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Sunday, August 31, 2014

Bird Thought



Birds
don't brag about flying
the way we
do.

They don't write books about it and then give
workshops,
they don't take on disciples and spoil
their own air
time.

Who could dance and achieve
liftoff with a bunch of
whackos tugging
on you?


Tukaram (c.1606-1649)
Love Poems from God
trans. Daniel Ladinsky

Thursday, August 28, 2014

Another American Story

A 9 year-old girl goes to a Lake Havasu City  “Bullets and Burgers” outdoor shooting range.  She was on vacation with her family and had a “bucket list” and shooting an Uzi was on that list.  What a 9 year-old was doing with a bucket list, I have no idea.  Bucket lists are usually reserved for cranky but endearing old men with terminal diseases. But I digress. 

So the instructor, Charles Vacca , 39, set her up and began instructing her in the finer points of Uzi shooting.  The instructor and the little girl were  captured on video by, I presume, her proud parents.  There she is, cute as a button in her pink shorts, little pink barrettes in her hair ,which was falling in a long braid down her back. Standing next to her, bending down to help her hold the gun, is the instructor.

The first single shots go fine.  Then Mr. Vacca sets the gun on automatic and the young girl, with no idea of the strength and control needed to keep the kicking gun steady, loses control and it veers up and off and puts a bullet into Mr. Vacca’s head. He dies a few hours later.

At this point in the story, the first impulse would be to laugh and say something about “gene pool.”  But I kept thinking about that little girl.  Thanks to her parents, she will spend the rest of her life with the ghost of Mr. Vacca, the man she killed, haunting her dreams forever.

All because her parents did not know what my parents knew and what any sensible parent knows:  When children ask for dangerous, age-inappropriate things, the correct reply is a very short word that begins with the letter “N” and ends with the letter “O.”

Interestingly, the news story on this incident noted that in 2008 an 8 year-old “was firing an Uzi at a pumpkin when the recoil caused him to lose control of the weapon and he shot himself in the head.” 

That’s the problem with Uzis.  They were designed for adults with good hand strength that can control the recoil.  And they were intended for use as a weapon of war, a small, rapid-fire automatic, a highly maneuverable weapon designed to kill as many enemy soldiers as possible in a close combat situation.

They were not designed as a toy for a child to play with as part of her bucket list.  Except in America.

Sunday, August 24, 2014

Garden Folly Redux




Yes, I know.  This all started going sideways from day one.  First it was the dogs that required fencing that turned the garden into Fortress America.  Then it was zucchini plants from Mars that grew to Brobignagnian size and started churning out zucchini on a production-line scale so I ended up with zucchini for breakfast, zucchini for lunch and dinner.  And ended up chasing my neighbors down with sacks of the stuff while they ran away, their hands over their heads, yelling, “I’M NOT HOME!”

And, all right.  The pumpkins.  That started out as a joke.  I had saved the seeds from last year's soup pumpkin and I thought, "Oh, there's no way these things are going to grow." But they did and broke out of the dog barrier and headed for the fence, trailing pumpkins behind them. It was right out of "Invasion of the Pod People." 



Next came the green beans.  Who knew they would grow so tall?  And since the support netting was only pea-pod high, they started mungling back on themselves into a tangled mess.


001

But that didn’t stop them. Nosir!  They were worse than the zucchini.  Beans, beans, more beans.  24/7 nothing but beans. Fortunately, I love green beans.  So do my friends and neighbors, but the plants were getting to be a serious mess and so tangled it was hard to find the beans before they'd turned themselves into little more than lumpty bean-filled pods. 
 
O.K., I confess.  Looking back, I should have sought out therapy, some nice Garden Counselor who could have talked me down.  But, no.  I was too far gone by this time, my green bean ambitions totally out of control.  Plus, it wasn't my fault.  The Universe was conspiring against me because when I was out walking the dogs, I just happened to stop and chat with a neighbor – about gardening, naturally – and he just happened to mention that he’d given up on growing green beans – something about not enough sun in his garden plot – and he asked me if, perhaps, I’d like his very tall bean-pole poles.

Well, what could I say?

bean pole, zuri, 003

So I carted them home, put in eye-screws , cable-tied them together into a bean teepee and planted them in  another raised bed and popped a few more bean seeds in the ground.













And today I'm planning on pulling out the old bean tangle. I think maybe a nice row of green peas might work there.  Mmmmm, peas.   






Meantime, does anybody happen to have Jack’s phone number?  I need to call him to get the Giant’s recipe for green bean soup. I think I'm gonna need it.

Sunday, August 17, 2014

A Sunday Thought

 


Through humor, you can soften some of the worst blows that life delivers.
And once you find laughter, no matter how painful your situation might be, you can survive it.
                                                Bill Cosby, quoted in The Week

Saturday, August 16, 2014

RAIN!

All right, not rain, exactly.  O.K. O.K., it was mist.  Well, maybe more accurately it was . . . damp.  That's it, damp.  But damp enough over a long enough period of time to result in some dripping off the roof gutters.  Dripping off the roof gutters is good.  So, I'm counting that as "rain," O.K.? 

Hey, we're desperate here. Everybody dance.  Yaaaayyyy!

Then stare at the picture and focus . . . Puddles, we want large puddles, bring us puddles . . .