Songs

Lunar Madness

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Here we are, gathered on this bleak Monday, a band of hardy stragglers huddled together in a sheltered corner of the internet. We are the last survivors of Earth’s weekend “Supermoon” encounter.

Saturday evening’s 14% larger-than-normal full moon came as a boon to photographers, lunatics and doomsayers. The full moon has always had some baggage and is regularly blamed for episodes of weird human behavior. The moon’s elliptical orbit brought it to its closest Earth approach at the same time fullness arrived, causing worldwide consternation even though nothing was out of the ordinary.

© Copyright Adrian S. Pye

But theater people already know what great dramatic effects can be wrought with timing and careful manipulation of the lights. And how little those effects will mean if you perform them while the curtain is drawn, as it was here in the Twin Cities on Saturday night.

Still, we live in a particular place and at a specific time when things that are bigger and brighter than normal are revered. We like the concept of “super-ness”, whether it’s applied to football games or french fries. Even a small fragment of extra power is alluring, and some wondered if a close-approach moon might trigger a rash of earthquakes and tsunamis. It didn’t, but it did shake loose an avalanche of online articles about the “Supermoon”, and how there was really nothing to fear.

In the end, paying closer attention to what goes on in the night sky can’t be bad, and I know some learning happened. For example, until I encountered and made myself pay attention to the “Supermoon”, I was unsure if the word “elliptical” had two or three “L’s”. Now I know!

Here’s a nice educational flyer from space.com with more handy information.

Learn what makes a big full moon a true 'supermoon' in this SPACE.com infographic.
Source SPACE.com: All about our solar system, outer space and exploration

All Supermoon needs now is a song.
Here’s one idea, to the familiar tune of “Moon River”.

Moon … Super! Wider than a mile.
Calamity’s your style … they say.
You seem bigger, you quake trigger.
The closer you look the more we pull away.

Space drifter, raising up our tides
Upsetting our insides, don’t scoff!
Our planet is nearing it’s end! It’s chaos you portend.
You’re a lousy friend, Moon – Super! Back off!

Are you unsettled when someone stands too close?

Uncategorized

I’m A Lumberjack

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Today is Michael Palin’s birthday. He was born on May 5th in 1943. That makes him 69 years old.

He was one of the original Monty Python performers, and is credited for writing many of the landmark sketches, including two of my favorites.

The Lumberjack Song …

… and the Parrot sketch.

Michael Palin was interviewed by Terry Gross on Fresh Air in 1990. He said his father was an engineer by trade who became an export manager of a steelworks in Sheffield, though he didn’t necessarily want to do that. “I think he’d actually have been much happier to be a church organist,” Palin said, “but one was sort of pushed into the professions then.”

Palin’s own professional course has taken him through work as a writer on various British TV shows in the late ’60’s before hitting it big with “Monty Python’s Flying Circus” in 1969. Various television and movie triumphs followed, and in the post-Python years, a different kind of success with a series of travel programs.

Now he is head of Britain’s Royal Geographical Society.

This strikes me as a fairly jolly career path, and you have to be glad for a person who has won accolades in a succession of things that are fun, interesting and important. Unlike his father, Michael Palin was able to follow his passions and excel in the fields of comic absurdity and science – two areas that don’t often intersect. He did not become discouraged, allow himself to be re-directed or get “pushed into the professions”.

Unless, of course, his true dream was to be a lumberjack.

When have you taken on a job you didn’t really want to do?

The Baboon Congress

Little House in the Suburbs

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Today’s guest post comes from Barbara in Robbinsdale

The sun had just peeped over the horizon as Ba was starting her chores. Ba and Ha (not to be confused with Ma and Pa) live in a little stucco house on the edge of Sochacki Park. There is a big ravine beside their neighbors’ little green house, and then a bit of woods where the park begins. They can see snowboarders and cross country skiers during a winter when there is some snow. There are furry animals, too, and hawks and other birds. A catbird mimics other bird songs, and can even sound like a cell phone.

