Ice Patterns At Morning & Midnite...

With all of these intensely cold nites, I've noticed that the ice patterns on my windows are pretty amazing...

These four pics were taken at different times during the course of the day.

The larger pics, at the top and bottom of this blog entry, were taken around 10am. The smaller, offset to the left pics, were taken a little bit after midnite.

Enjoy winter's quiet, hidden beauty... As always -- click on the pics to enlarge.

Hearty Souls...

This isn't the easiest place on the planet to live... as I'm writing this blog, it is (-)8*F.. and with the wind chill, almost 20* below zero (F). Is it any wonder why I practically live under my electric blanket for almost 7 months out of the yr?

Yes, this place is not for wimps, or the faint of heart. And tho it does have it's own beauty about it, it does get very hard remembering why anyone would willingly choose to live here... and just when we are about to forget why... our very brief, but excellent summer rolls around... all 10 wks of it!

It takes more than a hearty soul to endure these cold winters, and the biting wind... it takes having roots soo deep that you couldn't cut them with an axe.

... And it takes a very, very good electric blanket.

Stay warm, wherever you are. As always, click the pics to enlarge.

No Words...

The Hollywood Minute...

Most of us had a pet, or pets when we grew up. Cats. Dogs. Birds. Gerbils. Fish. We had a parakeet; a (grouchy) cocker spaniel mutt; a german shepherd; and a good little dachsund dog (The Beloved Doggy).

I barely remember the bird -- he was around when I was really young - Chris Jingles was his name. Yes, birds get quirky names that any proud dog would hang their head on, if they were so-named. Anyway, I really don't remember much about the bird, except that every time I let it sit on my finger, I was half thinking (and expecting) that it would either bite my finger... or worse (if you get my drift).

About the only specific memory I have of our pet bird, was when we buried it. If I remember correctly, we buried him in an empty, semi-clear, yellow-orange colored, plastic .22 bullet container, which was put inside a cardboard box, or something. I don't know why it worked out this way... but now that I think of it, I was there for all of the burials (or putting to sleep) of all of the pets we had as a family --the bird & the 3 dogs (including The Beloved Doggy, last year).

The first dog we had, I remember as always being slightly afraid of. He reminded me of a really cranky Richard Nixon... yes, I read way too much history & current events as a kid. I think he died on halloween night, and was discovered the next morning, in the backyard, laying on the frost covered grass where he finally fell asleep. Stiff as a board, he was. I remember that me and Dad took him someplace - but I don't have a specific memory if we buried him, or took him to the Vet for burial, or what we did. I was probably a little sad that he was gone, but not sad enough to shed any tears. Come to think of it, I never cried when Richard Nixon passed on, either.

The 2nd dog we had was a big, friendly german shephard. A pretty dog, as far as dogs go. Not at all mean and sour like I remember the first dog as being. This 2nd one was very friendly, always wagging her tail. The poor dog, was going blind, and getting old, and starting to suffer just from moving around. When it was decided that the humane thing to do was to take her to the Vet, and put her to sleep (the dog, not the Vet - hehe), it fell to me and Dad to do the deed. I still remember how she must've sensed that something bad was gonna happen. She dug in her paws like she was putting on her brakes, as me and Dad tried to get her to go into the back of the pickup truck. I rode with her in the open-aired back, all the way to the Vet's. When me and Dad dropped her off there, and it was agreed that her condition was not a good one for her to keep suffering thru, I remember Dad telling the Vet: "We don't have to stay around for it, do we?"

Dad was an old softy... I remember seeing him getting all teared-up, doing his best to blink them back, so I wouldn't see.

It was a quiet ride home.

And about a yr and a half ago, me and Mom had to put to sleep The Beloved Doggy. The poor little doggy was old, losing his motor skills (couldn't walk -- would suddenly lose his back legs, and flop around on his back & sides). He was a sick little dog at the end. I took some video of him during that last week of his life, and on the morning we took him to the Vet to be put to sleep. Poor little dog. He was such a good puppy (he was 14 yrs old, but I still called him 'puppy').

