OK, the past few entries have been rants about the current state of politics. I could certainly go there, ad infinitum. But I won't, because, frankly, rage is tiring. So...what then?
When I was a kid, I was a dog person. Not that I had much choice in the matter. My parents had a dog. I liked that dog. Ergo, I was a dog person. I will always have fond memories of Baron. Then, about twelve-thirteen years ago (long after Baron had passed) my parents got a cat. Again, I didn't have a choice in the matter. But I was off to college and wasn't really expected to be a part of the decision. So we the family had a small black-and-white tuxedo cat we named Selene, after the mythical huntress goddess. (She was supposed to be a mouser, after all.) I don't know if the mouse situation improved, but we did quickly grow to love her. Then, about nine months ago, my brother got another cat, which he named Axiom. This one, also black-and-white, is a Turkish Van (yes, there is a breed called that) who quickly outgrew the smaller Selene. The two are endless entertainment. Yes, both cats live under the same roof, along with my brother, my mom, and myself. Hemmed in by dogs, I've quickly realized how quiet they are. When's the last time you heard someone complaining about the neighbor's cat meowing too loudly? They're also low maintenance: feed them, let them out, let them in, let them out, let them in... I don't take care of the poop duties (I'm the uncle, after all), but I suspect it's a lot easier than worrying about dog poop. Anyway, now I have concluded that cats are the pet of choice, and I'd bet I'd get one some day. Or two. Or more. Also, I suspect they're a lot lower maintenance than children. I'll leave this musing anti-rant with a poem I wrote about these two kitties:
Cats
by Sean Eret
He, young and restive
flits here and there
never satisfied, he meows tirelessly
concentration never comes to him
not yet grounded, he distrusts and fears the world.
She, mature and at ease
saunters with mindfulness
always content, she lives effortlessly
attention always comes to her
with a firm connection to Earth, the world is hers.
When he dashes about and bounces
his energy's unfettered
happy only for the next big thing
when he plays, he always stumbles about comically
still young, he has much to learn.
When she runs and jumps about
she has an exact exertion
joyously in the moment
whatever her task, she always accomplishes it nobly.
though old, she is young in body and soul.
These two cats, friends and companions
are mirror images of each other
separated only by time.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Oh My God...Wait...We Aren't Dead...Yet...
One theory about how the Oracle of Delphi got her supposed precognizant powers says that she sat atop a volcanic seam that spewed hallucinogenic gases. But I didn't need to huff any gas to see this one coming. In a followup to my blog post Oh My God! We're All Gonna Die!, as predicted, Congress passed a debt ceiling increase in the nick of time to prevent a catastrophe. Or so we were led to believe. We'll never know.
And I don't have the expertise to say one way or the other, except to say that this whole event fit the Crisis story plot almost exactly. The climax was the passage of the debt ceiling in the eleventh hour. The stakes were high. The clock was ticking. It's almost like some action-hero is fiddling with the wires to a bomb, trying to figure out how to defuse it, then finally does so with one second left. Take, for example, our writer-hero Richard Castle who, in one episode, had to defuse a dirty bomb in the heart of New York City. He does it, of course, with mere seconds to spare. I sometimes expect him to reflect that his life works out into clearly delineated action-packed episodes, the fictitious author noticing that his life would make a pretty good TV series. Life does indeed seem like that. Except--at least in the case of the whole debt ceiling debacle--it's manufactured. It suspect that if the debt ceiling had never been raised, sure it would have negative consequences, but it'd be more drawn out. It wouldn't have been a catastrophic point. And that just wouldn't have made a good news story because the fear would no longer be as eminent. And I'd bet the media would've found something else to talk about, some other partially-manufactured Crisis to scare us and get us to stay tuned. Instead, the debt ceiling was increased and the news media is now in the wrap-up, denouement-phase of the narrative. But like any good series writer, the end of one story has hints of the next. The market is still jittery and the FAA is under a partial shut-down. Can anyone say "sequel?"
