Our Beautiful Blue-Green Planet, a Rotating Marble Shot From the Hands of the Universe

I'm riiiiight there.

Precious: Her Earthly Biography

On Monday afternoon, December 1, a year to the day that we moved into our current apartment, my sweet, beautiful little cat, Precious, shook off her transient identity, as we Buddhists say, left her useless body behind, and merged with the universe. Once again. On Halloween she was diagnosed with a tumor growing in her chest cavity and obscured views of her heart on the X-rays. I had not expected such news, though I knew something accounted for the subtle change in her breathing that I detected. She was a modest, uncomplaining little creature, but believe me, she wouldn’t mind one bit that I write a cyberspace memorial to her. Memorial, right, because she would not warm to the word obituary.

How did Precious and I meet? Well, in another apartment in another borough, I was looking out my third floor window, and across the street, I saw a black and white cat walking the outside ledge between two windows, curtains fluttering dangerously. I almost fainted, and right away, I mailed an anonymous advisory to the people, with all kinds of information about cats falling from windows, myths that they always land on their feet and survive, etc. A few weeks later, the apartment was vacant.

During that time, I had met what I called my Fire Escape Cat, Sebastian, a stray who showed up one cold November afternoon. I began to feed and water him from my bedroom window. One day he scratched on the window, and when I looked out, he had stretched his body the length of one step, and there stooped at the food bowl was a small black and white cat. This Sebastian guy had turned his girl on to his stash, but what really touched me was the way that he blocked the stairs while she ate, as if to say Eat all you want. Don’t worry. I’m here to protect you. She was the cutest thing, obviously recently homeless, so each day I’d say to her, “Aren’t you so precious, you’re just a precious thing. Hence the name. Some months later, it dawned on me that Precious was probably the cat in the window across the street. I just had a very strong feeling about it.

The next cat to join was an older orange tabby with a large head and a gnarly meow, so I named him BigHeadRed, because if he'd been a person, he would have looked and sounded just like Redd Foxx, and BigHead sounded as if he’d smoked cheap cigars all his life. Not to be outdone, BigHeadRed brought along his girl, too, a small tortoise shell that I named Marbles. (Left to right: Marbles; BigHeadRed; Sebastian)

In addition to my Fire Escape Cats, I had two indoor cats, Keisha and Greyling, who eventually passed away from kidney failure and feline leukemia, respectively, but I continued feeding everyone until one winter, when the somewhat severe depression that I suffered from was compounded by SAD, seasonal affective disorder. All my beautiful plants died that winter, neglected, and my cats saw me, basically, at feeding time. As easy as it seemed, I could not continue with the feedings. It was enough of a task for me to go to my job, feed my cats, come home, go to sleep and then start all over again, so my Fire Escape Cats, after futile clawings at the window, disbanded and moved on. (There's a story to be told about my reunion with Sebastian and BigHeadRed -- a later posting)

One brutally cold February night I was up late, 2 am, at the computer when I heard claws on the window. When I raised the blinds and looked out, I saw Precious. I opened the window and let her in because she was shivering, and it was clear, as I palmed her belly, that she was with kittens. I suspected Sebastian was the father, but Precious’s lips were sealed. Long story short, ten days later, when I came home from work, she had given birth to four kittens.

(Left to right: Zora, Pushkin, Linda, Gadu)

So, that is how I came to be Precious’s person (a veterinarian estimated her age to be approximately two years old, so Precious was about 14 or 15); I kept her and two of her kittens, Pushkin and Zora, and found the other two, Gadu and Linda, a home with a good friend.

Precious and I (along with the other cats) survived a lot: a fire that burned us out of our apartment; a two-week entrapment (self-imposed) of her daughter in the burned out apartment; life with a friend and her giant Schnauzer; life with a coworker and his companion and their two cats, two ferrets, three birds and aquarium; the passing of her son, Gadu, and a companion cat, Cetci.

Preshy -- one of my many nicknames for her -- loved the apartment we lived in, with its abundance of windows and light and adjacent gardens with city wildlife (singing birds, other cats, squirrels and the gorgeous vegetation). She started going out on a leash a little past Labor Day, and let me tell you, it was as if she’d always been on a leash. She was in her element.

It brought joy to my heart to watch her stretch out on the grass, graze and fall asleep in the flower bed.

That was her daytime habit. Nights were exciting, because she would walk the block, stopping along the way to test the grass of each person’s lawn. I loved the way she got into that stalking posture because I could then imagine that I was walking with a leopard. Nothing fazed her, not even the dogs and their people who did double-takes when they realized what was at the end of her leash.

Precious would want me to say that she never had her claws clipped. She was the only one I couldn't clip, because to mess with her front claws meant you were as bad as she was, she being from the street and all, and I was not. She would want me to say that she could be just as gentle, spending days beside you if you were bed-ridden for any reason. She would want me to say she was persistent in getting her point across (another story for another time). She would want me to say she loved to sit with me when I did my Buddhist prayers and chanting and especially enjoyed prayers for deceased animals. She would say that she’d never met a bowl of food that she didn’t like (well, maybe once, a 98-cent box), but water directly from the faucet? Oh, puleeeze, only Brita for me.


She would want me to tell about the night I flung my arms wide in my sleep and wallopped her. There was a beat, and then a war cry, and then two claws and teeth at my wrist. I shook her off and turned on the light, indignant that she would attack me because of an accident, but she just looked at me, blinking, as if to say Watch it, fool. And yes, she broke some skin that night.

I still marvel at how, on the last day of her life, after she’d had a brief respiratory crisis, the sight of her leash sent her bolting to the door. That was the day I let her out without a leash, completely free to do as she pleased.

She found her favorite corner, which no longer holds flowers but cabbage-like plants, and there she nestled and nested and purred until the cab arrived.
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PostScript: I forgot to add: Last night I went outside to have a cigarette (yes, I started) and there was an orange cat sitting in Precious's corner. He looked at me and I looked at him. And then I started to smile. I felt really happy. And then he went on about his business. Now, I know this cat. He's kind of a Designated Street Mentor. Last year he befriended a little gray stray kitten and I watched them grow into friends and hang-out pals. A few weeks ago I noticed him with another young cat who follows him around. A couple of nights ago, when he saw Precious sitting in the corner on the grass, he went up to her, nearly nose-to-nose. I've always kept her away from the neighborhood cats because I didn't want her to get hurt or ill, but I didn't feel any aggression coming from the cat. They looked at each other for a few minutes, neither of them flinching or performing the great feline stare-down, and then he went on his way.