The Vet asked if either of us wanted to be present when The Beloved Doggy was put to sleep. I asked him how it would happen. Basically, he would be given a lethal injection, and everything would shut down. It would be painless, and not a suffering kind of death -- and it'd be less than a minute. Stupid me, I had this Hollywood image in my head of those movie inmates on Death Row. I figured it'd be like it was in those prison movies: he'd get the injection, and linger around for about a minute, and slowly close his eyes and go to 'sleep'. I knew that if I stayed during it all, it was a two edged sword: On one hand, I could be there to comfort and hold The Beloved Doggy in that last Hollywood minute, after he had the injection. But also, I would always have that memory of watching The Beloved Doggy die.

I chose to stay for it. I knew The Beloved Doggy would be afraid (he always shaked like a little leaf at the Vet's, anyway). And, I figured I could at least hold him and pet him while the injection slowly took him away, during that final, Hollywood minute of his life.

As it turned out, it happened so very fast -- less than 5 seconds -- that I didn't get to comfort or hold The Beloved Doggy at all. I was standing in front of him, so he could see me. I still remember him looking up at me with those brown eyes. The Vet was on one side of him, about to give the injection. The assistant was holding The Beloved Doggy in her arms, craddling him to keep him still. I figured I'd get to hold The Beloved Doggy once the injection was given. You know, for that final, dramatic Hollywood minute type of ending.

Previous to my re-entering the room, the Vet had stuck a tube into one of The Beloved Doggy's front paws, where the injection would be given. I remember standing in front of The Beloved Doggy, seeing him trying to wiggle out of the Assistant's arms, and looking directly at me, like: 'Help me'. I was telling him to hold still, in my most comforting voice. I took my eyes off of him while I watched the Vet insert the syringe into the tube on the front paw. I remember noticing just a little bit of blood from where the tube was stuck into the paw, and I remember thinking: "Awww, poor little doggie. I bet that hurt him & scared him". I watched the Vet do the injection. And suddenly, no more than 5 seconds after the injection (probably only about 3 seconds), I remember taking my eyes off of the paw and the syringe, and watching the Assistant lay The Beloved Doggy down.

He was already gone.

I felt awful that I hadn't had a chance to hold him. I figured I'd hold him after the injection, for that last Hollywood minute, which never came. I was glad that it was quick, and he didn't suffer. But I wasn't any help or comfort at all to the poor little Beloved Doggy -- not like I had wanted, or planned to be.

I still feel bad about that.

The last memory I have of The Beloved Doggy while he was alive was when he looked at me, wiggling in the Assistant's arms, expecting me to help him get outta there. He was afraid, and even tho I was in front of him (which, I guess, was some form of comfort to him), I wasn't even petting him or touching him when he passed away. Some help I was...

When the Assistant layed him down onto the table, at the time, I figured that he was just becoming knocked out -- this was going to be the Hollywood minute that I had planned on. I started petting The Beloved Doggy, and saying: "Gooood puppy... Goooood puppy...", thinking he was still alive. The vet put a stethoscope on him, & checked several places for signs of life. "He's already gone", he said. It was that quick. He was gone when the Assistant layed him down.

I wasn't any help to The Beloved Doggy at all, except for standing in front of him, and letting him see me do nothing to help him. But, as terrible as I felt (feel) about that, I am glad that we took him home, and gave him a good burial. We buried him, and layed him down in his little doggy bed, and covered him with his stupid little towel/blanket.

I still talk to The Beloved Doggy, every day. I still say the phrases in the 'dog voice' that I always said to him. At this point in the game, it's a safe bet that that little stinky dog was as close as I'll ever get to having a kid. Stupid dog -- he thought I was his Dad. Whenever he'd do something bad, I'd protect him or hold him, & I'd tell him: "You're lucky I'm your Patron, you stupid dog".