And I don't have the expertise to say one way or the other, except to say that this whole event fit the Crisis story plot almost exactly. The climax was the passage of the debt ceiling in the eleventh hour. The stakes were high. The clock was ticking. It's almost like some action-hero is fiddling with the wires to a bomb, trying to figure out how to defuse it, then finally does so with one second left. Take, for example, our writer-hero Richard Castle who, in one episode, had to defuse a dirty bomb in the heart of New York City. He does it, of course, with mere seconds to spare. I sometimes expect him to reflect that his life works out into clearly delineated action-packed episodes, the fictitious author noticing that his life would make a pretty good TV series. Life does indeed seem like that. Except--at least in the case of the whole debt ceiling debacle--it's manufactured. It suspect that if the debt ceiling had never been raised, sure it would have negative consequences, but it'd be more drawn out. It wouldn't have been a catastrophic point. And that just wouldn't have made a good news story because the fear would no longer be as eminent. And I'd bet the media would've found something else to talk about, some other partially-manufactured Crisis to scare us and get us to stay tuned. Instead, the debt ceiling was increased and the news media is now in the wrap-up, denouement-phase of the narrative. But like any good series writer, the end of one story has hints of the next. The market is still jittery and the FAA is under a partial shut-down. Can anyone say "sequel?"
Monday, August 1, 2011
Zen and the Art of Recumbent Trike Riding
As some of you know, in early June I broke my ankle when my recumbent tricycle hit a tree. Often, when I tell people how I broke my ankle, I get a courtesy acknowledgement that I can tell they have no clue what a recumbent tricycle is. I bet some of those people think I was riding a children's toy, like maybe those trikes with the big plastic wheel up front. I suppose since the rider is reclining in her seat, it is technically a recumbent trike. But no, that's not what I mean at all by a recumbent trike. And if you have no idea what a recumbent tricycle is, well, you're in luck because you have an Internet connection. To make absolutely certain you get a picture of what I'm talking about, google "tadpole recumbent tricycle." Don't ask, "Why the hell is it named after a fish?" I'll explain*. Go ahead. Do it. I'll wait.
You back? I suppose I could've just placed a picture here, but I'm lazy and I know you can look it up almost instantly. Anyway, found a picture of a tadpole recumbent tricycle? See how the rider's feet are up front, leading the way? Now image the rider had one of his feet strapped in because he thought that was the only way to keep that foot on the pedal. In other words, that foot's going to stay with the pedal even in an accident. So, accident happens: rider loses control of trike and slams into a tree. Since the feet are up front, and since that one foot is strapped in (the right one, in this case)...snap! Broken ankle still strapped in to pedel. And Paris** (the ankle fracture) is born.
Enough backstory. Today I got the cast off. Now I'm in a walking boot and am allowed to bear weight on my heel. One step (pun intended) closer to recovery. But recovery from what? After my ankle is healed, there will eventually be something else to recover from. And then something else... I don'r mean to be a downer. Quite the opposite, in fact. What if, instead of focusing on some ideal future that will never come (because the future is never how we expect it to be), we focused on the present, the only time we do have control of? Perhaps if we do focus more on the present, the future that comes about will be more like the one we envision. And if it doesn't, we will have developed the tool of clear present-sight to not care as much. And accept the future that does come about.
*With two wheels in front and one in back, a tadpole trike sorta looks like a tadpole.
**I named my ankle fracture after the mythic Paris, who was infamous for inflicting a foot injury. If you want more details, well, you have the Internet...
You back? I suppose I could've just placed a picture here, but I'm lazy and I know you can look it up almost instantly. Anyway, found a picture of a tadpole recumbent tricycle? See how the rider's feet are up front, leading the way? Now image the rider had one of his feet strapped in because he thought that was the only way to keep that foot on the pedal. In other words, that foot's going to stay with the pedal even in an accident. So, accident happens: rider loses control of trike and slams into a tree. Since the feet are up front, and since that one foot is strapped in (the right one, in this case)...snap! Broken ankle still strapped in to pedel. And Paris** (the ankle fracture) is born.
Enough backstory. Today I got the cast off. Now I'm in a walking boot and am allowed to bear weight on my heel. One step (pun intended) closer to recovery. But recovery from what? After my ankle is healed, there will eventually be something else to recover from. And then something else... I don'r mean to be a downer. Quite the opposite, in fact. What if, instead of focusing on some ideal future that will never come (because the future is never how we expect it to be), we focused on the present, the only time we do have control of? Perhaps if we do focus more on the present, the future that comes about will be more like the one we envision. And if it doesn't, we will have developed the tool of clear present-sight to not care as much. And accept the future that does come about.
*With two wheels in front and one in back, a tadpole trike sorta looks like a tadpole.
**I named my ankle fracture after the mythic Paris, who was infamous for inflicting a foot injury. If you want more details, well, you have the Internet...
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