tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41504872004980326252024-02-20T16:10:46.904-05:00Cassandra Was RightDoes talking to the web clear one's thoughts better than talking to oneself - or to the dogs - does? With this blog Cassandra aims to find out. Please join her for a snoop and mumble through the cobwebbed corners of the mind.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-29807892671716864482015-03-09T09:44:00.002-04:002015-03-09T09:44:41.183-04:00The Dog Ate Putin's HomeworkTwo deaths already and no doubt more to come <b>should </b>make everything related to the Boris Nemstov murder tragic. And so they do.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/mar/09/boris-nemtsov-speculation-about-islamist-link-useful-for-kremlin?CMP=ema_565" target="_blank">On the other hand, the Kremlin's shucking and jiving are utterly fascinating to watch</a>.<br />
<br />
A show of hands, please.<br />
<br />
- Who was surprised that Mr. Putin took personal charge of the investigation, thus guaranteeing that -- (fill in the blanks here)?<br />
<br />
- Who was surprised that the murderers who were fingered were low-grade Chechen criminals?<br />
<br />
- Who was surprised to see one of them blown up and the other teetering on the edge of nothingness, soon to also fall?<br />
<br />
Do I see no hands at all? Good! <br />
<br />
And a poll: will the second 'killer'<br />
1. Poison himself through some never-explained means<br />
2, Hang himself in his cell, probably with his own socks<br />
3. Suffer a fatal heart attack<br />
4. Sort of vanish, forever<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqM58fMWhL8vB88rEEAqEOeMKacmfZyd4RuVrX_IE-mMZkPogInoIB9SQ3cdK0XssQ6eOMtUVZdWULPegZv3HGFhn0tnN6W48vLJoRd9oe3QT3biXLE5FoRQoeeugOzQxzjvMLU6SX6PZA/s1600/how-to-disappear-book-cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqM58fMWhL8vB88rEEAqEOeMKacmfZyd4RuVrX_IE-mMZkPogInoIB9SQ3cdK0XssQ6eOMtUVZdWULPegZv3HGFhn0tnN6W48vLJoRd9oe3QT3biXLE5FoRQoeeugOzQxzjvMLU6SX6PZA/s1600/how-to-disappear-book-cover.jpg" height="320" width="273" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>This might be helpful</i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-33953492567650454472014-03-13T10:39:00.005-04:002015-03-06T09:52:51.697-05:00"Bless You" and other personal insults<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I realized that I had not found a spiritual or logical home the first time I lunched with the local atheists' meetup group.<br />
<br />
What happened? A grand philosophical overturning? A blast of holy light? Someone under-tipping? No, nothing so vast or so tiny, but far more revealing.<br />
<br />
Someone sneezed, and no one said anything.<br />
<br />
Have you stopped laughing? Thank you. Now consider this.<br />
<br />
Why do we say "Bless you" or something equally meaningless and well-meaning when someone sneezes? Do we still believe that the heart stops for one beat, and a verbal blessing from an onlooker might get it started again? Or is it simply a part of the social contract under which we were raised?<br />
<br />
"How are you?" "Fine, thanks."<br />
<br />
"How ya doin'?" "Great."<br />
<br />
"Bon appetit." "Merci."<br />
<br />
"Merci." "De rien."<br />
<br />
"Efharisto." "Tipota."<br />
<br />
"Kak dela?" "Harasho." <br />
<br />
"Kalo dromo." "<span data-reactid=".n.1:3:1:$comment10152650980378906_36636195:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:2"></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".n.1:3:1:$comment10152650980378906_36636195:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".n.1:3:1:$comment10152650980378906_36636195:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".n.1:3:1:$comment10152650980378906_36636195:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.0:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0">Na eisai kala</span></span></span>."<br />
<br />
"Thank you." "You're welcome."<br />
<br />
And, of course...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRDpUSWvr_t9MFNxhs1_4xc5jydmzNR-FN-BnUG6TWknrvhFJSPYzxIewZ9CfrDJKtrYYqutXNNIC5knz-h8tfpxwccAAshRugIi7KkbxkIkoq-FtdbltZu-rWhDgZ7LWAVDcj99pZX6rE/s1600/japan+bow+korea+culture+beauty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRDpUSWvr_t9MFNxhs1_4xc5jydmzNR-FN-BnUG6TWknrvhFJSPYzxIewZ9CfrDJKtrYYqutXNNIC5knz-h8tfpxwccAAshRugIi7KkbxkIkoq-FtdbltZu-rWhDgZ7LWAVDcj99pZX6rE/s1600/japan+bow+korea+culture+beauty.jpg" height="202" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Are any of those exchanges, gestures, verbal ticks, meant literally? Maybe, maybe not. But it's not the 'truth' about them that matters. They are a few of the trillions of ways in which we reconfirm our connections to others, even (maybe especially) strangers. Who has not been confined with total strangers in, say, a bus, an elevator, on a movie queue, when someone sneezes? What inevitably happens? After a short pause, someone else, another total stranger, says, "Bless you," or the local equivalent. And the whole group relaxes.<br />
<br />
We are pack animals - social creatures - first, religious beings
somewhere further down that list. Social creatures know what to expect
of one another, and how to fulfill others' expectations themselves, so
that the people around them, friends or strangers, feel easy in their
company. Knowing that they know how to behave and so the pack will get along together, and the members will flow through other packs without friction or misunderstanding. "Sorry" "No problem" and "Achoo" "Bless you" are quick verbal shorthand for that willingness to flow. The group - and members of a group who are out all alone - can feel reassured.<br />
<br />
Is "Bless you" truly religious behavior? Should an atheist or a member of some religious group that doesn't do blessings feel insulted, demeaned or misunderstood? No member of that lunch group would have hesitated to thank another for passing the salt, to apologize for stepping on another's foot, to greet an new arrival or say goodbye to a departer. But to offer that single, simple, well-meant and essentially meaningless word stopped the whole social machine cold.<br />
<br />
Can't we find some more entertaining way to be offended? Please? Thank you.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-31837696153572072112010-04-01T07:00:00.004-04:002010-04-01T07:00:00.721-04:00Designating GodIt is become a habit among atheists - a group in which Cassandra claims full membership - to write the name of the purported supreme being without a capital letter G.<br />
<br />
Cassandra understands this impulse perfectly, and the logic appears to be sound: if there is no such person or living entity, it can't have a name, only an appellation, designation... Right? That is, the entity indicated doesn't actually exist, so doesn't have to be addressed or written about with wary respect. A simple - rather than a proper - noun should do it.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">(Sometimes a sunset is only a sunset)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpINT32Ldj2__xj7D7XB5uKEul1C4ApdadCSsWuLTf45-GLAK_wIHlzV7HVUyIcTjMMJSTTsmXUBv9E0MMmVa_Kb_4Uvr9WSqxye-podJmXj__9nOq63QoKG6pH7kvSzJLQ4HbngC2OAcL/s1600/sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpINT32Ldj2__xj7D7XB5uKEul1C4ApdadCSsWuLTf45-GLAK_wIHlzV7HVUyIcTjMMJSTTsmXUBv9E0MMmVa_Kb_4Uvr9WSqxye-podJmXj__9nOq63QoKG6pH7kvSzJLQ4HbngC2OAcL/s320/sunset.jpg" /></a></div><br />
But wait.<br />
<br />
In English, many things that are not real enjoy the honor of capitalized appellations. We don't use capitalization as profligately as the Germans, who capitalize all nouns, proper or not, but we do capitalize identifiable characters whom we know for certain do not exist in the real world: Charlie Brown, Victor Samsa, Flicka, Poseidon and Krishna, among billions of others.<br />