The other day, I was watching the DVD I had made of The Beloved Doggy: It had a few photos of him, at various ages in his life (some of which are shown here in this blog). And, luckily, also some video clippings of him when he was still a frisky little dog, sniffing all over the yard for the elusive Squirrels (which he never could catch). It was good to see him healthy, happy, and spoiled. It was good to see him looking up at me, holding the camcorder, and wagging that stupid tail. It was good to see those puppy dog eyes, expectant of a treat & no care in the world... & not scared to death...

Everytime I see the parts of the DVD that were filmed on the last morning of his life, and I see him losing his little legs, and flopping all over, and those open sores on his sides that he got from uncontrollably scratching himself over and over til he was raw -- I know that it was a good thing to put him to sleep as painlessly and quickly as it was...

... But, even so, I wish I had been given that Hollywood minute...

Random Thoughts From Vacation...

For some reason, eating at a McDonald's inside an airport tastes better than a McDonald's outside the airport...

The probability of a person needing to go to the bathroom on an airplane increases by how crowded that row of seats are...

If you can read lips pretty well, and have an active imagination, there is no need to purchase those airline headphones to enjoy the in-flight movie...

Customer Service is not dead...

Always be nice to the natives...

Newport, RI is beautiful...

Subways are the horizontal equivalent of elevators -- no one looks at anyone, or says a word...

Big Cities offer everything I need... except for the essential quiet, simplicity & ease of access of a small town...

Even when it is windy, rainy and cold, Maine is absolutely beautiful...

Country Buffet is delicious anywhere!

Travelling opens your mind, & your wallet...

The best flight is the flight home...

(Click the pics to enlarge)...

He Was A Man, Taken For All In All...

"He was a man, taken for all in all. I shall not look upon his like again".

This passage from Shakespeare's 'Hamlet' (Act I, Scene II) crossed my mind this past week. It reminded me of my Dad.

It's been several yrs since his passing, and I still have dreams about the man. I still miss seeing him. I still get sad when I dwell upon his passing. I guess that's a good thing, in a bittersweet kinda way?

Sometimes, I compare my life to his. By my age, he had endured a relatively poor childhood. He had already worked during The Great Depression to support his family when he was a teenager, while struggling thru school. He volunteered for military service before the War came, and fought in some of the most important battles, both in the Pacific and in Europe.

And to all the anti-Nukes crowd out there, you will NEVER convince me otherwise from the fact that the Atomic bombing of Japan to end WWII saved more lives -- Japanese and American -- than it took. Probably including my Dad's. Therefore, mine as well.

By my age, he had long since married, was raising a large & still growing family; supported it with lots of long shifts in the freezing cold of snow & wind, and not much sleep. But never any grumblings or complaints. When Dad was my age, I had still yet to be born.

As I remembered that line from Shakespeare, I remembered my Dad, & measured my life thus lived at my current age vs. his... and I came up with a life by comparison as being barely lived, and muchly wasted. And I wonder, would he tell me to stop moping around, and do something about the things I need to change & correct? I'm sure he would.

"'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet,
To give these mourning duties to your father.
But you must know, your father lost a father;
That father lost, lost his; and the survivor bound
In filial obligation for some term
To do obsequious sorrow. But to persever
In obstinate condolement is a course
Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief;
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven;
A heart unfortified; a mind impatient,
An understanding simple and unschool'd...'"

Despite all of my supposed smarts, I really haven't learned much -- truly, mine is "A heart unfortified; a mind impatient, an understanding simple and unschool'd". It is pretty much a given that I shall leave behind no offspring to remember me -- altho, as I mentioned earlier, when Dad was as old as I am now, I hadn't yet been born. So, I guess there's still that outside chance. (I'm not, however, betting on it). But when I am looked back upon by anyone, will they shake their heads at the life that could've been? Or will they say of me:

"He was a man, taken for all in all. I shall not look upon his like again."

