself and they make you miserable. There is no reality to these unhappy tales that you don’t give them. So why not stop?

Now that I think about it, the way was prepared for me by reading the book The Four Agreements. Same theme. We daily judge ourselves by the laws written in an imaginary book that are read into our heads by parents, schools, churches, and random others throughout our lives. Rules and laws that are 95% wrong, but that we agreed to way before we would ever have been able to defend ourselves against them.

The book asked the same question: So why not stop?

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More Than This, by Roxy Music

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The Hope Catalog

jono55

The first seed catalog of the year arrived in yesterday’s post. I’ve already nearly read it cover to cover.

When I was a kid and hadn’t learned the meaning of the word “hype” yet, I pretty much believed the blurbs attached to each seed variety. Trying to make out my order was a sweaty and anxious process, because you knew that the family’s quality of life depended upon your choices.

Which green bean? The one that climbs to a height of 45 feet and picks itself or the one with twice the legal limit of Vitamins B and C?

Aaauuuuggggghhhhhh. I must chooose!

For gardening 2024 Robin and I will probably focus on tomatoes and various greens, which have worked out the best for us. We’ve had poor luck with spinach, but some leaf lettuces and kale have done well. I read an article just the other day about the newest candidate for “superfood” status, which is collard greens. One of the original “soul foods.”

According to the advance notices, collards are so health-promoting that they need to be ingested with care and in small doses at first. One doesn’t want to take one’s body from sad sack to tower of strength in a few short minutes.

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We have two gardening problems here in Paradise that we didn’t experience in the Midwest. The first is that there isn’t adequate rainfall, and so we have to be very consistent in our watering. Consistency, you may recall my mentioning in the past, is not my strongest suit.

The second is that there’s way more sunshine than is needed. Enough that it sometimes causes visible physical damage to the fruits of the plants. We move containers from place to place, provide sunscreens, anything we can do to run interference for the growing things. Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose. Some days are diamonds, some days are stones.

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I and I Survive, by Burning Spear

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From The New Yorker

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Several days a week I force myself to go to the rec center and accept the many small humiliations. Yesterday I waited at one station for a 220 pound muscle at least a foot taller than myself whose t-shirt read “Combat Ready” to finish his exercise. I know his height because the message on his shirt was at my eye level. His body rippled in a myriad of places where mine has only creases.

When my turn comes at such times it takes me several minutes to lower weight and resistance levels on the machine, down to numbers that I can deal with. Numbers, if you want to know the truth, that are sort of poignantly minute. But you do what you can, as Robin tells me over and over as she whips past me on the walking track with her titanium knees. Sometimes she goes by so quickly I can smell the odor of burning Vibram.

There was a time when the musical artist Billie Eilish wore bulky and shapeless clothing at her performances because she wasn’t ready to have the world comment on her body at her young age.

I totally got it.

The other day I looked at myself in the mirror before taking off for an exercise session in my gym outfit and realized that when I stood perfectly still what I most resembled was a pile of soiled laundry in the corner of the room.

You do what you can.

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No Expectations, by the Black Crowes

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Let’s suppose that late in this autumn we can be blessed to be in a country where a racist fascist sexist immoral deplorable sexual predator of a candidate is soundly defeated. So badly that it wakes up the scapegraces, cowards, and fools in his party and they begin to actually act like a GOP and make this defeated person (who may or may not be an unnatural color) irrelevant.

What is obvious that even if we enter a happy day without this demented person in it there are millions of his followers who are filled with fear. Of what? Could be social change. Could be job insecurity. Could be that they really believe that there are Marxist hordes at our gates and only John Wayne Donald Cluck can keep them from overrunning the country?

Even if Cluck is exiled (0h joy, oh rapture), those millions are still here and we need to find the way to live with and work alongside one another. If not as soulmates, at least as countrymen.

I am reminded of one of my favorite posters from the ‘60s. The graphic is by Ben Shawn, but the quotation goes all the way back to 1874 and a man named John Morley.

The most rabid of Cluck’s followers would suppress dissent. We can do better than that. We need to do better than that.