Ba filled the bird feeders, watered the house plants, and went down to the big upright freezer in the cellar for something to thaw for dinner. She threw a load of laundry into the washer, adjusted the settings and made sure the lid was closed tight. Then she put in 15 minutes on the stationary bike in Ha’s workroom while the clothes were washing.

After breakfast, Ba loaded the dishwasher and straightened up the kitchen. She washed out the zip-loc bags so she could use them again. It would be too wasteful to throw them away after just one use. Then she scrubbed the porcelain sink till it gleamed and she could almost see herself in it.

Later Ba would hitch up the horses (76 horsepower in the gas engine part of a Prius) and drive into town to visit her Ma. On some days she would walk an entire mile to get there, if Ha needed to use the car. Then she would put on her Gortex parka and her Reboks so that she would stay warm and safe. If it was very slippery she might use her Yak-trax.

As some of you may have guessed, I’ve been reading Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House books again, and started imagining being Ma…

What would be your “chores” and daily “hardships” in a Little House chapter?

Poems

Too Many Words!

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I have this feeling I’ve written an excessive number of blog posts about clutter.

But every so often it hits me that it would be a great topic! So I go ahead and write about clutter because I’ve temporarily forgotten the other 28 identical posts that are jammed in the back of the old blog drawer. And now I have another one. Sigh.

Because I invest so much time in every precious post, I’m loathe to delete even one in spite of the fact that I know I will never go back to read it again. And neither will anyone else.

I’m not alone in this. The New York Times “Well” blog writer Jane Brody has a new post about clutter that picks up where she left off on an older post about clutter. She doesn’t seem to be bothered by an unsightly accumulation of words on the topic. Maybe that’s because she’s had such success unloading a lot of other useless stuff.

There’s a lot to be said for getting rid of books, even though committed book people feel they lose a little bit of their soul each time they cart one out of the house – especially the favorite volumes of their youth. Brody finds strength as she goes on, learning that it gets easier the more debris you shovel out the door. I’m happy for her.

But a surprising number of reader comments go the other way, decrying the “smug” attitude of anti-clutter fanatics who use tough love to force people to toss things that may someday become family treasures, like old works of art you never look at anymore, ancient photographs and precious hardcover volumes of literature.

I can’t claim to have read many of those classics, though I tried to wade through “Moby Dick” once and found it a tough slog indeed. Too many words. Melville should have read “The Hoarder In You” by Dr. Robin Zasio – a book Brody praises.

“I would say that Dr. Zasio’s book is about the best self-help work I’ve read in my 46 years as a health and science writer. She seems to know all the excuses and impediments to coping effectively with a cluttering problem, and she offers practical, clinically proven antidotes to them.”

That’s 50 words. Nice, but I think it could be done in 35.

Since we can’t clean each other’s closets and it would be wrong to compost someone else’s books, let’s de-clutter texts today. Think how free that old word hoarder Melville would have felt if he’d reduced his opus to a more manageable haiku:

Chasing the White Whale
Captain Ahab lost his leg
And his mind went too.

Or Tolstoy:

“It’s like ‘War and Peace'”
says the thing is “too damn long”.
Whatever it is.

What do you have too much of?

Uncategorized

Complainasaurus Rex

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Now some scientists say dinosaurs were already in decline when their extinction meteor hit.

The common belief is that Earth’s collision with a massive space chunk is responsible for the disappearance of big scaly beasts 65 million years ago. But this notion could be modified by new research which indicates certain varieties of dinosaur were already on the way out when a surprise astro-calamity hastened their demise.

How do we know this? Scientists have their reasons, all very scientific of course. I’m sure they used fancy formulas and brainy calculations, assessing some collection of small details about dietary differences and adaptability. That’s science for you – using undisputed fact to deduce the truth.

Me? I’m a journalist, so I try to turn complicated truths into easy-to-digest over simplifications. As for proof, all I need is another writer to say it. I figure if things were going bad for the dinosaurs, some cranky columnist would have scrawled a whiney op-ed about it.