Politics

This is an email I sent to several friends today:

Hi, y'all, I'm feeling mugged by all the political and now, economic news. For the rest of the week I don't want to know anything and am avoiding talk radio, tv news and news in general. PLEASE don't send me any palin obama biden mccain stock market wall street email this week. I have become a human sponge, so I need to squeeze and then disinfect myself. Thanks.

Now, I'm breaking my own ban, with only with myself.

The last time I CHOSE to vote, it was for Bill Clinton's first term. Then I dropped out, became cynical, and said Politics is not the answer. and I complained and complained and complained.

Now, in 2008, for me, voting is no longer a choice but an IMPERATIVE.

Calligraphy I: Mindfulness in Action

I once had a beautiful calligraphy portfolio of samples and client work, but it perished, along with many other irreplaceable parts of my life, in a fire. During the last three weeks, I have missed three opportunities to pick up money doing calligraphy, so I decided to spend a few hours this afternoon doing creating work for a new portfolio. It’s been years. I started to feel a little apprehensive. It was harder than I remember, and just thinking about the portfolio brought memories of the fire, etc. But the work turned into an exercise in mindfulness; it was meditative, really, because when I came up for air, the sun had been replaced by the moon.

No inky paw prints, no cat hair-induced streaks.
















A week tobacco, nicotine and caffeine free (well, I did have a nice cup of coffee today – does that count?)






I know -- "sumer."



This one isn't new; in fact, it's the very first piece I did -- in the 80s.

No Chewie, No Drinkee

No gum today. I can't read and chew at the same time.

Reading, reading, reading. Patricia Cornwell (Point of Origin), Philip Martin (The Zen Path through Depression), Lynne McTaggart (The Field, the Quest for the Secret Force of the Universe). I don’t have an attention deficit disorder, no, I simply like to read several books at a time. Like being in college. Usually one of fiction, one on Buddhism or Buddhism and health or so-called self-help (I like self-development better) and something like the McTaggart book, which I’m about to start (“… reveals a radical new paradigm – that the human mind and body are not separate from their environment but a packet of pulsating power constantly interacting with this vast energy sea, and that consciousness may be central in shaping our world.”). No room in my mind for psychological craving. No room in the inn.

Oh, forgot to add Digital Photography for Dummies!

Coca-Cola Se Prohibe Aqui -- Hoy, Baby, Hoy!

I'm doing okay with my new non-smoking existence. Mostly slept off and on the whole day, then finally rose for good from my dark cave and went outside to find a moon to howl at.

Had to resort to the Duane Reade brand of nicotine gum, which I purchased as a backup. Not chewing it as prescribed, but only as an "emergency" measure (as recommended by a friend). The effect is like baby bees buzzing on your tongue and gums. Actually, I don't like the effects of the gum at all; I caught a little digestive upset and reflux (but, of course, it might not be the gum at all). Looks like I'll need to get back to the melatonin as a sleep aid for a bit.

On the way to the pharmacy to get the gum, I passed a guy who was smoking, or, more specifically, I passed through his little swirling universe of second-hand smoke. I would like to say that the primary response was revulsion, but it wasn't. For about 3 seconds, I would have back-tracked and proposed to the dude just to get a puff (more like the whole cigarette) of whatever he was smoking. (Heh-heh-heh (that's the mad laugh of withdrawal).)

BTW, just broke up with that no-good bastard, the caffeinated, calcium-leeching, corn-syrupy Coke. Well, maybe I'll see him sometimes, just not every day. I have to tell you, the sound of that aluminum tab snapping and letting that fizz escape, the feel of that cold, sweating can between my palms, the first swig of the tongue-tickling stuff (hey, kinda like baby bees, too!). Oh my . . . No one should feel that way about anything except love -- or winning the lottery.

Got a big jug of water by my side filled with electrolytes. Got a cup by my side ready for de-tox and ginger teas. And the brand-X gum.

Se Prohibe Fumar -- Manana, Baby, Manana

Okay, okay, alright already! I'll put it out forever. I've decided to become a nonsmoker. Forever this time. I'm about 3 cigarettes away from quitting.

I won't go into a song and dance about it, but let's just say that I'm so looking forward and I am so nervous(?) about it. I think it's because I want success so badly. It'll be great to be unaddicted. (I hope my allergist's assistant doesn't read this, because they don't know that I still smoke.) I plan to make use of some kind of support -- nicotine gum for a while, acupuncture. In addition to stopping, I want to do a detox program, so I'm looking into nutritional therapies, too. And my Buddhist practice, which goes without saying. $9.00 a pack! Yes, I'm divorcing the tobacco companies. Hit the road, Jack!

BWAC's Hot! Art Show

Self-Portrait by Gary Heller

There’s an art show at Brooklyn’s Red Hook Pier that runs from July 26 to August 17, and it’s amazingly . . . well . . . hot! Sponsored by the Brooklyn Waterfront Artists Coalition, the exhibition embraces so many genres, from photography, watercolor, acrylics, sculpture, mobiles, ceramic, clay, mixed media and more.

Two fellow members of ACN, Artists Conference Network, had work showing:

Rhea Kirstein is a watercolorist whose purples, blues and greens are at once dreamy and exotic.

Karen Eve Friendland (KarenFriedland.com) works in oils and acrylics. Her bold colors and strokes of movement are energizing and often fun.

Speaking of fun, I had a fun moment when I walked in and saw a face that I knew. And she knew mine. We both tried to remember from where. It turns out that we worked in the same building on Hudson Street and were “members of the smoking community” that clustered near the building during breaks. Nina Brewton is a Polynesian and Middle Eastern dancer (unfortunately, I didn’t get a photo of her), and she introduced me to her friend, photographer Gary Heller.