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From The New Yorker

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The Golden Age, by Beck

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One last thing this morning. I think that Mr. Biden nailed it on Thursday night. I especially liked when he called out the Supremes for downing Roe v. Wade. The expressions of the court’s members who were present looked like they were trying to swallow millipedes as the President spoke.

I haven’t watched a state of the union speech for years, but I found myself turning on the television with a heart full of apprehensions while waiting for the President to show up.

After the first five minutes of the speech I began to relax. This was not a doddering old fool in front of us, but a knowledgeable political warrior with way more experience than the majority of his listeners, punching hard at his opposition. And he was singing a song I longed to hear.

I am reassured. Count me in.

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Lastly, do not call me, text me, or send me an email that requires a brisk response Sunday evening . I am going to watch the Oscar ceremonies and will not acknowledge any interruptions.

I know it’s a waste of several precious hours of my life but do I care a jot, tittle, atom, or whit? I do not.

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SCOTUS = ZERO

jono55

For the longest time I have had an interest in fermented food. Of all sorts. In fact, one could say that I pursued my interest in wine, beer, and distilled beverages (which all involve fermentation) with more vigor than was good for me, and could have spared myself an embarrassment or two by being less of a fan.

But I also like sauerkraut, buttermilk, fermented pickles of all types, kefir, kombucha, tempeh, yogurt, kimchi, miso, and apple cider vinegar. And cheese. OMG – cheese!

So far neither my doctor nor the police department have shown any interest in how much I consume of this latter group of foods, which is a good thing.

Recently I ran across a website promoting this method of preserving food, and devoted to giving clear instructions on how to do it. The owner of the site is very interested in her viewers having success without mishaps.

(Be advised that there is not a lick of information about brewing, winemaking, or moonshine production)

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There is a remarkable woman … hold on there … A remarkable woman? … let me rephrase that. Among the many remarkable women that I have met and never met, there is one that I would like to mention this morning, and her name is Jennifer Berezan.

I was introduced to her work by a fellow AA member quite a while ago, when he loaned me a copy of her album “Returning.” It is basically a meditative song/chant that lasts the entire album, and is a beautiful thing for someone to have added to the world. Someone put the entire 52 minute recording on YouTube.

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As if that weren’t enough, Ms. Berezan put together a concert of yet another chant “In These Arms,” which is two hours long and when you have finished watching it, you have not subtracted those two hours from your life but added something special, I think. The concert is on YouTube along with some commercial interruptions.

It is a thing of joy, and the meditation that underlies the entire performance is one of lovingkindness, or metta. You’re all smart people, you can take it from there.

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Perhaps my enthusiasm has overwhelmed you, and spending hours listening to/watching someone you never heard of before seems like a bit much. Here is a three-minute version of “Song For All Beings: In These Arms”

In These Arms, by Jennifer Berezan

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So far this year in Paradise we have had two kinds of days with regard to air flow. Either the air is still or it moves down the street at 40 mph or more, causing objects that belong to Robin and I to relocate into the yards of neighbors east of us. Occasionally they just vanish altogether.

Today is one of the breezy ones.

The cats hate windy days. They will stick their heads halfway through the pet door to sample the weather, and a wind velocity more than 15 mph will spin them right around and back into the house. I sympathize. If my nose was only 6 inches off the ground, I would do the same.

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Robin presented me with a problem on Monday morning. She had just purchased this small jar of eyeshadow and couldn’t open it.

I tried for several minutes without success, then told Robin that it was impossible and went back to my reading.

But it bothered me.

So I queried the internet and found that legions of people had experienced the same difficulty, and some of the solutions offered were quite inventive.

Learning that it could be done, I resorted to my usual remedy for household contretemps and applied brute force, using bigger tools.

The jar finally yielded. The real question is – why would Revlon make this jar from hell in the first place? They are not newcomers to the cosmetic world.

Could be Satan’s work, I suppose. Actually, it must be Old Nick, it’s the only explanation that makes sense.