<br />
Cassandra can't help but conclude that, even for those trying hard to make a valid point, proper English usage trumps political points. The nonexistent non-being is God, not god.<br />
<br />
Sorry. But don't worry. We know what you mean.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-43055005245694942692010-03-31T07:00:00.002-04:002010-03-31T07:00:11.211-04:00Where have you been?<div>Several nifty web sites allow you to check off all the countries you've visited, and then it colors them in on a map. Some of the checks are a bit misleading: a visit to Moscow and one to Vancouver BC can pretty much knock off most of the northern hemisphere, while multiple visits to smaller countries don't look like much. Maybe, however, it evens out in the end.<br />
<br />
Some sites actually skip some countries: One has no check box for Barbados, for example. Others do interesting rearrangements: on one Cyprus is in Europe; on another it is in the Middle East. And some of the maps don't color in all the countries, even if they're checked off. But this one seems to work okay: <br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="position: relative; width: 550px;"><br />
<object data="http://static.travbuddy.com/flash/countries_map.swf?id=4611775" height="293" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="550"> <param name="movie" value="http://static.travbuddy.com/flash/countries_map.swf?id=4611775" /><param name="quality" value="high" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#372060" /><embed src="http://static.travbuddy.com/flash/countries_map.swf?id=4611775" quality="high" bgcolor="#372060" width="550" height="293" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed> </object><br />
<div style="background-color: #38235b; border-left: 1px solid rgb(55, 32, 96); padding: 5px 0px; text-align: center; width: 549px;"><br />
<a href="http://www.travbuddy.com/travel-widgets"><img border="0" src="http://static.travbuddy.com/images/widget_map_promote_v2.gif" /></a><br />
<a href="http://www.travbuddy.com/browse/users"><img border="0" src="http://static.travbuddy.com/images/widget_map_promote_meet.gif" /></a></div></div><br />
<br />
Many more to go.</div><br />
<div></div><br />
<div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-47139618732159352010-03-30T07:00:00.002-04:002010-03-30T07:00:09.618-04:00Fullness and EmptinessHoarding makes perfect sense. The <a href="http://www.aetv.com/hoarders/">two </a><a href="http://www.realitytvworld.com/shows/hoarding-buried-alive/">new </a>TV programs on hoarders explain their actions beautifully, without beating the viewers over the head with too-earnest psychology.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvOOjuxoDR8bSQztAh0jStgsnkrxLAIZ94t7PQzUl6T5PGETlpA-dXS6nbmrr83J-5iILz2ArmcOrdUABpjtDv_eDOg4DGttWVkL7WfUQRFL7nUFyJFLKBFjxBy42UyQEslYyqGoCStV2k/s1600/hoarding2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvOOjuxoDR8bSQztAh0jStgsnkrxLAIZ94t7PQzUl6T5PGETlpA-dXS6nbmrr83J-5iILz2ArmcOrdUABpjtDv_eDOg4DGttWVkL7WfUQRFL7nUFyJFLKBFjxBy42UyQEslYyqGoCStV2k/s320/hoarding2.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Getting too much stuff (or too many animals) and being blind to the dysfunction that all that excess creates, appears to be very much like eating too much while being blind to the results and all that they entail.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP_wUZHMQxIi3uApl0AuEzZnoXZ_O4nQhD_XljfSCeu5UVIuHwCa7hI6z4Jb8itVzZ6ZihTO8co_NaOAXsMvID1H6mlep6OCyy4B4SjGUqzalDCEmlESgoFcDJX9smGbyqUWrCLGQg0fKS/s1600/CatHoard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP_wUZHMQxIi3uApl0AuEzZnoXZ_O4nQhD_XljfSCeu5UVIuHwCa7hI6z4Jb8itVzZ6ZihTO8co_NaOAXsMvID1H6mlep6OCyy4B4SjGUqzalDCEmlESgoFcDJX9smGbyqUWrCLGQg0fKS/s320/CatHoard.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Casandra sees it as lonely souls trying to fill emptiness. She herself tends to overeat when she feels lonely and unfulfilled. She sympathizes.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8PmsQp0NAvWHQZRz_CIduFSFKYUYme0smEUe87gDiPUp-R_KqjDqxjVP-cl2TSQhZCqCcVT9iMVXm7AlhsotTlk2iVtgtmyK2ba8SaYSeir7IQXILVOw-cFPhl1RcjqbLZ_n0jguAcjRW/s1600/obese.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8PmsQp0NAvWHQZRz_CIduFSFKYUYme0smEUe87gDiPUp-R_KqjDqxjVP-cl2TSQhZCqCcVT9iMVXm7AlhsotTlk2iVtgtmyK2ba8SaYSeir7IQXILVOw-cFPhl1RcjqbLZ_n0jguAcjRW/s320/obese.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Stuff and garbage pile up; animals are diseased and starving; overeaters grow obese and ill. And still they hunger.<br />
<br />
It's tragic. It's life.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-11703869851921396502010-03-29T07:00:00.007-04:002010-03-29T07:00:03.726-04:00One of Cassandra's Pet Peeves: Who Are You Really?In the process of a FreeCycle misunderstanding, Cassandra was struck yet again by perplexity regarding the tendency of married couples to share a single email account.<br />
<br />
The misunderstanding went like this: a set of 26-no-kidding videotapes of the Ramayana, in Hindi with English subtitles, was offered a home via FreeCycle, by a lady who said she would pick it up the next morning. Cassandra emailed the address and the fact that she would be out during the day, but would leave the box of tapes on the front porch. Of course, that evening she got home to find the box still there. She emailed the lady, asking if she had decided she didn't want it after all.<br />
<br />
The reply? "I never got your original message! It's possible that my husband deleted it when he checked mail without realizing I'd asked for the videos."<br />
<br />
So she wants them after all, and will pick them up tomorrow.<br />
<br />
But why the heck would two adults share an email address? Cassandra knows several couples that do that, including one couple half of which was buried several years ago, yet the survivor still uses the X&Y email address, like a whisper into the past.<br />
<br />
Sentimental, maybe, in that case. But what about everybody else? The confusion over who a message is meant for is constant. One of Cassandra's friends is regularly addressed by her husband's first name in email correspondence from a group that doesn't know her well. Not a big deal? Sure it is. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Uq6j2z9btpwCMF8FhnLkWd8JAXOWPVxPnnO_-kx29X6cokIen4kTO-YzdwZnYDoIRkLcH8nMIZ8r0X0KwWh2LZTSWe3hqvELps4xb12oOl-lyiZhZvyVF6qCXz0YR4MpSBJsLYVEVjZI/s1600/confused+sponge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Uq6j2z9btpwCMF8FhnLkWd8JAXOWPVxPnnO_-kx29X6cokIen4kTO-YzdwZnYDoIRkLcH8nMIZ8r0X0KwWh2LZTSWe3hqvELps4xb12oOl-lyiZhZvyVF6qCXz0YR4MpSBJsLYVEVjZI/s320/confused+sponge.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
To Cassandra, it's like sharing a toothbrush. Way too personal. A girl needs her own car, her own money, and her own email address.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-15897503223487839992010-03-26T07:00:00.000-04:002010-03-26T07:00:08.751-04:00Ignorance Is Not Permanent - But Can Be<h1 style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: normal; margin: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">“The greatest ignorance is to reject something you know nothing about”</span></h1><br />
There is no lack of benighted individuals who believe that if something is not known, it can't be known. Or that if something was once understood in a certain way, it can never be understood differently. Examples of such individuals? Just about anyone who follows 'ancient' or 'traditional' anything whose tenants are not subject to update, such as acupuncture, herbalism, flat-earth-ness, the purported writings of Nostradamus (poor man - perhaps the most misquoted human ever), or just about any religion. <br />