I was immediately drawn to Gary’s black-and-white self-portrait (top of post). I don’t pretend to be an art critic; I can only say that I felt something like a physical pull to the kind of moody, pensive mood that the photograph arouses.

From Gary’s web site (GaryHellerPhotography.com): “A fellow photographer and friend has used the term ‘pleasantly strange’. That description sums it up best for him [Gary] as he strives for strange, yet pleasing compositions.” Thanks, Gary, for being so generous with your tips on shooting the moon and your directions home.

One of the show’s featured artists is Judith Eloise Hooper (Judith.Hooper.BrooklynArtist.com), whose media are ceramics, collage and works on paper. The power of printed word combined with clay. The clay pieces depict American Sign Language; however, as the artist explained, it is not a word-for-word translation.


Judith’s other exhibited works are ceramic landscapes.
She was being interview and and videotaped, so there was the extra treat of hearing the artist talk about her work and herself. Most of us have ideas about how we want our work to be viewed, heard or read. Judith Hooper’s desire? She wants everyone, as her mission statement says, “to be able to look at landscapes, whether farmland or cracks in the sidewalk, not as the earth's crust but as a delicate skin embracing the earth. My landscapes are a reminder of our world as something living and breathing and as something that produces life and the natural beauty in that life, whether it's planned and planted or simply forces its way to the surface.”

Thanks Rhea, Karen, Gary and Judith, for the eye feast!

Lunar Lore

I finally got some decent photos (courtesy of my new tripod) of the full moon on July 18th.

Here are some provocative "facts"/theories connected with the full moon(courtesy of equinoxastrology.com/LunarLore.html:

The Moon and plants and animals

Marine biologists on the Australian Barrier Reef informed me that coral mates at the full moon.

Herbivores ovulate around the Full Moon. The world's leading expert on deer states that the height of the deer rutting season occurs around two full moons. One of the two will be the Leo Full Moon. (late July - late August)

Migratory Birds appear to follow the patterns of the moon for timing and finding their path of migration. Zoologists in Alaska noticed that animals: bears, caribou, salmon moved at the Full Moon.

An expert on animal behaviour reported that his hamsters turned their wheels 'more dizzily' during the full moon.

Game birds tend to return to certain locations at the time of the Hunter's Moon.

Studies into healing revealed that the full moon amplified the electrical charge in living cells. A sensitive voltmeter, he had attached to a tree picked up a faint electrical force. However, at the time of the full moon, this force soared upward on the scale.

The Moon and Agriculture

The Harvest Moon occurs in late summer [at or after the autumnal equinox]. Farmers and farm workers would take advantage of the additional hours of light and work through the night in order to complete the harvest.

The Moon and our Time-table Many Religious and Traditional Festivals are scheduled in line with lunar phases.

The Chinese New Year is celebrated on the second New Moon after the Winter Solstice.

Easter Sunday is the first Sunday on or after the first Full Moon after the Spring Equinox.

The Moon and weather

The Moon is thought to influence the formation of tropical hurricanes.

The connection between the full moon and frost is so well established that it affects investment patterns. For example, investors on the world commodities exchanges go long of coffee futures around the winter full moons in Brazil.

The Moon and emotional weather

Air stewards report that passengers on aircraft flights are more difficult to handle and there are more incidents at the full moon.

Modern investigations into human bio-rhythms have discovered that their emotional cycle ties in with the 28 day lunar cycle.

The Moon and Birth

Female reproductive cycles respond to the lunar cycle.

Medical staff report that women who have already had children are significantly more likely to give birth on the day of the full moon.

Health around the Full Moon

A research team at Leeds university found a significant increase in visits to medical practices for consultations after the full moon.

Doctors report an increase in epileptic seizures and bleeding ulcers at the time of the full moon.

The Moon and Madness The association between the Lunar phases and mental illness is legendary.

The word lunatic comes from the Latin word Luna for Moon.

In Britain, the 1824 Lunacy Act stated that people were liable to go mad when the Moon was full.

Research found a dramatic rise in admissions to psychiatric hospitals in New York on days of the full Moon.

A higher number of mental patients become highly disturbed around the time of full moon.

Various studies have shown that suicide rates are higher around the full moon.

The Moon and Accidents

Alcohol consumption rises at the start and end of the lunar cycle. More drunk drivers, more crashes and more hangovers occur at this critical time. It's hard to know if the astrological connection between the Moon and liquids or the Moon and emotions is the root cause.

At the time of the full moon, hospital accident and emergency units see about 10% more patients. 80% of casualty nurses and 64% of doctors believe the moon adversely affects patient behavior.

Crimes of violence increase at the full moon.

More about the Moon and lunar tables from well-known, British consultant astrologer, Deb Houlding. In addition David McMinn has identified persuasive correlations between stock market crashes and the Sun/Moon cycle.

Murder and the Full Moon

According to a US study, murders - many apparently motiveless - trebled around the time of the full moon. Author, Robert Louis Stevenson's classic Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde was inspired by the true story of Charles Hyde. Hyde committed a host of 'chilling deeds' at the time of the Full Moon.

Courtesy of equinoxastrology.com/LunarLore.htm. (There are 14 citations that you can follow at this web site)

Moon Imagery in the Lotus Sutra The moon as a guide

As the bright light of the sun and moon can clear away all darkness and obscurity, so this man, going through the world, can extinguish the darkness of the beings.

Were the clear light of this bright moon not shining,
I would be all alone as I travel on this dark path.

Japanese haiku master Matsuo Basho (1644-1694) writes:

Clouds appear
and bring to men a chance to rest
from looking at the moon.

Harvest moon:
around the pond I wander
and the night is gone.

Poverty's child -
he starts to grind the rice,
and gazes at the moon.

No blossoms and no moon,
and he is drinking sake
all alone!