The Evil, Evil Sock Monkey...
(To be read quickly, as if out of breath & anxious...)

Day after day, HE stares at me... he spies me... unwavering... stoic. That unyielding countenance of his... that unbending smirk... that silent mockery.

Does my Being never leave his constant stare? Does my movement not escape him, and his unblinking gaze?? Does he watch o'er me, even as I sleep?

Ahh, sleep... I do indeed take repose, but yet with one eye open... casting about to catch his silent shadow against the unspeaking, unbending walls...

... laying awake for hours without end, and void of peaceful dreams, I listen for him... Him... HIM!!

"And now, have I not told you that what you mistake for madness
is but over-acuteness of the senses? Now I say there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound -- such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too... it was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates a soldier into courage. But even yet, I refrained & kept still... I scarcely breathed...."

Truly, I tell you, friend -- the Sock Monkey castigates me! He seeks to wear me down & whittle away my peace by the ungodly screaming of his perpetual silence!! Oh! How he seeks to destroy me!!!!

Is that which I speak, blasphemy? How can it be so when all that I have related to you about the Sock Monkey be faithful & true?

"Speak not to me of blasphemy, man! I'd strike the sun if it insulted me!... Look ye, Starbuck... All visible objects are but as pasteboard masks. Some inscrutable, yet reasoning Thing puts forth the molding of their features. The White Whale tasks me.. he HEAPS me! Yet, he is but a mask. Tis the thing behind the mask I chiefly hate... the malignant thing that has plagued & frightened man since time began... the thing that mauls & mutilates our race -- not killing us outright, but letting us live-on with half a heart, and half a lung!"

I swear to thee, that last nite, in darkness of midnite -- or was it the darkness of my soul? -- I did creep upon that Sock Monkey, and caught him whilst he looked away, toward a sound in the opposite corner of the room... Hahahahah! Oh! I did fool that evil, cotton-filled primate by cleverly tossing a small stone against the opposing wall, to distract his perpetual vigil against me!! Twas then that I struck -- quickly and lethally, as a coiled cobra! Struggling mightily, I rendered him helpless, and cast him asunder... never to again disturb me with his evil quietness...

And, yet, now, several hours later... I do swear that I can hear him... I can feel his buttoned-pupils upon me once more... I can sense his ceaseless ridicule and boundless insults against me!! I listen again... and though my ears fail to detect any sound whatever, I DO hear him.. feel him... dread him...

How can this be so?? Did I not rid myself of him but a scarce few hours ago?? What is it that I hear so loudly as if to presently drive me mad??

"... but the noise steadily increased! Oh, God! What could I do? I foamed! I raved! I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been square-sitting, and grated it upon the boards... but the noise arose over all, and continuously increased! It grew louder, & Louder, & LOUDER!!...

... But, anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bare their hypocritical smiles no longer -- I felt that I must scream or die!! And now, again -- hark! Louder... Louder!! LOUDER!!

Villains!! Disemble no more!! I admit the deed!! Tear up the planks!!! Here! HERE!!... It is the beating of his hideous heart...!!!!"

(with apologies to Edgar Allan Poe & Herman Melville).

A Valid Question, Sometimes: 'Who Cares?'

It's easy to do. I do it myself. Turn on any TV newscast, or read headlines on a newspaper, or on the internet, and it's easy to become kinda jaded.

Terrorism here.
Disasters there.
Starvation.
War.
Suffering.

Newscasts are made up of almost entirely negative things. Sometimes even awful and grisly things. After 58 minutes of making us depressed and/or scared to death, they throw in a little, 2 minute segment at the end: Man saves cat. Dog saves drowing boy. Kids raise money for victims. That sort of story, which is supposed to make us leave the newscast feeling good about life. But, not surprisingly, that 2 minute blurb at the end gets totally lost under the previous avalanche of depressing stories. Afterwards, it becomes all too easy for us (me) to shake our heads & say: 'Who Cares?'