<br />
Included, as well, are those whose science education in school was apparently so poor that they believe that any new discovery, new theory, or re-jiggered-to-explain-new-discoveries idea somehow 'threatens the Scientific Establishment' and therefore is automatically suppressed.<br />
<br />
Adherents to any set of beliefs that could be refuted or adjusted by newer discoveries (like <a href="http://www.archaeologydaily.com/news/201003203609/Human-ancestors-walked-comfortably-upright-3.6-million-years-ago-new-footprint-study-says.html">this </a>charming new one, for example) but whose adherents firmly (sometimes hysterically) cling to those older beliefs exactly as originally presented can be suspected of not even being mammals, since mammals are notorious for their curiosity, their ability to rapidly calculate and implement changes to their understanding, and their willingness to experiment with what they have learned. Oh, and their realization that what they know at this moment is not permanent.<br />
<br />
As Cassandra is fond of saying, "We don't know how the world works. We only know how we think the world works." <br />
<br />
<a href="http://terriermandotcom.blogspot.com/2010/03/dog-origins-we-have-no-idea-say.html">Here </a>is a delightful example of learning in process, this time having to do with our best friends.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpjYopwQQAiQYxUEHHGFkLrcxuXwS5khYHJgfgxRRInLMwNYvd4sZ7mZQHFXFqTcf3xMAOggBQPp6_oY9Y92N9L6-cRX1WIOBBO6iovaTV3goLvNKJHvT5tsmSsccy4vrLYWgA_5MdHH13/s1600-h/confused+dog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpjYopwQQAiQYxUEHHGFkLrcxuXwS5khYHJgfgxRRInLMwNYvd4sZ7mZQHFXFqTcf3xMAOggBQPp6_oY9Y92N9L6-cRX1WIOBBO6iovaTV3goLvNKJHvT5tsmSsccy4vrLYWgA_5MdHH13/s320/confused+dog.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Does this mean that no one will ever know where dogs 'came from?' Does it mean that dogs must have come from some unknowable place, since that place, at the moment, appears subject to revision and even, perhaps, disagreement?<br />
<br />
Well, hell no, as Mabel Queen of Argos would say. It just means that the science guys are not done yet with figuring out the origin of dogs. Scientific discussion, like all real discussion, consists of floating ideas, considering them, critiquing them, adjusting them, then floating the new resulting ideas until everyone can finally agree that they can't find anything wrong with them. Until a bit later, of course, when someone does find something wrong, and around we go again.<br />
<br />
Mabel herself, unimpressed by human fretting over her origin, is actually most interested in the upcoming origin of her supper. And she expresses that interest by staring at the kitchen door, since she is smarter than those Confucius chided when he wrote,<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> “Real knowledge is to know the extent of one's ignorance.”</span></span> Mabel knows exactly where dinner comes from. Unless that should change, in which case she will instantly adjust to that new knowledge. You won't get any argument from her.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-11024146174395158692010-03-25T07:00:00.004-04:002015-03-08T09:45:12.259-04:00What's Cooking, Mom?Cassandra's family shrank from five to one quite quickly, and she was left with a kitchen full - actually, two kitchens full - of cooking equipment, and no one to cook for. This has caused some schizophrenic-like symptoms familiar to many women.<br />
<br />
For example, for a while she still made huge quantities of food. Sometimes, when the cooking bug bit, she would wander into the kitchen, cook up half a ton of wonderful food, and put it all in the fridge to eat the way the women prefer to eat - six to ten nibbles a day.<br />
<br />
Then for a while she didn't cook at all. That wasn't bad either. <br />
<br />
Most recently she seems to have achieved a rational balance; cooking once a week or so, when the mood hits, eating stuff the rest of the time.<br />
<br />
For example, on a crappy gray rainy day a week or so ago she raided her fridge and cupboard and made a lovely pot of Tuscan chicken soup:<br />
<br />
browned together:<br />
a red onion<br />
a red bell pepper<br />
whole peeled garlic cloves <br />
Leftover pre-roasted chicken, picked off the bones and chopped<br />
<br />
added: <br />
a can of diced tomatoes<br />
spinach<br />
green olives with pits <br />
a cup or so of dried garbanzos (chickpeas), previously rehydrated in home-made broth made from the chicken cadaver and vegetable trimmings<br />
dried rosemary (left from a potted bush bought at Christmas)<br />
<br />
It sounds simple, but was utterly yummy.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTXh77tHnLTBF9Mr_VNapg_lv_ctgH_YvzSjoX7KcBL-UdGK_nkdKdqbjtgUYuuQeVsCtYmp7Bj96FVqoz7TEPO4elmFJh7eI7NcoeE4L3ZF_OyN2l4__nxOHkGe94d9plaGYw8laLVYz5/s1600-h/hot-soup-bowl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTXh77tHnLTBF9Mr_VNapg_lv_ctgH_YvzSjoX7KcBL-UdGK_nkdKdqbjtgUYuuQeVsCtYmp7Bj96FVqoz7TEPO4elmFJh7eI7NcoeE4L3ZF_OyN2l4__nxOHkGe94d9plaGYw8laLVYz5/s320/hot-soup-bowl.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Great! So yesterday she decided to try that again. She dumped another<br />
roast chicken corpse - a lot of the meat already used for sandwiches and the like - in a pot of broth along with a container of frozen home-made roasted veggies, then added onion, carrots (stolen from the horses' supply, and chopped up), the rest of the spinach, some very nice braised mushrooms......<br />
<br />
And it suddenly began to look like dog food. So she dumped all of it (except the large leg bones) into the food processor and ground it up to mix with the dogs' kibble at supper time. The dogs love it. Cassandra ordered a pizza.<br />
<br />
So what does she eat?<br />
<br />
She doesn't eat out. She very, very rarely gets carry-out Chinese. She makes burritos with sauteed onion, red and green pepper, sharp cheddar, sour cream and salsa. She gets deli food like pre-made salads. Lots of fruit. Steamed or roasted veggies of all kinds. Sharp cheddar cheese with extra-hot hot sauce. Avocado on toast with lots of salt and pepper. Unsweetened, unflavored Greek yogurt. A Papa John's large pizza almost every Friday that lasts for several breakfasts, sharing the 'bones' with the dogs. Turkey Hill ice cream. Baked white and sweet potatoes. Potato chips and onion dip. Once every two weeks or so, from the neighborhood Korean-Indian-Hispanic grocery, the Korean carry-out dinner for one that is always different, costs $4.99, includes soup, rice, two kimchees and a main dish, and lasts for three meals. Lovely canned Progresso soups and Hormel chili, bought on sale. Pre-made soup (kimchi soup! Yum!) from the Korean market. Once a month or so, the three-piece Popeye's dinner (extra spicy, cole slaw, mashed potatoes and gravy, wonderful biscuit). Breakfast is OJ, a veggie burger patty with Heinz ketchup, 4% large curd cottage cheese with a heavy dusting of paprika. She loves popcorn, and pops her own in a stovetop <a href="http://www.google.com/products/catalog?source=ig&hl=en&rlz=1G1GGLQ_ENUS359&q=whirly+pop&um=1&ie=UTF-8&cid=1303464662696350777&ei=4E-lS6-XBMH7lwfv5510&sa=X&oi=product_catalog_result&ct=result&resnum=3&ved=0CCEQ8wIwAg#ps-sellers">Whirly</a>. Lunch at work is usually leftovers brought from home, Korean-store ramen bowls, or whatever-by-the-pound from the sandwich/cafeteria shop in the office building...<br />
<br />