Cherokee Moons

January: Cold Moon: Unolvtani
This time of the season is a time for personal and ritual observance, fasting and personal purification. During this season, families prepare for the coming of the new seasons, starting in Windy Moon Anuyi or March. Personal items and tools for planting are repaired, and new ones made. Stories about ancestors and the family are imparted to the younger ones by the elders. A mid-Winter or "Cold Moon Dance" is usually held in the community as well, marking the passing or ending of one cycle of seasons and welcoming the beginning of the new cycle. Hearth fires are put out and new ones made. The putting out of Fires and lighting of new ones anciently is the duty of certain "priest" of certain clans, and coincides with the first new-arrival of the morning star (Sun's daughter, now called Venus) in the east.

February: Bony Moon: Kagali
Traditional time of personal-family feast for the ones who had departed this world. A family meal is prepared with place(s) set for the departed. This is also a time of fasting and ritual observance. A community dance officiated by a "doctor" Didanawiskawi commonly referred to as a Medicine-person. Connected to this moon is the "Medicine Dance".

March: Windy Moon: Anuyi
"First New Moon" of the new seasons. Traditional start of the new cycle of planting seasons or Moons. New town council fires are made. The figure used to portray this moon is the historic figure of Kanati, one of the many beings created by the "Apportioner" Unethlana. These "helpers" were variously charged with the control of the life elements of the earth: air/earth/fire/water. Their domains are the sky, earth, stars and the Seven Levels of the universe.

April: Flower Moon: Kawoni
First plants of the season come out at this time. New births are customary within this time frame. The first new medicine and herb plants that taught mankind how to defend against sickness and conjury come out now. Streams and rivers controlled by the spirit being, "Long Man," renew their lives. Ritual observances are made to "Long Man" at this time. A dance customary at this season was the "Knee Deep Dance" of the Spring or Water Frog.

May: Planting Moon: Anisguti
Families traditionally prepare the fields and sow them with the stored seeds from last season. Corn, beans, squashes, tomatoes, potatoes, yams and sunflowers are some food planted at this time. A dance traditionally done at this time is the "Corn Dance".

June: Green Corn Moon: Tihaluhiyi
First signs of the "corn in tassel", and the emerging of the various plants of the fields. People traditionally begin preparations for the upcoming festivals of the ensuing growing season.

July: Ripe Corn Moon: Guyegwoni
First foods or the new planting and the roasting ears of corn are ready. Towns begin the cycle festivals. Dances and celebrations of thanks to the Earth Mother and the "Apportioner" Unethlana are given. In the old times this was the traditional time of the "Green Corn Dance" or festival. A common reference of this moon is the "first roasting of ears" (of corn)...sweet corn-moon. This is the customary time for commencement of the Stick Ball games traditionally called AniStusti, "Little War". Today known as "LaCross". Stick Ball dances and festivals are commonly held at this time.

August: Fruit Moon: Galoni
Foods of the trees and bushes are gathered at this time. The various "Paint Clans" begin to gather many of the herbs and medicines for which they were historically know. Green Corn festivals are commonly held at this time in the present day. The "Wild Potato" Clans AniNudawegi, begin harvesting various foods growing along the streams, marshes, lakes and ponds.

September: Nut Moon: Duliidsdi
The corn harvest referred to as "Ripe Corn Festival" was customarily held in the early part of this moon to acknowledge Selu the spirit of the corn. Selu is thought of as First Woman. The festival respects Mother Earth as well for providing all foods during the growing season. The "Brush Feast Festival" also customarily takes place in this season. All the fruits and nuts of the bushes and trees of the forest were gathered as this time. A wide variety of nuts from the trees went into the nut breads for the various festivals throughout the seasons. Hunting traditionally began in earnest at this time.

October: Harvest Moon: Duninudi
Time of traditional "Harvest Festival" Nowatequa when the people give thanks to all the living things of the fields and earth that helped them live, and to the "Apportioner" Unethlana. Cheno i-equa or "Great Moon" Festival is customarily held at this time.

November: Trading Moon: Nudadaequa
Traditionally a time of trading and barter among different towns and tribes for manufactured goods, produce and goods from hunting. The people traded with other nearby tribes as well as distant tribes, including those of Canada, Middle America and South America. Also the customary time of the "Friendship Festival" Adohuna = "new friends made". This was a time when all transgressions were forgiven, except for murder which traditionally was taken care of according to the law of blood by a clans person of a murdered person. The festival recalls a time before "world selfishness and greed". This was a time also when the needy among the towns were given whatever they needed to help them through the impending lean winter season.

December: Snow Moon: Usgiyi
The spirit being, "Snow Man", brings the cold and snow for the earth to cover the high places while the earth rests until the rebirth of the seasons in the Windy Moon Anuyi. Families traditionally were busy putting up and storing goods for the next cycle of seasons. Elders enjoyed teaching and retelling ancient stories of the people to the young.

Flat Gabriella Does New York

My cute little niece, Bryna McDowell, sent a special friend to me as part of of school assignment (she's in the second grade). My mission, should I decide to accept it: Take Flat Gabriella sightseeing. Make her clothing, if I am so moved. Answer questions about my city. Here is Flat Gabby's experience in her own words and pictures:

Flat Gabriella Does New York - Upload a Document to Scribd

Read this document on Scribd: Flat Gabriella Does New York

Flat Gabby returned to Pittsburgh not only with her new wardrobe, but with a bag of souvenirs from the highway robbers in Times Square. But I'm not complaining. I had so much joy participating in this assignment, and my sister, Tina, my nephew, Kevin and Bryna loved it.

Nota bene: Not only did Bryna get the grade I promised (A), Flat Gabriella was read, in part, by the principal, at the school assembly. Yes! [fist pump]

A Shout-Out

Civility and knowledge are alive and well at RadioShack on 57th Street between 7th Avenue and Broadway! A couple of weeks ago I saw a tripod in the window. After months of failed attempts at trying to capture a full moon – or any moon, for that matter – I went into the store a couple of days ago to buy a tripod, and I bought one for, yes! $20!

Mr. Daniel Asomani Anim was kind enough to remove it from the box and show me how to assemble and disassemble. So, here’s a shout-out to him and his equally friendly co-worker, a young woman whose name and photo I did not get. I had been in the store on a previous occasion not long after I bought my digital camera. I was in the area taking photographs and wondering why the internal memory was filling up so fast. Duh! I thought something was wrong with the camera, but Daniel explained the need for a memory card and also sold me a SanDisk memory stick for storage. Double shout-out to y’all!