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I learned this morning that our Supreme Court has revealed that they couldn’t identify an insurrection if it bit them on their robe-covered behinds.

I was not surprised at all, and gave them a zero score for the day while I wondered – don’t they at least still have their Cliff’s Notes on the Constitution sitting around somewhere that they could refer to?

Whether it’s reproductive rights or voting rights, this court is doing harm to all of us. They have made themselves into a cynical joke and soundly deserve their dismal approval ratings.

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Once again we have learned that the only Supremes you can count on to do the right thing have Diana Ross singing lead.

Stop In The Name Of Love, Diana Ross and The Supremes

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S**t and Feathers

jono55

I look back fondly on yesterday, when the wind blew in up to 40 mph gusts, peppering our eyeballs with dirt and sand if we were unwise enough to venture outdoors. What?, you say. Fondly? How odd!

Let me finish. I can say that only because today the wind is still blowing but now it is colder and a sleety rain is falling as well. It is all very un-Paradisic.

So I sit looking out the window with my suite of discomforts to accompany me. A couple of weeks ago I caused injury to my lower back somehow, perhaps by picking up a dropped napkin or thinking an errant thought. You know how those things happen. You do nothing that you don’t do every single day but now you are suddenly a patient and can take care of yourself only if you don’t have to bend over, cough, or laugh.

It has been slowly getting better because I was babying it nicely when of a sudden the muscles that hold my left shoulder blade to my chest wall joined the attack and began to spasm. I swear I did nothing to deserve either of these penalties.

(Unless you believe in karma, in which case I confess that I have more than earned everything that is happening to me)

So today I watch the rain and whine to Robin who is finding many things to do that keep her away from home just to get that annoying nnyyaaaahhhh sound out of her ears. I am popping my ibuprofen like a good boy, and Robin buzzes my complaining areas with a handheld electronic pounding device that could be used to drive fenceposts into soft ground.

One sunny day these discomforts will be gone, and my outlook on life will return to its baseline, which is a moderate level of crankiness.

Nothing stays the same. Everything changes. I have it on the best authority.

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Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen, by Josh White

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From The New Yorker

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The mudslinging has begun in earnest in our presidential campaign. Each candidate is now accusing the other of age-related mental incompetence.

One good thing is that their mud-throwing arms aren’t what they used to be. If they ever get to the debate stage, I can only imagine how that will go.

Moderator: Gentlemen, if you are ready then let’s begin.

Trump: I’m ready but you better wake up Joe, I think he’s nodded off

Biden: I’m more awake than you’ll ever be, you spray-painted ninny

Trump: Easy Joe, you might have a big stroke and need to be carried off

Biden: Remember your wife’s name yet, Donnie boy?

Moderator: Gentlemen! Let’s get back to debating, shall we?

Trump: Look, he’s drooling!

Biden: His Depends needs changing!

Trump: I don’t need any help down there

Biden: That’s not what Stormy Daniels said

Moderator: This your last warning. Obey the rules or we’ll shut this thing right down

Trump: I didn’t want to come anyway

Biden: Hard getting away from the “Home,” is it?

Trump: Pedophile!

Biden: Jackass!

Trump: Senile old fool!

Biden: Peckerwood!

Ad infinitum, ad nauseam

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Each year I reach a point where I am so fed up with winter that I begin to resent all that I have to do to stay alive outdoors. And that happens even in this mild climate that the Uncompaghre Valley provides. I want to put away the puffy jackets and the flannel shirts and parkas and wear shorts and camp out and … whatever.

I’m at that place this morning.

It’s a juvenile thing, I know, but I don’t give a flying hoot if it is. I find that being juvenile at this age is much easier for two reasons.

One is that my acne hasn’t come back because of the behavior. The other is that younger citizens have such low expectations where seniors are concerned that acting childish is tolerated as long as you are continent.

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From The New Yorker

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The above New Yorker cartoon uses a coarse four-letter word, which is highly unusual for this genteel magazine. Of course it’s precisely the shock value of the word that makes it funny.

The New Yorker can be risqué, but (until now) it was nevah, evah coarse.

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