She is in no danger of malnutrition or boredom. So far.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-8761510433850513492010-03-24T07:00:00.007-04:002010-03-24T07:00:03.573-04:00FreeCycle Rules!Today Cassandra found a new home for her 1986 RCA VCR that outlived half a dozen other, more sophisticated,multi-system machines. She bought it to record the 1986 Olympics, but hasn't used in a long, long, long time and it was taking up perfectly good dust in the basement. Someone posted a WANTED <a href="http://www.freecycle.org/">FreeCycle </a>request, and off it will go tomorrow.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiANPtKwnwlpfFqqEe5ScwtbLEkALAb_M8kH2nSZwUBilx_tD4DqEe2D-ZVfF7S7KpAuPsSpM6qKoKJRed1aA9KnXLFY3RQNCZlN55ScsInUyo_DdcNoQFwYK9Wi0rvFOK9mwVLQs_jB73R/s1600-h/free-stuff.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiANPtKwnwlpfFqqEe5ScwtbLEkALAb_M8kH2nSZwUBilx_tD4DqEe2D-ZVfF7S7KpAuPsSpM6qKoKJRed1aA9KnXLFY3RQNCZlN55ScsInUyo_DdcNoQFwYK9Wi0rvFOK9mwVLQs_jB73R/s320/free-stuff.gif" /></a> </div><br />
That, of course, freed up the several boxes of old videotapes to also seek new homes courtesy of FreeCycle. So far the 26 tapes of the Ramayana (in Hindi, with English subtitles) have already found theirs. Four tapes of the Victory at Sea series, still in their shrink wrap, are now offered and should find a home within a few hours. The non-NTSC tapes that are cheesy pirated copies picked up in Asia while the kids were teeny will go in the trash.<br />
<br />
And all of the 1960's record albums are also gone. Record and Tape Trader was happy to purchase a few of them for the grad total of $13; the rest were welcomed by the Salvation Army for a small tax deduction. The few albums Cassandra loves in theory but never actually listens to are available on CD.<br />
<br />
Last week FreeCycle also worked to find new homes for a set of shoe stretchers, some cardboard boxes and bubble wrap, and one of those annoying under-the-bed storage containers.<br />
<br />
Cassandra's great hope is to be finally left with nothing but items she uses regularly and/or truly loves. Not stuff she might need in the future; not stuff she used to need but probably doesn't really. Just actual essentials.<br />
<br />
FreeCycle rules!!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-34853585149399023182010-03-23T07:00:00.018-04:002010-03-23T07:00:01.551-04:00Should I Worry Now?In the face of unpleasant, unexpected news, it is often a good practice to begin fretting right away. Other times, it's better to wait. Here is an example.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi521HgIMvZ2Kq8u0P8bqW1yxLKQ2MvpNXWi9oH4NAo-RnHteGqNqiVONSXEOKCcJg5OoeC5T06yhbmc2Ft9gZGbYkqeigRScJ8YV_m8Mj0QOqpAwDXeqdgkyO1PRDIGhJDoCRs7HyfBEZ4/s1600-h/nerves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi521HgIMvZ2Kq8u0P8bqW1yxLKQ2MvpNXWi9oH4NAo-RnHteGqNqiVONSXEOKCcJg5OoeC5T06yhbmc2Ft9gZGbYkqeigRScJ8YV_m8Mj0QOqpAwDXeqdgkyO1PRDIGhJDoCRs7HyfBEZ4/s320/nerves.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
A few weeks ago, Cassandra and a group of colleagues were visiting a very far distant place for official purposes. They had a fixed date to return to the US. Airline reservations for that date that had been made many weeks earlier.<br />
<br />
Then the news: the airline was going on strike for three days early in the departure week (departure itself was set for the weekend).<br />
<br />
Cassandra's teammates leapt into several different forms of action: calling the airline to confirm the departing flight; calling the local travel office to talk about alternate departure arrangements; fretting aloud, with many, many 'what if"s; such as, if the airline piles up a backlog of people who were ticketed on the canceled flights, they would 'have to' give those customers 'our' reserved seats, and bump us farther down the line.<br />
<br />
Now, Cassandra is an experienced world traveler, but not an expert. Nonetheless, she is quite sure - and has never been proven wrong on this - that an airline always wants to do its best to get rid of its customers and get back to normal as quickly and efficiently as possible. And she means 'get rid of' in the best possible way: the airline wants to make sure that those customers get where they are going, as close to the time they want to get there as possible under the circumstances, without creating and endless daisy chain of de-seated customers.<br />
<br />
She also believes that making dozens of phone calls to already-harried workers, and being generally demanding and unpleasant, get one absolutely nowhere that one wants to go.<br />
<br />
So while the rest of her group fretted, Cassandra went antique shopping. The strike started on schedule, ended on schedule, the airline borrowed seats on other airlines to get the affected customers to where they wanted to go, and by the time the weekend arrived all was serene. The group left on its scheduled flight, on time.<br />
<br />
Here is another of dozens of examples. Once upon a time, Cassandra's flight back to the US was delayed by several hours of bad weather. By the time it landed, her connection would have already departed.<br />
<br />
Did Cassandra fret? Nope. And she was right not to to so. As she walked into baggage claim to pass through US Customs on entry, there were several uniformed employees of her airline already on duty, passing out tickets for later flights to the customers' destinations. They had even spelled Cassandra's name correctly on the envelope.<br />
<br />
When should a traveler really fret? Well, in Cassandra's experience, never.<br />
<br />
If a flight is delayed, she waits. If a flight is canceled, she finds out what the airline intends to do with her instead. If the airline is snowed in and/or frantically clueless, she waits. Because what good does fretting do? None whatsoever. She packs lightly, and always has a toothbrush in her handbag. In her years of traveling with small children, she always had a couple of spare diapers in her handbag and was willing to ride an escalator or moving sidewalk for seven hours if necessary, until the child collapsed into exhausted sleep. (BTW, no child or adult has ever starved to death in any airport, anywhere in the world, despite the hysterical claims of those children's parents, or the adults themselves.) <br />
<br />
If departing looks unlikely, as if - for example - she might have to sleep in the airport like all the poor lost souls in the news videos, she goes to a hotel and pays for her own room. This might be more expensive than waiting wanly or furiously for the airline to sort out the disaster, but Cassandra does not much like hapless, short-tempered crowds and is willing to pay to stay out of them.<br />
<br />
Now, here is the point at last (and it's about time):<br />
<br />
Travel - even to the corner to buy gas - is a crapshoot. You might get there, buy gas, and get home in less than ten minutes. You might end up broke (or rich, or married, or under arrest) in Wichita, Kansas. Like so many other things, including restaurant menus all over the world, Cassandra's philosophy is to order what she thinks she wants, then wait to see what actually comes.<br />
<br />
And besides, some of her most pleasant memories have come from unexpected detours.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-82634122802477479952010-03-22T07:00:00.007-04:002010-03-22T07:00:08.807-04:00Slay the Whom? Really?A recent <a href="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=124494788&ps=rs">article </a>asked the question, "Which is most violent, the Bible or the Koran?"<br />
<br />
The answer would displease many thousands - if not millions - of American Christians who believe, badly mistakenly, that they know their own gentle and benign Bible well and follow its tenants, but blame political violence in the Muslim world on the bloody Koran.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQPe5w_ft6bnUqUmE-nAOx47snoRjFZf-tF09nu3XNpYu5ofpdUvrUug9boJ5eZsriZe-7KNZk9mbRwkCd5pC_S2uIXeKs96rbmLP5KAeYkCTlJTpia_JYsIu-vjpbilsuUrRcRdjkphyphenhyphen2/s1600-h/bible+koran.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQPe5w_ft6bnUqUmE-nAOx47snoRjFZf-tF09nu3XNpYu5ofpdUvrUug9boJ5eZsriZe-7KNZk9mbRwkCd5pC_S2uIXeKs96rbmLP5KAeYkCTlJTpia_JYsIu-vjpbilsuUrRcRdjkphyphenhyphen2/s200/bible+koran.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