“Best Days Are Behind Us”
By Sara Topsid

I’ve got this friend Barney who is a duck billed hadrosaur. We both been around a long time and we get along great. We spend a lot of time down by the bog talking, which naturally leads to complaining.

One thing we agree on is that, as a species our best days are behind us.

I know this is hard to hear, but all around me I see signs of decline! For example, a lot of the young dinos now are going in big time for bio-diversity. All kinds of shapes and sizes of dinosaurs are suddenly “acceptable” and have to be “honored”.

Says who? Even their weird dietary habits are supposed to be supported and respected. Like eating different stuff is some kind of a good thing?
Give me a break!

When I was young, all the dinos I knew were herbivores. We all ate plants in large bites, and I still do! Not a lot of sampling and testing and experimenting allowed – you eat what your ancestors ate and don’t ask questions. It was good enough for me and I grew up fine. Plants are plentiful. My neighbors are decent and they all eat plants. Why mess with a good thing?

Now I’m seeing all these smartass young meat eaters hanging around street corners and pushing their omnivore agenda like it’s a normal way to live. Sorry, flesh rippers, but in my book a legitimate meal has always been one dino, and one leafy green plant. No exceptions.

Leafy greens are good for the constitution. Maybe we should make it a rule that everybody has to be the same when it comes to … Hey! What’s that bright thing in the sky?

What (or who) is ruining everything?

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On Strike for More Attention

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Here’s a note that came in last night from perennial sophomore Bubby Spamden, forever doing 10th grade work at Wendell Wilkie High School. This is the first-ever mass e-mail I’ve received from Bubby. He’s usually quite chatty and personal, but now he has morphed into an organizer. Or at least he’s trying.

Hey Person on My May Day E-mail List,

Today is a day of non-active Action! I’m calling on all you faceless individuals to stand united with me today as we Rise Up and Sit Down so that we may be counted as The People who Will Not Be Ignored.

I know they call it May Day, but I’m calling it May NOT Day. By that I mean that this is the day when you may NOT do the things you normally do, especially work things, school things and commercial things. It’s the only way to let the others who don’t pay attention to you know that you actually DO something, because as far as they’re concerned, you’re just a useless, sorry load!

It’s like when my mom suddenly stopped doing my laundry because she got tired of what she said was my “… sense of entitlement”. She thought I was taking her for granted and assuming she would just automatically wash my clothes without me ever having to do anything about it – not even taking the trouble to put my blue jeans down the laundry chute. But I really wasn’t taking her for granted at all, because if you’re going to take something for granted, first you have to notice that it’s happening! And I didn’t. I had no idea my clothes were getting washed. Really!

But about a month after she started doing nothing clothes-wise (for me), I did start to notice. Or to be more exact, people at school started to notice. They already think I’m a little weird, but when my clothes started to go to class without me, I heard about it.
And that’s when I started to appreciate my mom a whole lot more – because she really does do a LOT of work and I can’t afford to hire somebody else to take her place. Even the people who will work for nothing want more than I have.

So that’s why we’re going on strike today! To get attention for the things that we do! And in my case, that means helping to put together this protest, which is more work than I’ve ever done in my LIFE. Whew! Organizing large groups of people to do nothing on purpose together is wearing me out! So make my job easier and chill, will you?

Thanks, faceless person. I really appreciate you giving me a break here.

Your friend,
Bubby

Ever go on strike, or stop doing something so someone else would notice you?
How did it turn out?

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Baboons and Blooms

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Back row: Bill Nelson, Robin Nelson, Lisa Sinclair, Krista Wilkowski, Margaret Mazzaferro
Front row: Edith Carlson, Barbara Hassing, Linda Ruecker, Sherrilee Carter

Here at the end of April, we see evidence everywhere that winter is in full retreat and summer is on the way. Occasionally there is a Very Serious bit of hand wringing over the Possibility Of Snow in the forecast, but when the most recent alert came for Saturday, the result was less than impressive.

Let’s face it, tomorrow is May Day and Old Man Winter is kaput – he has Thrown In The Trowel.