White Baby Rhinoceros Born

Dalton in Furness, United Kingdom, June 2, 2008—A white rhinoceros calf stands by its mother at the South Lakes Wild Animal Park in southern England. Only about 11,000 white rhinos—native to the grassy plains of Africa—survive in the wild. The demand for rhino horns for use in traditional medicine has driven the animals to near extinction.

Source: NationalGeographic.com

A GPS for Bicycles

I was just asking about this the other day: http://blog.wired.com/gadgets/2008/05/review-garmin-e.html

Have a Potato Chip

CINCINNATI (AP) -- The man who designed the Pringles potato crisp packaging system was so proud of his accomplishment that a portion of his ashes has been buried in one of the iconic cans.

Fredric J. Baur, of Cincinnati, died May 4 at Vitas Hospice in Cincinnati, his family said. He was 89.

Baur's children said they honored his request to bury him in one of the cans by placing part of his cremated remains in a Pringles container in his grave in suburban Springfield Township. The rest of his remains were placed in an urn buried along with the can, with some placed in another urn and given to a grandson, said Baur's daughter, Linda Baur of Diamondhead, Miss.

Baur requested the burial arrangement because he was proud of his design of the Pringles container, a son, Lawrence Baur of Stevensville, Mich., said Monday.

Baur was an organic chemist and food storage technician who specialized in research and development and quality control for Cincinnati-based Procter & Gamble Co.

Baur filed for a patent for the tubular Pringles container and for the method of packaging the curved, stacked chips in the container in 1966, and it was granted in 1970, P&G archivist Ed Rider said.

Baur retired from P&G in the early 1980s.

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Big Brown: Last, But Safe (so far)

According to his jockey, Kent Desormeaux, Big Brown was in trouble in the turn for home, so Desormeaux slowed him down and let him gallop down the stretch. The favored contender for the Belmont Stakes, and, consequently, the Triple Crown, crossed the finish line last in a field of eight others.

Speaking on the television broadcast, Desormeaux offered this explanation: "The racetrack just didn’t hold him up." He continued: "He slipped. I got him outside early and he cantered. He wanted to jump up in the bridle but I could tell I had no horse [italics mine]. I took care of him."

Rick Dutrow, BB’s trainer, had this to say after the race: “He’s in good shape, he’s OK. We’re very, very proud of him. Something has to not be right for him to pulled [sic] up in a race, so I have to try to find out what it is. I’m sure it’s not the horse’s fault, so there’s nothing to be down on him.” According to the on-call veterinarian for the American Association of Equine Practitioners, Dr. Larry Bramlage, a preliminary examination of Big Brown didn’t reveal any issues with lameness.

I should add that Big Brown ran in the Belmont Stakes today without his monthly dose of Winstrol, an anabolic steroid. Dutrow said he hadn’t received a dose since April 15th, according to a report in The New York Times. Anabolic steroids are some of the most powerful drugs in sports. They can improve a horse to improve of the initial dosing, but they do carry side effects, such as suppressing natural hormone production as well as the immune system. Because of the rapid increase in muscle strength, bones and ligaments experience more strain. Unfortunately, there are trainers that ruin horses by abusing these drugs.

I can empathize with Big Brown. I don’t know much about horses, and I have no experience with anabolic steroids, but I do know a lot about another kind of steroid, corticosteroids, used to ease inflammatory conditions such as asthma and arthritis. When I’ve taken Prednisone for asthma, I, too, experienced increased strength, a sense of greater well-being, and diminished inflammation. Corticosteroids are another classification of powerful drugs which suppress the immune system and the adrenal glands. At the height of my steroid regime, I felt as if I could run twelve furlongs. Breathing was perfect. Any sore muscles or other inflammation was nonexistent. At the end of the regimen as I tapered slowly, if anyone had mounted me and given me the whip, I wouldn’t have had anything to give, either, except a yawn and a long, loud snore. Fatigue as the adrenals slowly return to normal can be nearly debilitating.

The longer horses are on a steroid regimen, the more likely they are to be permanently damaged. Long-term regimens not only impact hormones and liver function, they strip muscles of the fat between the sinews, increasing the chance of tendons and ligaments stripping away from the bones during exercise. I suppose BB, only three years old, will be retired to the stud farm. Insiders says that remaining competitive on the track too long is a risky path to self-destruction.

But what??!!

How can it be called self-destruction when the horse is not in control of his or her own destiny?

Kudos to the jockey for "feeling" the horse and acting accordingly.

(I really like to think that Big Brown had enough sense to avoid putting undue stress on his already cracked hoof.)

He looked a little wobbly, maybe disoriented. Maybe BB just said, "Fuck it, it's too damn hot to run today!"

As my grandmother would have said, "Big Brown, baby, you ain't got nothing to be ashamed of."

Big Brown . . . Hoping for Your Win, Praying for Your Safety

Big Brown has a stress fracture of the hoof wall. His trainer calls this "a minor setback " and says that the three-year-old colt, winner of the Kentucky Derby and Preakness Stakes, will be ready on June 7th for the Belmont Stakes to possibly become the 12th Triple Crown winner since Affirmed beat Alydar in 1978.





Affirmed & Alydar





I don't know much about thoroughbred racing. I simply know that I love horses and love to see them run. I've attended two races in my life, both with a good friend and afficionado who introduced me to the sport (his knowledge of the sport and its statistics is encyclopedic). Unfortunately, on each occasion, I witnessed a track tragedy. At the end of the first race, a three-year-old Canadian filly, Cryptic Solution, broke down and had to be euthanized on the track (and fictionialized in a novel that I'm working on; perhaps I'll include that portion in this posting or a subsequent one). It's a sight -- struggling horse, the van, the tarp -- that will always be with me, and for months afterwards, the recollection of it made me ill. I vowed never to return to the track, but I did. And on my second visit, there was another breakdown of a horse whose name I don't remember (and perhaps never knew); however, a life was saved, I believed. I vowed never to return to the track, and I haven't. The anxiety that ensues from possibly having to witness another horse (or jockey) accident is too great for me, negating any pleasure of watching the horses run. I won't even watch races live on TV; I simply wait for replays during the sports segments of the news, as long as I know, in advance, that all crossed the finish line standing on all fours.