Which leads us to the conclusion that you can't really blame behavior on scripture. And you can't really quote scripture to defend behavior, unless you are prepared to defend all the rest of scripture as accurate, defensible, and necessary to be followed.<br />
<br />
As one of the most quoted - but still valid - examples: <br />
<br />
"If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them." (Leviticus 20:13)<br />
<br />
Well, okay. That's pretty clear, and it is frequently quoted by those opposed to other people's homosexual behavior. (Isn't there also a bit of scripture that forbids spying through other people's bedroom windows? Maybe not.)<br />
<br />
But why don't these individuals also quote, say:<br />
<br />
"And the daughter of any priest, if she profane herself by playing the whore, she profaneth her father: she shall be burnt with fire." (Leviticus 21:9)<br />
<br />
So, misbehaving daughters of priests and ministers should not simply be scolded to within an inch of their lives, but should actually be killed for going out behind the chicken house with the quarterback of the high school football team. And how often is this done, Cassandra wonders.<br />
<br />
And what about this one?<br />
<br />
"Let the women learn in silence with all subjection. But I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence." (I Timothy 2:11-14)<br />
<br />
So, shut up, Hilary. No, wait...<br />
<br />
"Why is it that, as a culture, we are more comfortable seeing two men holding guns than holding hands?" Ernest Gaines<br />
<br />
The Bible-Koran image above is borrowed, with thanks, from<a href="http://www.quranreading.com/blog/"> http://www.quranreading.com/blog/</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-87907181860372071032010-03-20T07:00:00.000-04:002010-03-20T07:00:05.290-04:00See? It's Not Safe to Go Out in The Water<table class="contentpaneopen"><tbody>
<tr><td class="contentheading" width="100%"></td><td align="right" class="buttonheading" width="100%"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table class="contentpaneopen"><tbody>
<tr><td class="createdate" colspan="2" valign="top"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div align="justify">Once upon a time, Cassandra took a course in scuba diving from a well-qualified PADI instructor. In the very first lecture, this inestimable young man told the class, "Don't worry about sharks. Only one of ten thousand will ever bother you."</div><div align="justify"><br />
At which point Cassandra raised her hand and asked, "Will they come in numerical order?"<br />
<br />
To Cassandra, the shark is only one - and one of the most beautiful and awe-inspiring - reminders that humans are land animals. Period. Always have been, must continue to be.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify">A shark <a href="http://www.archaeologydaily.com/news/201003183591/4-million-year-old-shark-attack-reconstructed.html">attack </a>that took place not so long ago in earth-history years simply confirms her wariness, even though the hunter's victim - this time - was not human. Only because humans at that time knew better than to venture into the oceans. Or because there weren't any humans yet.</div><div align="center"><img alt="The skeleton of a dolphin, preserved for 4 million years, shows
bite marks across its ribs from the shark attack that killed it. " border="2" height="424" src="http://www.archaeologydaily.com/news/fotos/image3591_b.jpg" width="298" /></div><br />
"Scientists investigated a well-preserved 9-foot-long dolphin discovered in the Piedmont region of northern Italy. From the remains, the researchers not only finger-pointed the attacker but also how the thrashing went down, suggesting the shark took advantage of the dolphin's blind spot. "The skeleton lay unstudied in a museum in Torino for more than a century, but when I examined it, as part of a larger study of fossil dolphins, I noticed the bite marks on the ribs, vertebrae and jaws," recalled lead researcher Giovanni Bianucci at the University of Pisa in Italy."<br />
<br />
Cassandra is convinced that this could happen again. And not just to dolphins. After all, there are still oceans, and there are still sharks. One cannot be too careful.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-21038342057373420322010-03-19T01:00:00.006-04:002010-03-19T07:47:10.145-04:00A Message to Po ChuhW. S.Merwin is Cassandra's favorite poet on earth, ever. She found this poem in the March 8, 2010 New Yorker, not realizing it was his or even that he was still alive, began to read it and knew it was his, knew without checking, knew immediately, knew she was right, and she was right.<br />
<a href="http://www.clipartguide.com/_pages/0808-0711-1418-0709.html"><img alt="Free Clipart Picture of a Goose in Flight. Click Here to Get Free Images at Clipart Guide.com" border="0" src="http://www.clipartguide.com/_thumbs/0808-0711-1418-0709.jpg" /></a><br />
In that tenth winter of your exile<br />
the cold never letting go of you<br />
and your hunger aching inside you<br />
day and night while you heard the voices<br />
out of the starving mouths around you<br />
old ones and infants and animals<br />
those curtains of bones swaying on stilts<br />
and you heard the faint cries of the birds<br />
searching in the frozen mud for something<br />
to swallow and you watched the migrants<br />
trapped in the cold the great geese growing<br />
weaker by the day until their winds<br />
oculd barely lift them above the ground<br />
so that a gang of boys could catch one<br />
in a net and drag him to market<br />
to be cooked and it was then that you<br />
saw him in his own exile and you<br />
paid for him and kept him until he<br />
could fly again and you let him go<br />
but then where could he go in the world<br />
of your time with its wars everywhere<br />
and the soldiers hungry the fires lit<br />
the knives out twelve hundred years ago<br />
<br />
I have been wanting to let you know<br />
the goose is well he is here with me<br />
you would recognize the old migrant<br />
he has been with me for a long time<br />
and is in no hurry to leave here<br />
the wars are bigger now than ever<br />
greed has reached numbers that you would not<br />
believe and I will not tell you what<br />
is done to geese before they kill them<br />
now we are melting the very poles<br />
of the earth but I have never known<br />
where he would go after he leaves me.<br />
<br />
..............<br />
<br />
Who was Po Chuh? An ancient Chinese poet, one presumes, and from what Merwin writes one can clearly imagine Po's original poem. But where is it? Google has not heard of him. His powerful, wistful love and despair for the earth where he lived comes through clearly in this reference. Whatever, wherever it can be found, the two of them should be published side by side. On bronze tablets, so we won't forget.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-72099024661641569912010-03-18T01:00:00.015-04:002010-03-18T07:40:28.448-04:00Fair WarningCassandra owns, with pride, a set of grown or nearly grown children, all now in their 20's. The majority, for reasons best known to themselves, are slovenly house- and/or room-keepers. They weren't raised in messy, dirty houses and were nagged and helped continually to tidy up, but now that they are pretty much independent, they have reverted to stye-dom.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdB7ZI6xUvpl4TKAqM0QKaDb19lp3iGJ-cyVK5fMd8S4Kg7m-j00455XbHEClbNJy9U0N7WKXUet_edkM9i0jgPtS4GffGSiApDSFNEKAWM62jPbpY47o2kquPE1n4Ra9mDAUZBcKkcMmP/s1600-h/self+expression.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdB7ZI6xUvpl4TKAqM0QKaDb19lp3iGJ-cyVK5fMd8S4Kg7m-j00455XbHEClbNJy9U0N7WKXUet_edkM9i0jgPtS4GffGSiApDSFNEKAWM62jPbpY47o2kquPE1n4Ra9mDAUZBcKkcMmP/s320/self+expression.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div><br />