And yes, I mean Trowel. A group of kind baboons got together yesterday morning to put an exclamation point on O.M.W.’s demise. We who do yard work are naturally hesitant to get out there to start roughing up the soil too early. Most people I’ve talked to enjoyed our mild March but were too suspicious to take the bait. April is always a beautiful liar – things might be OK but April’s moods can change quickly. There’s really no sense in doing too much garden work when she’s around. But May … That’s the time when the work you do stands a chance of NOT being undone.

Baboons at work in the garden.

So the Baboon crew headed out to Plain Jane’s place to do a good deed for a comrade who suffered a nasty fall last February. She had fractures in her pelvic bone and pain galore, plus a stern admonition from the doctors to not overdo it during recovery.

How does a person who can’t garden get the gardening done? Steve takes it from here:

We met from 9 AM until 2 PM on a semi-overcast, brisk but beautiful day. PJ has made wonderful progress recovering from her accident, and yet she isn’t yet ready to garden. The gardening crew raked, cut out unwanted plants, pulled weeds, and hauled away a lot of refuse. It was all light, rewarding work that went quickly because there was so much good conversation.

After the work was over, about noon, Margaret served a luncheon buffet starring a broccoli soup and smoked trout. Various baboons brought cupcakes, sweet bread, cheeses, crackers, and plenty of red wine. Everyone seemed pleased with the quality, quantity, and variety of food . . . including Margaret’s dog, Pablo, who approved of any leftover he could reach. It was a party from start to end, and we all had a great time.

PJ’s fall happened on February 23rd. Less than a day before she tumbled, she told this story in the comments section of our ongoing conversation.

I have been blessed with numerous angels in my life. One stands out, mainly because his unexpected gift allowed me to go to college. When Bob, who I had met only six or seven times when I was 18 years old, but with whom I had remained in contact via letters, heard that wasband and I had moved to Carbondale, he sent me a check for $2,500.00. His accompanying letter said: “Please accept this loan, to be paid back, at no interest, whenever you can. Apply to the university, you will not be able to find a decent job unless you do. I’ll send you another $2,500.00 in six months. Love, Bob.” I followed Bob’s advice, got a scholarship and a student job, and made it through four years at SIU without any incurring any debt.

When I graduated and we were about to leave Carbondale, I wrote Bob to tell him that I would soon be able to begin repaying the loan. A couple of weeks later I received a letter from Bob’s attorney informing me that Bob had passed away. There was also a note from Bob’s wife stating that Bob had made no mention of, nor any record of this loan; she was sure he intended it to be a gift, and to please pay it forward.

Bob’s gift has enabled me to help two different friends avoid foreclosures, and other small gifts to people who have been in a tight spot. It is a gift that keeps giving forty years after Bob’s death.

Clearly PJ found inspiration in Bob’s gift and faithfully paid it forward, just as our Baboonish Garden Crew was inspired by PJ’s calamity to commit a random act of kindness yesterday.

When have you “paid it forward” or been on the receiving end of someone else’s kindness?

Songs

Happy Birthday, Jean Redpath

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Today is Scottish folk singer Jean Redpath‘s birthday. She was born in Edinburgh on April 28th in 1937. She is (has?) an M.B.E. (Member of the British Empire), which is an exalted title that carries some weight but mostly what it tells us is that everyone agrees she’s the best there is at what she does. The Edinburgh Evening News put it this way:

“To call Jean Redpath a Scottish folk singer is a bit like calling Michelangelo an Italian interior decorator.”

I would have issues with Michelangelo as my decorator, just as I’m sure he would have issues with my interior. I’m not so sure about painted ceilings, but can we talk about the color of the couch?

When Jean Redpath fills a room with a song there is a clear connection to the ancient and ongoing tradition of the Scottish people – their history and poetry come alive through her voice and she taken this all over the world in person and through the airwaves on “A Prairie Home Companion” and other broadcasts.

She has done 40 albums and has recorded at least 180 Robert Burns songs – wonderful tunes that are full of strange Scottish words that sound like throat clearing exercises but they connect to essential human experiences and emotions that cross all cultural barriers.