Natalie Merchant had a really great song on her first solo CD, "Tiger Lily". The song was entitled 'Where I Go'. It was a simple, soft, acoustic-laiden song. Natalie's beautiful & extremely recognizeable voice is a perfect compliment to the positive beat and lyrics. The song is about getting away from everything, and going to a river, and letting go of all of the daily burdens that we become buried under.

'Well, I go to the river to soothe my mind,
ponder over the crazy days of my life,
to sit & watch the river flow...'

Last wk, on vacation, I had a chance to do just that -- go to the river. I used to get there quite often, especially in the fall and spring. It's the perfect, peaceful place to go and just watch clouds, or birds, or listen to the river flowing by. I hadn't been down there for almost a yr, and probably longer. That simple thing that I loved so much, somehow got lost in the bombardment of blinking lites and technology that I immerse myself in -- much in the same way in which that 2 minute segment at the end of the newscast gets lost.

Those of you who have been faithful readers of this blog, will no doubt realize that I think that the John Huston film, 'Moby Dick' (with Gregory Peck as Capt. Ahab) is the best film ever -- or, at least, my favorite film. I think this is the 3rd blog where that film has made some sort of appearance or reference. Anyway, the great tale begins with one of the most famous introductions in literature, spoken by the voice of the story's teller:

"Call me.... Ishmael. Some years ago, having little or no money,
I thought I'd sail about, and see the oceans of the world.
Whenever I feel grim & spleenful,
whenever I feel like knocking people's hats off in the street,
whenever it's a damp, drizzly November in my soul,
I know it's high time to get to sea again.

Choose.... any path you please,
and ten to one it carries you down to water.
There's a magic in water that draws all men from the land,
leads them over hills,
down creeks & streams & rivers
to the sea...

... The sea -- where each man, as in a mirror -- finds...
... himself.

There's alot of truth in that. I was grateful for the opportunity last wk to go to my aquatic refuge -- the river. It was just what the Dr. ordered, and I was reminded of how much I had missed that simple get-away.

So now, fully a week back into the old grind of work, I'm trying not to throw my hands up in the air, and say 'Who Cares?'. The next time my soul feels it's own damp, drizzly November, I'll try to make a conscious effort to escape down to the river 'to soothe my mind'. Unlike my dirty reflection in the anonymous message, scrawled by someone's finger on the dusty window of an empty building -- I'll look into the clear reflection of a crisp, clean river. And maybe, once again, as in a mirror, I'll find...

... myself.

(Here is a link to a great song/music video by R.E.M., called "Find The River").

The Mid-Summer Blog...

Is the glass half full, or half empty?

Now that the summer solstice has come n gone, summer begins her slow fade to fall... Yes, the days are getting shorter now, by about a minute or so per day. Which brings up the question above: Is the glass half full, or half empty?

Sure, June is just about shot. July 4th is a little over a week away - the unofficial midway point of summer vacation. But I say that instead of focusing on the reality of shorter and shorter days, sometimes it's better to concentrate on the perception. If we take a few steps back, and take a few moments to notice the quiet things around us, then maybe time can stand still for a few moments. And in this small way -- the simple enjoyment of simply being -- the perception of making time 'stand still', will add to the day a length of satisfaction which makes up for the measure of daylight that is lost.

It's all about perception, and looking at things differently. And, sometimes, it's all about changing the options we are given.

So, it isnt about if the glass is half full. Nor is it about if the glass is half empty. Maybe it's about realizing how lucky we are that our glass is twice as big as we need.

Enjoy the mid-summer pics taken at a family cookout this wknd. Some of the pics were taken by my neice, who really did a fine job. And of course, the food was excellent. Remember, click on any pic to see it full size.

Ya really gotta luv summer...