In a fine, fine book that she read many years ago, The Women of Brewster Place, Cassandra found a passage that struck her at the time, and has stayed with her all along. An older woman warns a young mother of an infant about the individuality and independence of children, by saying something like, "The first word that child speaks will not be a word you taught him." This warning is, of course, the first hint of a later disaster.<br />
<br />
Once upon a time, a wise, independent, freethinking work mate of Cassandra's was musing about her own grown children. The woman said, "I was prepared for my daughter to be anything she might want to be, and felt I would accept her choices with equanimity, whatever they might be. If she wanted to be a doctor, fine; if she wanted to be a housewife, fine; if she wanted to be an Amazon explorer or a snake charmer, fine. I would love her unconditionally whatever she became."<br />
<br />
"But?" Cassandra prompted.<br />
<br />
"But instead she became Little Miss Prissy Christian, and I can't stand her!"<br />
<br />
How many parents have wailed very similar words with similar pain? Many, many, many. So Cassandra would like to use this semi-public forum to warn her own children: if you continue with this laissez-faire careless libertarian behavior, your children will have no choice but to grow up into religious-right underwear-ironing Palin-loving Republicans who will sigh with pained, arrogant patience at all your warnings and attempts at correction.<br />
<br />
She's just saying. And no, don't even think of sending them to Grandma to be straightened out.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-87797184440578694782010-03-16T23:01:00.003-04:002010-03-17T06:48:23.145-04:00Stating the ObviousCassandra enjoys reading other blogs. She doesn't feel possessive, proprietary, or hyper-critical about them, since blogging is not her crime of choice. Reading others' thoughts, besides, give her things to think more broadly about. And - okay, she confesses - sometimes criticize. <br />
<br />
Here is an example.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2B37UD0vlV89uP5Ae62gl8Jb55xEb9qjdBR_MVtBm8mN1qyVkHQYpRNV4oOJ8V1oj2AoV1FAGUuLJDLyQ4YUFYPHQYGbLhIDd7uo4g-cM2LXdIbqgdxm4lsU40oZMAwK6noMjNw6xs-qC/s1600-h/bell+pepper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2B37UD0vlV89uP5Ae62gl8Jb55xEb9qjdBR_MVtBm8mN1qyVkHQYpRNV4oOJ8V1oj2AoV1FAGUuLJDLyQ4YUFYPHQYGbLhIDd7uo4g-cM2LXdIbqgdxm4lsU40oZMAwK6noMjNw6xs-qC/s320/bell+pepper.jpg" /></a></div><br />
A certain gentleman wrote a small piece in which he mused about grocery shopping with his wife. Following her tamely through the store, as a good husband should, he happened to pick up a bag of six bell peppers. He looked at the price. The bag of peppers was $6.98.<br />
<br />
And here is where he wanders into dangerous although interesting territory. He writes, "That’s over a dollar a pepper. That’s just too much.<br />
<br />
"The produce guy was re-stocking that particular display when I was pointing out the cost and I was informed [by his wife] I was talking too loud about the exorbitant price of the peppers. I just replied to her that I WANTED the guy to know his peppers cost too much. She replied that they were not HIS peppers and that he only worked there and had no control over Sam’s pricing policies."<br />
<br />
Telling a clerk that a product costs too much has a couple of things wrong with it.<br />
<br />
First, of course, and most obviously, the wife is right: they aren't the clerk's prices and he has no power to change them, so what is the purpose of the conversation, besides to hassle an innocent worker?<br />
<br />
Second, what does 'cost too much' really mean? To whom? Compared to what? <br />
<br />
Third, even if some nefarious accountant in some dark back room chose that price solely for the purpose of irritating the customers - which he probably did not, but instead based it on the gross cost of getting them out into the produce department - if you don't want to pay the stated price for something, don't buy it. And don't pester people about your outrage and your refusal to pay that particular price. Trust me, they don't care. No one cares. You just look - well - pointlessly irritable.<br />
<br />
Fourth and finally, the clerk might actually have enough information to know that it is a fair price. So the complainer only makes himself look and sound stupid as well as irritating.<br />
<br />
Oh, wait. Fifth. Cassandra is libertarian enough to believe that everyone makes his or her own choices based on available information, understanding, and personal preferences. So complaining about a price as if you are somehow privy to information and intelligence that is unavailable to the clerk and to the accountant is frankly insulting. It's right up there with - although not as personal as - telling a fat person that she is fat, as if she had never noticed (You have such a nice face; you would be so pretty if only...). The fat person, and the produce clerk, would be fully within their rights to brain the complainer with the nearest available piece of furniture.<br />
<br />
Conclusion? Put the peppers in the basket. Or don't. But either way, please shut up about them.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-48784245657563924062010-03-15T20:03:00.002-04:002010-03-16T19:12:49.699-04:00Whose Fault is That, Then?Last night Cassandra drove - unwittingly - into a massive pothole at high speed. The sound of the wheel hitting the edge of blacktop was definitive: she was not at all surprised when, a quarter mile or so later, the telltale flat tire indicator light came on.<br />
<br />
And then what? Late at night, unfamiliar countryside, two hours from home, friendly people willing to help but precious little help to offer. The spare is one of those wretched donuts you would never drive home on on a fast-moving, pothole-strewn freeway late at night; there was towing service, but no actual help (as in new tires and wheels).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic3CCeMj1Apidpt0qG19s_NtAwCyWZ5cJGu3qbBPGkdHrEZ2KK8rayNC3dmkoxQNt6GqTvIgbrLAj11a3VDPPaK0_-VepXY8RDaY_Fj4yc7q8abXdoZUIYM8rNVcLHFX33E7ScDOq5WTsB/s1600-h/tn_pothole3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic3CCeMj1Apidpt0qG19s_NtAwCyWZ5cJGu3qbBPGkdHrEZ2KK8rayNC3dmkoxQNt6GqTvIgbrLAj11a3VDPPaK0_-VepXY8RDaY_Fj4yc7q8abXdoZUIYM8rNVcLHFX33E7ScDOq5WTsB/s320/tn_pothole3.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
Next day the wheel and tire were replaced (money can be magical), and she heard more than once that she should send the eyebrow-raising bill to the state.<br />
<br />
Tempting, but no. While it's true she absolutely didn't see the hole coming in the rainy dark, whose fault is it really that she hit it? The state's? She wishes, but no. It's her own fault.<br />
<br />
The snow has been heavy and repetitive, much plowing happening, gouges in road surfaces everywhere, old patches popping out again due to the freeze-thaw-freeze-thaw cycle -- no pothole can come as a surprise in this season after THAT season, and after the blithe announcements after the first dusting months ago that the chemical supply and the overtime payroll funds were already exhausted. And that was long before it REALLY snowed.<br />