Back to Big Brown: In spite of the horse's problem with sore feet, Dick Dutrow, BB's trainer, says BB's right hoof injury is "nothing like the ones Big Brown sustained last fall and over the winter. Those injuries sidelined him for nearly three months." Let's hope that Big Brown heals well, and, if there is the tiniest question of his readiness, that his trainer and owners exercise wisdom and caution and do the right thing.

There is a Toxic Waste Site, and It Is YOU!

Out of curiosity, and on the recommendation of a co-worker, I brought a product called Patch-It. They are individually wrapped sticky patches, a detox system, that, as the directions recommend, you put on the soles of your feet just before bed. The claim is that they remove toxins by stimulating acupressure points. They are for anyone who “wants to get up in the morning with a spring in their step after a good nights [sic] sleep” (I am already skeptical when the grammar and punctuation in promotional copy are wrong). Okay, I tried them, and by morning they had collected some awful-looking black stuff from the clean soles of my feet.

The problem is that there is no explanation of exactly how and why this works. I want to believe, but at the same time, I’m suspicious. I always have my rip-off antennae pulled to full length. These patches remind me of an experience I had, or witnessed, some years ago:

I accompanied a roommate (she’ll remain anonymous because I’m sure, though I haven’t seen or spoken to her in many years, that she would not want this known) to the storefront of a gypsy fortune teller on the east side of Manhattan. You know the ones. They’ll remove a curse as well as your purse. Well, anyway, I went with my roommate on her second trip. Madame Whoever-It-Was had given her an egg on the previous week. She was supposed to put it under her bed (which she did), the Madame said, at which time, evil would be drawn from her and into the egg.

I thought it was pretty fantastic (not as in terrific, but as in preposterous), but I went anyway, out of curiosity. Well, the gypsy-lady mumbled a few words over the egg, pressed it to my roommate’s solar plexus and suddenly cracked it into a small glass bowl. Lo and behold, there was some sort of glob of black, hairy, stringy gook mixed with the white and yolk. That, the gypsy-lady said, was the evil curse, now removed. And yes, her purse was quite a bit lighter.

Now, pulling these patches off in the morning reminded me of the cracking of the egg.

So, what is this shit? True toxins? And why would toxins be excreted through acupressure points? Are they the result of a chemical reaction between the ingredients in the patches and the acids in my skin? Hmmm . . . Research is called for. In the meantime, I’m going to try them on the palms.

Pushkin Visits the Vet, Too

Pushkin and I went to the vet today. He was great, a real trouper, given that the day was cool and rainy and that he’s unaccustomed to being outdoors. Whereas Zora was a wild woman, twisting and turning and leaping (she had to be restrained with a blanket and muzzled for x-rays, Pushkin was relatively calm. All it takes to subdue him is lots of rubs and strokes. He weighed in at 15 pounds, but the doctor said that was okay because he’s a big cat. Unlike Zora, he doesn’t have a heart murmur (so no x-rays were really needed before he got a shot of cortisone for asthma. (He’s such a bully; I hope the dude doesn’t go into “roid” rage.) Unfortunately (or maybe not), Dr. Jacobson saw a dark spot on each pupil. She examined him closely, trying to see if the spots were raised. They might be (1) nothing but some inherited characteristic; (2) the changing of color; or (3) possible melanoma, or something that might turn into melanoma. Hmmm . . . I have to keep an eye on the spots and call Dr. Jacobson on Friday.

Now, my inclination is to indulge my hunger for medical/veterinary knowledge and troll the internet for information about eye melanoma in cats, but I’m not going there this time. I’m not going to act as if I should be prepared for my cat having eye cancer. I won’t worry or suffer about anything that hasn’t happened. I won’t worry about the mere possibility of anything.

My cats have been through a lot with me: depression, a devastating fire, staying with crazy people (to whom I am, nonetheless, grateful), moving four times within the last six years. All of the cats I have ever had (8 including present company) have been my teachers, my sounding boards, my sometime reflections, my friends. They’ve been the catalyst for my examination of and speculation on life beyond human life.

Okay, gotta go. Someone's calling for hugs, rubs and treats. (I promise not to turn this into a CatBlog.)

Operation Baghdad Pups

I heard about Operation Baghdad Pups on a talk radio show tonight. The story of a soldier who had been with two others when they were killed by an IED. He cried every night, and in order not to disturb the others, he'd go outside. A stray cat began to go to him, to sit on his lap, to lick his face and purr on his lap. This is a part of the animal-human bond we don't often think about -- the healing power of animals in wartime. One soldier said that her working dog, a German shepherd, was "the light of her life." The following was taken from the Baghdad Pup website:


Operation Baghdad Pups began with an email received on September 11, 2007. The desperate words of the U.S. soldier serving in Iraq told of his desire to get the dog, Charlie, he and his regiment had befriended out of the Middle East before their tour of duty ended. Because it is against regulations for troops to befriend an animal or transport one on a military flight, the likelihood of the determined soldiers succeeding alone seemed doubtful. Operation Baghdad Pups began with an email received on September 11, 2007. The desperate words of the U.S. soldier serving in Iraq told of his desire to get the dog, Charlie, he and his regiment had befriended out of the Middle East before their tour of duty ended. Because it is against regulations for troops to befriend an animal or transport one on a military flight, the likelihood of the determined soldiers succeeding alone seemed doubtful.


Members of this Army regiment discovered the dog earlier that summer while patrolling a dangerous neighborhood on the outskirts of Baghdad. The malnourished and flea covered puppy, no bigger than a baked potato, was scooped up by a soldier who felt sorry for the pitiful orphan. Hidden in a tattered blanket, the puppy was snuck onto the Coalition Outpost. As the soldiers took turns secretly caring for the puppy the strong bond between man and dog grew.Members of this Army regiment discovered the dog earlier that summer while patrolling a dangerous neighborhood on the outskirts of Baghdad. The malnourished and flea covered puppy, no bigger than a baked potato, was scooped up by a soldier who felt sorry for the pitiful orphan. Hidden in a tattered blanket, the puppy was snuck onto the Coalition Outpost. As the soldiers took turns secretly caring for the puppy the strong bond between man and dog grew.