Perhaps she would like to sing a Lady Gaga tune every now and then, but my guess is that Jean Redpath is completely happy and engaged in the rich artistic realm she inhabits. It must be a great comfort to know so clearly what you are about and to have such success sharing it with other people.

Imagine that you have been anointed as an ambassador to the world of a great cultural tradition. Which one would suit you best?

Songs, Uncategorized

Space Mine Balladeer

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I was intrigued by the story this week that some above-average billionaires are proposing to explore space for a way to accumulate even more wealth through the burgeoning not-yet-an-industry of Space Mining. The idea is to find precious metal rich asteroids, and to plunder them with robots.

These machines will then somehow deliver the spoils to Earth where already fat portfolios will swell with an infusion of Space Cash. I suppose that’s the sort of thing you dream of when you’ve already got more money than a person can comprehend – more mind-blowing wealth. But what a sad business plan – to do all this with unfeeling robots cheats the rest of us out of all the melodramatic Space Mining Songs that would be written if humans actually left the planet to do this work.

Of course we’d have to change some of the standard references.
Here’s a Merle Travis original:

And here’s a group called Ryan’s Fancy doing their version that appears to include only Merle’s chorus. But I love it that they’re performing on what looks to be the ruins of a gantry after an especially tumultuous launch from the spaceport.

One could, if one were so inclined, imagine how this classic might be adapted by the poor unfortunates who would rush to find a living by collecting silver in space.

Come all you young fellows so young and so fine
And seek not your fortune way up in the mine
Every mineral is precious and pure – unalloyed.
But it’s hell to dig deep into an asteroid.

It’s dark and it’s cold and it’s desolate too.
Where the gravity’s weak and the comforts are few.
Where the metals are rare and the air is refined.
It’s stark and its grungy way up in the mine

They will tell you at launch that you’re gonna be rich
In a spacesuit there’s no way to scratch at that itch
It’ll claw at your heart, it’ll tickle your mind.
But there’s no satisfaction way up in the mine.

It’s dark and it’s cold and it’s desolate too.
Where the gravity’s weak and the comforts are few.
Where the metals are rare and the air is refined.
It’s stark and its grungy way up in the mine

You’ll feel weightless and nauseous and all kinds of sad.
And you’ll think of your family left back on the pad.
When you total it up and they give you your leave
You will barely earn back what they charged you to breathe.

It’s dark and it’s cold and it’s desolate too.
Where the gravity’s weak and the comforts are few.
Where the metals are rare and the air is refined.
It’s stark and its grungy way up in the mine

What was the least rewarding job you ever did?

The Baboon Congress

Herding Cats

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Today’s guest post comes from Edith.

I’m sure most of you have heard the phrase “herding cats” referring to “a task that is extremely difficult or impossible to do, due to one or more variables being in flux and uncontrollable” according to Wikipedia.

Well, in my house, there lives a Sheltie aka a Shetland Sheepdog. Shelties are derived from dogs used in the Shetland Isles for herding and protecting sheep. I don’t have any sheep, but when we first got our dog, youngest daughter was still fairly young, and occasionally the puppy would try to “herd” her. Dog didn’t try to herd the larger members of the household and now that youngest daughter is well along in her teens, there isn’t anybody around here small enough to herd.

Until late February 2011, that is. That is when the dog found a CAT in our yard. Being excitable, she barked incessantly until I came out to investigate. Long story short, the cat is still here and is now a member of the family. The dog and the cat sometimes play with each other, chasing and wrestling, with both doing pretty equal amounts of chasing. But sometimes the cat is very definite that he does NOT want to play with the dog. But as he walks around the house, the dog decides he should be going somewhere else…so she herds him. Or tries to. She tries to nose him in the “right” direction, but the cat just keeps going where he wants to go and pays no attention to this bigger animal trying to push him in a different direction.

It’s quite amusing watching the dog put so much effort into something that is so futile. That is, it’s funny until I start to feel like it’s a metaphor for my life.

What have you done, or tried to do, that you could compare to herding cats?