<br />
Cassandra recently spent a few weeks in a place where it is not uncommon for drivers to drive over people sleeping in the road at night. They sleep there because either 1. they are drunk, or 2. the road is warm, or 3. both of the above. There are no streetlights. Drivers drive over the sleepers because ... well, that is where Cassandra begins to mumble uncertainly. After all, a log in the road is something a driver would notice and stop for. There are many things the size of a sleeping person that a driver would see and stop for. Why not notice and stop for or dodge a sleeping person?<br />
<br />
Why not notice and stop for or dodge a pothole?<br />
<br />
So, whose responsibility is the bill? Cassandra's. Damn.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-60238789556235500052010-03-14T12:42:00.001-04:002010-03-17T17:37:50.167-04:00Hey Boys, Where Have You Been?Cassandra missed most of the worst snow but came home in time for all the rain. Even after days and days of falling water, some gross gray blocks of snow still remain, where the plows left. Can't the stuff take a hint? You are no longer wanted here.<br />
<br />
But robins! Robins are a whole 'nother issue. According to some migration maps, robins should be here all year around. Clearly, they don't read the maps, or don't care about them. They've been gone; now they're back, in cheeky, bossy pairs and trios, staring us down from our own sidewalks. Cassandra loves them; always has since the days when she was a tiny little girl and one of the few books in the house was a simple bird book, and now loves them again. Too bad they're too small and crispy to hug.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCw2peLr2LN_qqTZTIkN2s-evmJc1PynxL7Hmrj5K7MgT2nuegZHtzgNZ_pLrGuYTEYu3Z7tSAObyveZCV03ZiKiJuw0SKhFVQqx8U5htOxR2xQBj1gG15P2L3lj5dHEkJszSz_gjVuLuS/s1600-h/Robin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCw2peLr2LN_qqTZTIkN2s-evmJc1PynxL7Hmrj5K7MgT2nuegZHtzgNZ_pLrGuYTEYu3Z7tSAObyveZCV03ZiKiJuw0SKhFVQqx8U5htOxR2xQBj1gG15P2L3lj5dHEkJszSz_gjVuLuS/s320/Robin.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Despite the rain, just a few minutes ago Cassandra heard a short metallic rattling noise coming from somewhere very nearby. It took three repeats before she got it: shit, a woodpecker! She loves peckers, but not especially when they seem to be pecking her own personal house. She stepped outside and saw a bird fly away but it didn't fly in that unmistakable pecker swoop, so was clearly an innocent bystander. Some peckers in this area are huge, although it's been so long that Cassandra doesn't remember what kind they are exactly. Looking forward to getting reacquainted.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-84845348297393259062009-10-18T13:33:00.001-04:002009-10-18T13:42:11.360-04:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbFs0T1T-pJCkNlMxDMVOoTVAuXwjRPYLGFbmwWVGsSXmPglnSmiUhI22fkcr8SRec7htgktW6d6ES-ffc1KWdfYI4wPsKEjfiAPzAwDsX9GUz9_Ksxw-LtNWytwppjG2GrF9QPxeTGC-U/s1600-h/desert+fire+night.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 286px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbFs0T1T-pJCkNlMxDMVOoTVAuXwjRPYLGFbmwWVGsSXmPglnSmiUhI22fkcr8SRec7htgktW6d6ES-ffc1KWdfYI4wPsKEjfiAPzAwDsX9GUz9_Ksxw-LtNWytwppjG2GrF9QPxeTGC-U/s320/desert+fire+night.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393996563487684514" border="0" /></a><br /> Nomad<br /><br />I only want what was promised to me,<br />what I heard in the ring of bronze on stone and the camel’s song and the dark of the wind’s music:<br />A sword, a horse, a husband, running seas of flowers,<br />shoals of snow.<br /><br />But that is all done.<br />My father was not rich, what could ’rich’ give me?<br />Only cripple-legged, chipped-toothed, terrifying, revered.<br />And what, what now would courage win?<br />My dowry? Two black geldings,<br />a six-pole tent, three carpets,<br />leather shirt bossed with silver,<br />honor…<br /><br />Documents.<br />Vaccinations.<br />Dim, imperious light from the nuclear power plant.<br />Coloring books<br />for my sons.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-48563200891013886912009-07-15T12:43:00.005-04:002009-07-15T13:07:02.019-04:00Not So Much Hand Wringing, PleaseMaria del Carmen Bousada gave birth to twins in December 2006, and died this week at the age of 69. Nadya Suleman gave birth to 14 children, which she might have some trouble supporting. There has been wailing, hand-wringing and bitchy scorn expressed about both of these women and their decisions. Thoughtless, selfish, plain old bad mothers (the ultimate insult to a woman) - many varied adjectives are tossed at them.<br /><br />From a different perspective, though, how many new fathers of age 66 and over exist? No one knows. How many men have fathered 14 children that they do not support? No one knows. These men don't make headlines, and are rarely criticized. Certainly the 66+ - year-olds are not. The multiple fathers only are if caught in the wringer of child support, and even then they never make the news.<br /><br />I have never been particularly sensitive to double standards: I am annoyed but not outraged that I must automatically take precautions every day that no man would need to think of in his entire lifetime. But still, this is one that needs to be examined.<br /><br />From the beginning of women's liberation, I saw it not for women alone but for all people. Women could have real professions, not marry, not have children. Men could raise their children while the women worked. It was not the dissolution of one set of boundaries but the dissolution of all of them that should have ensued.<br /><br />Men die young, too. Men can't keep their pants zipped. Men are thoughtless and selfish, loving and responsible. They get scant blame and scant praise for any of these characteristics.<br /><br />Who will raise the children that these women (so selfishly and thoughtlessly) gave birth to? Loving relatives, perhaps. Failing that, loving adults who adopt or otherwise take them on in some other role. Failing that, they might grow up roughly, unloved and in trouble, like so many children whose parents are alive.<br /><br />Watch over all children who are not appreciated, not properly taught, not just the few born in unusual circumstances. They all deserve loving, responsible parents, even those invisible to the press, who have parents but might as well not.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-92099781176918609302009-07-11T09:28:00.004-04:002009-07-11T09:50:25.754-04:00It's Not My DogOne of my favorite sayings, which I created myself, is, "If it follows you around long enough, it's your dog."<br /><br />Irony follows.<br /><br />So I have, at present, three dogs, two of whom hate each other. We have made some progress from fighting like demons at every opportunity: walking all three together twice a day has alleviated most of the tension, growling and arbitrary hackle-raising. But still one or the other is always in a cage.<br /><br />Tigger loves his kennel. He always has loved whatever kennel was his, and happily spent all his leisure time there. He's a famous pirate: he keeps his eye on everything every other dog has. When a dog drops a chewy to go get a drink of water, Tigger pounces. He also stores in his kennel everything that he doesn't want now but might in the future. For example, when we lived in Greece I once caught a nasty whiff of something and followed it back to - I am serious here - a string of old cat guts hidden under his pad, clearly thieved from the last cat Cookie had killed and eaten most of.