“Taking care of Charlie gave me something to look forward to everyday,” one soldier explained. “When all the guys got to playing with him we forgot where we were, the horrible things we had seen, and what we still had to go through. Charlie definitely made our time in Iraq more bearable. He was like a welcomed piece of home right here in the midst of Baghdad.”“Taking care of Charlie gave me something to look forward to everyday,” one soldier explained. “When all the guys got to playing with him we forgot where we were, the horrible things we had seen, and what we still had to go through. Charlie definitely made our time in Iraq more bearable. He was like a welcomed piece of home right here in the midst of Baghdad.”


Abandoning Charlie in this war ravaged country, consumed in hatred and destruction, would have meant certain death for him. “We all made him a promise that we would not give up. We’d find a way somehow to get him to a better life in the states,” the soldier wrote in that first email.


Operation Baghdad Pups has now successfully rescued Charlie and other dogs befriended by our troops, out of Iraq and Afghanistan. However, the logistics of moving animals from a war zone to a new home are extremely complicated and expensive. To learn more about these complicated hurdles each Baghdad Pup must overcome, visit the efforts page.




Canine War Hero, Socks, Lands Safely in U.S.
March 13th 2008

I am overjoyed, even speechless, about Socks getting home. He served with us and we didn’t want to leave him behind.


Washington, DC March 13th – Socks put his first paw on U.S. soil this morning at Dulles International Airport near Washington, DC. This four-year-old black dog with white paws has been serving U.S. units in Iraq for over 3 years as extra perimeter security at their Coalition Outpost in Western Iraq.

This is the sixth rescue through SPCA International’s Operation Baghdad Pups program. Operation Baghdad Pups is sponsored in part by online pet product retailer, I Love Dogs, Inc.

The unit Socks left behind was excited to hear of his safe arrival today.

“I am overjoyed, even speechless, about Socks getting home. He served with us and we didn’t want to leave him behind. It would almost be like leaving one of my fellow soldiers behind. I’m so glad he’s safe,” explains the U.S. soldier and Savannah, Georgia native who will be adopting Socks when he returns from Iraq.

Socks’ journey from stray to comrade is an amazing tale, but SPCA International and the unit determined not to leave him behind know only part of the story. Socks has been handed off from unit to unit moving through this Coalition Outpost. Each departing unit explains that Socks will be a great asset to the incoming unit and the newly arrived soldiers learn the truth of this declaration very quickly as Socks proves his worth and loyalty.

Socks, an Iraqi mutt from the streets, was given state-of-the-art training by the previous units he befriended and served. At the Coalition Outpost where he lives, the bathrooms are located outside the sleeping quarters. When night falls, Socks remains stationed outside the barrack doors and waits until a soldier needs to visit the facilities. Socks escorts each soldier through the night, ears perked for any sign of danger. Then Socks patiently waits until the soldier is finished and carefully escorts him back to safety inside the barracks.

SPCA International is interested to find out more about Socks’ story and, although he already has a committed home, they hope Socks has the opportunity to be reunited with some of the soldiers who first adopted and trained him when he was just a pup.


Later this week, Socks will travel to Savannah, Georgia to live with the sister of the adoptive soldier until the unit‘s tour concludes and they can be reunited.

Why? How?

Why didn’t Hillary Clinton kick her narcissistic husband to the curb after his affair with Monica Lewinsky? Not a marriage, but a political partnership? Political expediency? An enabler? Co-dependent?

Why is “the first black president” unconsciously (or consciously) sabotaging his wife’s campaign with his uncontrolled temper and wagging finger?

What possessed her to tell the ducking-and-dodging-bullets lie?

Remember Socks, the cat? Buddy, the chocolate labrador? Also tools of political expediency?

Hillary’s campaign is in such debt that the Clinton’s might have to go on the dole when it’s all said and done.

I wanted to be excited about this campaign, about the historical nature of a woman and a man of color vying for the nomination; unfortunately, I won’t be voting because I am disgusted with politicians and the entire political system in this country. What is the real difference between Clinton and Obama, both of whom have taken lots of corporate money? How can change be brought about when one is beholden to the big money? I fear that no matter who ends up in the White House, it will be business as usual, and the paradigm shift that was promised will be forgotten by both politicians and the people they claim to serve. [sigh]

It's Raining, It's Pouring, the Old Man is Snoring . . .

It’s raining and cool, made cooler by the wind. So much wind that petals of tulips nearing their lifetimes have been blown clear of their stems, and in some case, clear of the gardens that gave birth to them. It's so cool, in fact, that the heat in the apartment is on (what a wonderful landlord!).

It’s a great day to meditate or chant, to read or watch rented film, to groom your animals and pamper yourself, to stand under your shower as if it were a waterfall, to peruse Craig’s List for work while you listen to NPR, or – dare I say it – sleep.

Look for work . . . Five of us were laid off last month, so now I’m collecting unemployment. Unemployment feels like free money. The Labor Department as Art Patron. No more paper checks and snail mail. Now it's direct deposit or bank cards. I’d really love to get some part-time or short-term work OFF THE BOOKS while I’m receiving unemployment benefits. Medical coverage until September 1st. Not so bad.

No more McJobs, McBosses, McPaychecks. I turned 60 in March. Not a McBirthday. I want soul work. Work that grows from the heart. Work that I can say I truly like/love. Working at home. Or working with and for animals. Or working with sounds, sights and words. That’s as close to specific that I can be right now, because I’m in that space between one thing and the other where not-knowing but being open are called for. It's where all possibilities lie. I believe this.

Zora Visits the Vet: A Case of Family Karma

This is Zora, who lives with me along with her brother, Pushkin, and her mother, Precious.