<br /><br />But still, he can't live so long in a kennel. He is smart, and he is bored. Boredom and stress combine to make him scratch and chew himself constantly. He looks forward to going to the commercial kennel when I go on TDY, I think, just to relieve the stress. He comes out with no bare spots, all fat and shiny. Then he takes one look at the Devil Dog and starts scratching and chewing again.<br /><br />The Devil in a Dog Suit hates his kennel. He stands inside with his face pressed to the bars, glaring at me. When it becomes clear that I don't intend to let him out, he curls up with his back to me and falls into a sulky sleep.<br /><br />It's not the best way for dogs to live. Of course, it beats the ways they were living before I found them; both of them staggering along deserted roads, very near the moment they would give up, lie down, and die. Tigger was a puppy then;the Devil Dog, picked up a year or so later, was about two.<br /><br />I have looked for another home for Tigger. He is the cute, charming, prancing, bouncing one, with his one silver fang he looks like a pirate prince in a tuxedo. He would be far easier to find a home for. The Devil Dog is ugly and he bites everyone. The only future for him would be PTS. Plus The Devil Dog loves Mabel; Tigger can take her or leave her. So Tigger would be the one to go elsewhere, but whom can one trust?<br /><br />Susi loves Tigger, but Susi is not here and she can't have a dog at Camp LeJeune. I think she would allow him to go, if she knew he would be safe and loved.<br /><br />Who will love him? Who will laugh at his antics and soothe his worries? Who will understand his quick glances that pack so much meaning? Of course, animal hoarders are famous for believing that no one else can be trusted to care for the animals, so never let any of them go. I don't believe that, but I do believe that mistakes can happen and it's always the animals that pay the price.<br /><br />So Tigger chews himself naked with stress, while I fret.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-64755336277948377082009-07-08T13:06:00.002-04:002009-07-08T13:26:03.004-04:00Shame in OregonAh, Oregon, state of my birth. Settled mostly by land by middle European immigrants of deep and suspicious conservatism, it nonetheless has been a leader in so many humanitarian and hands-off-the-people-unless-they're-frightening-the-horses social progresses that I am currently ashamed - and it takes a lot to shame me.<br /><br />That Oregon can recognize individuals' rights to die whenever they want to yet not recognize their right to marry and be subsequently made miserable by whomever they want to, strikes me as deeply contradictory. Once years ago, when the Tonya Harding/Nancy Kerrigan scandal was at its peak, a journalist described Clackamas county - Harding's home - as harboring a deep well of meaness (words to that effect - I can't find the exact quote, which should have been written by George Vecsey but I can't prove it) - I felt a visceral yearning to agree with him. Now I feel that same yearning to agree with all those who sneer at Oregon as benighted, behind the times, inhumane and generally clueless. <br /><br />Massachusetts, Connecticut, Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine and Iowa, of all places, are miles ahead, while Oregon potters and frets along under the burden of its goofy 2004 constitutional amendment. Oregon does offer domestic partnership registration for same-sex couples, but it's not the same. Again, why should gay people get off so lightly? Let them suffer the wedding-dress trauma, the cake trauma, the who to invite when they haven't spoken to each other in 15 years trauma, the fighting in the parking lot during the reception trauma, and then who gets the Dylan albums, who gets the Jack Russel terrier, and can we keep the rings or sell them.<br /><br />Grow up, Oregon. I mean. <em><strong>IOWA??</strong></em>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-54160962444063385032009-06-30T10:09:00.004-04:002009-06-30T16:30:01.114-04:00Giving Women a Bad NameRaise hands, all those who believe that Ruth Madoff cries herself to sleep every night out of pity for her husband's victims.<br /><br />What, no one?<br /><br />Then raise hands, all those who believe that Ruth Madoff cries herself to sleep every night out of pity for herself.<br /><br />One, two, three, eight million, twelve million, forty-two trillion .....<br /><br />Her statement yesterday reflected astounding arrogance. The world remembers her frantically shuffling millions of dollars and pounds of jewelry around in the hours before her husband was arrested, trying to find somewhere to hide them that investigators couldn't find them or get to them, and flat-out lying about where they were going and why. The world remembers her bald-faced claims that millions of dollars in assets were hers and were totally unrelated to her husband's fraud. And a small part of the world remembers the frigid contempt with which she addressed waiters, hairdressers, tailors, and probably streetcar conductors during the decades in which she lived off money stolen from people who actually worked for a living.<br /><br />As I often say, the problem with so many smart people is that they think that everyone else is stupid.<br /><br />Am I picking on her because she's a woman, and women always go after their own more savagely than they go after men? No. I'm picking on her because she is no better than her husband, and because no one has picked on her sufficiently yet. I hope that will change.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-40969129841596083512009-06-22T06:42:00.001-04:002009-06-22T06:44:23.547-04:00See What I Mean?This morning CBS's two top headlines are links to a sensationalist crime web site about murders that are several years old and solved long ago, but still titillating, perhaps. I hope that Walter doesn't know.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-91006679858744858792009-06-20T12:58:00.007-04:002009-06-20T13:12:27.219-04:00Whatever Happened to the Actual NEWS?Headlines of the moment on CBS, former home of the marvelous, erudite, professional Walter Cronkite:<br /><br />"Making Your Vacation Fido-Friendly"<br /><br />"Supermodel Bundchen Is Pregnant"<br /><br />"Novelist Kaye Gibbons Faces Yet Another Hurdle"<br /><br />"Nestle Recalls All Refrigerated Toll House Dough"<br /><br />The New York Times' only claim on my affections is that they have spelled my name correctly when griping about my work in recent years. Nevertheless, I find myself helplessly drawn to their web page, which boasts actual news items and rational analysis.<br /><br />And CBS? If I wanted to read shallow junk, panting over third-tier celebrities, and marginal feature items in place of actual news, I'd subscribe to the LA Times.<br /><br />.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4150487200498032625.post-62876241142305636082009-06-18T19:34:00.002-04:002015-03-08T09:43:13.430-04:00The Love Story, part 2He called.<br />
<br />
I was young and reckless. He was older, married, insanely attractive, a long-time womanizer, describing himself as an 'aging roue' while still in his mid-40s, promising only 'a mutual compliment.' That was fine with me.<br />
<br />
The affair absolutely smoked. For years.<br />
<br />
I got pregnant deliberately, expecting nothing from him.<br />
<br />
My son was born.<br />
<br />
My mother warned, 'He's a powerful man. Be careful. He could take your child away.'<br />
I told him that she said this. He laughed. 'You'd kill me, wouldn't you?'<br />
<br />
Yes.<br />
<br />
I got a new job and left the country. He came to visit. He was sweet, gracious, discrete, but it was clear that this was not his real life, just a fantasy.<br />
<br />
I stopped writing to him.<br />
<br />
The end.<br />
<br />
Not quite.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com