Two days ago, I took her to the vet because she was exhibiting what I thought were symptoms of asthma. This is a relatively new apartment for us. The windows face a beautiful garden and the street, the entire neighborhood, in fact, is filled with trees, grasses and flowers, and the three of them love to sit and watch the squirrels, birds, and the neighborhood cats who wander in and out. Pushkin has the same symptoms, but to a lesser degree. Anyway, I was worried because their other brother, Gadu (Armenian for cat), aka Mister Huggy, passed away a couple of years ago from hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, a common form of mostly inherited congestive heart failure in cats. I always describe her as beautiful but skittish, and she lived up to her reputation. She escaped in the examination room, ran from one corner to the other and lept from the floor to the counter. Eddie, the veterinary technician, finally had to resort to putting a blanket over her and donning protective gloves in order to take her temperature, etc. She wasn't very vocal, just extremely physical, a little athlete, jumping, turning, twisting. Poor Eddie even had to muzzle her in order to take X-rays. When it was all over, the diagnosis is that she has asthma and a heart murmur, but her heart looks normal on the x-rays. Well, like owner, like cat. I have had a heart murmur for years and I, too, have asthma. And I believe the same is true for Pushkin (I'll take him in in a couple of weeks). Dr. Linda Jacobson, the veterinarian, has such a beautiful and caring manner of being and well as speaking. And the way she speak to the animals . . . And her reasonable fees . . . Zora got a shot of cortisone and she's doing well, now.

In much of the metaphysical/spiritual literature that I've read regarding the animal-human bond, the theory is that our animals often take on the physical or mental disorders of the household. They pick up on and act out the energy of the household. In Buddhism, there's a Japanese term, esho funi, which means that the person and her or his environment are one. In other words, whatever the condition, or vibration, if you will, of the person's life, that corresponding quality will be reflected in that person's environment, wherever it is, whoever it is.

Well, since Zora has made her debut on the web, I would be remiss if I neglected to introduce her mother and brother, so here are Precious and Pushkin:

I know, I know . . . she's on a diet as we speak.

NoNoNoNo . . . he's just sleeping!

A Poem: The Ritual

I am afraid to stand in this forest

to interrupt hoofprints

photographed on the turf

A surge of birds gathers for a ritual

I cover myself with the blanket of their chants

A Story

I am a member of the Artist Conference Network, ACN for short, a group of artists who meet to support each other. During our meetings, we share our work, showing or telling. As a writer, I tell; however, at our last meeting I had nothing to read because of an unexpected occurrence. I had nothing memorized. I had nothing jotted down, so I was left with the telling of a real-life that happened some 40 years ago. I was surprised by the way I stepped backward in time and was able to recapture the feelings and sensations of that event. I became young, unknowing, fresh and open. It's something I've never written about before (fiction and poetry are my creative areas).

When I was 20, I left my family and the city of my birth in a huff. "I'm never coming back here again!" I announced as they stood lined up on the porch. And then, with great ceremony, I flung open the door of the taxi that would take me to the airport where I would board a flight bound for Kansas City, Missouri, for airline stewardess school. After 6 (?) weeks of intensive training, I came to New York to fly out of JFK. My foreign language, Spanish, took me to Madrid where I danced a faux flamenco on top of a tabletop, to Rome many times, where beat a Roman with a a box of shoes when he grabbed my crotch, and cursed the Nazis when a German hausfrau spit at my feet. My greatest thrill, however, occurred on a domestic flight, from New York to Cincinnati, Ohio.

Being one of the most junior flight attendants, I would be working the coach section of the Boeing-727. A ground agent boarded and called all the flight attendants together. He told us that HE would be boarding the flight soon. What??!! No! I was having an attack of tachycardia. When the agent said that HE would be boarding first, and though HE was a first class passenger that HE would be boarding through coach, I started to smooth my hair, brush and smooth my uniform, and make sure that my wings were straight.

I took my position at the door, and within seconds I could see HIM and His entourage coming down the jetway. At a distance, HE was gorgeous. Close up, HE was heart-stopping. I gave HIM my best smile, praying there was no lipstick on my teeth, praying that HE did not see the corners of my mouth nervously twitching.

I thought of the many times I heard him ask reporters, Howard Cosell, anyone, "Ain't I pretty?" HE was magnificent. His presence was overwhelming. He looked you straight on, right in the eye. Damn right, he was pretty. Tall, brown and powerful.

"Welcome aboard, Champ?"

He greeted me with the Arabic a-salaam-alaikum, and then added, Sister.

This is the truth: My knees weakened, and the sophisticated world traveler reverted to what she was -- a 22-year-old away from home for the first time and meeting the man whose lesson to her would be standing strong for principles in the face of adversity, in the face of possibly losing everything.

He asked me if I would be serving them in first class, and I explained to him the seniority issue, but told him that I would be up to visit. and then I watched Muhammad Ali, Bundini Brown and others walk the length of the aircraft and disappear into the first class section. The other flight attendants see thrilled to have him on board, though I'm sure some of the crew members, cockpit crew, especially, disagreed viciously with his politics. Being a "sister," I decided it was my place to advise the first-class attendants against serving him the usual breakfast fare or sausage, bacon or ham. "And make sure," I said, "that there isn't any ham in the eggs."

When we finished our coach meal service, I went, as promised, and spoke to The Champ. This was during the time that his license to fight had been revoked. He was on his to defend himself to the Illinois Boxing Commission.

Before the flight was over, I presented him with two in-flight post cards and asked for two autographs -- one for myself and one for my grandmother. After he'd autographed the first, he asked for my grandmother's name. "Oh," I said, "the same as mine." I felt kind of bad lying to The Champ, but I wanted two for myself -- one for the wall and one for the wallet. My grandmother, who used to call Muhammad a loud-mouth Negro and claimed he would always be Cassius Clay, couldn't have cared less.

I have always loved Muhammad Ali, though I abhor boxing, and my love for him inspired me, years later, to do something I had never done and have never done since. The photos below tell the story.


(left) This is the sign I made for the Parkinson's Unity Walk in Central Park in the name of Muhammad Ali.
Planetary Citizen (right), a woman walking in the name of her husband (left)


The sign says: "I'm walking for my hero, Muhammad Ali,
The Greatest
of
Alllll Tiiiiimes."



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