You'll Rot Your Teeth Out, Kid - Halloween Edition

 

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    I was never much on Halloween dress-up, especially after elementary school, and definitely not in adulthood. That stuff's for kids. However, there was that one last time in college. Oh, boy! And I have to say it was an epic party for the ages. I wish I had photos, but then again, maybe not!

    We students in the anthropology department were a close-knit group, and a few of us lived in the same apartment complex near campus. Our favorite professor, Dr. K., was a former WWII Navy sailor who had entered academia after being discharged from the service. Sometime after becoming a full-fledged archaeologist, Dr. K. joined the 60's counterculture movement and became one of the first hippified university professors of his generation. He's right at the top of the list of best teachers I ever had, and easy-going though he was, in the classroom, Dr. K. was very demanding and expected his students to know the subject matter. His test questions were complex and always had to be answered in written, essay-style, and we were often required to give oral presentations to the class as well. Where does that happen nowadays?

    Anyway, one Halloween, Dr. K. and his wife decided to throw a big costume party for everyone in the anthropology department. He was divorced from his first wife, the mother of his kids, and remarried to a younger chick, not much older than us students, who worked as a teaching and research assistant in the department. They lived in an old, two-story house in the same neighborhood and went all out with the decorating that year. There were black lights everywhere, jack-o'-lanterns, dry ice-boiling punch cauldrons, skulls, spiders and webs, bats, skeletons, orange and black streamers, spooky tablescapes, and a variety of other creepy things, as you might imagine. I never drank any beverage at Dr. K.'s house unless I opened the can or bottle myself. He was known to spike drinks with any number of substances, and well, being in the anthropology business, he naturally got a kick out of studying people and watching their reactions... lol.

    Alyson, my next-door neighbor at the apartment and also a classmate, was into sewing, and she wanted to make costumes for me and another student friend of ours who lived there. What you need to know about Alyson is that she was a big, fun-loving, hefty female (think Mama Cass level) and also an unabashed, flaming lesbian who could probably kick your ass if she were of a mind to. She was already a trip, so she pretty much decided to go as herself to the party, —all butch with short purple hair, black make-up, and decked out in black leather, silver-studded dominatrix attire. Alyson thought our classmate friend, Jim, who was blind, should go as a bat, as in "blind as a bat." So the poor guy got to wear black tights and sweatshirt with big black bat wings attached, a little black cap with pointy ears, and black makeup and whiskers. The funny thing is, Jim's always been a good sport, and you can dress a blind guy however you want, and he really doesn't give a hoot!

    Since I was going to be Alyson's "escort" to the party...... wait for it....... I had the honor of being dolled up like the Little Dutch Boy because, in her twisted Halloween imagination, she wanted me to play the role of "the little boy with his finger in the dyke." 🥺 I guess it worked, because I did look rather smallish standing next to that formidable dyke with her whip! My costume consisted of a blonde wig, a little black cap, black neckerchief, double-breasted wool shirt with big buttons, knee pants with suspenders, white, silk-type socks, brown slippers made to look like wooden shoes, and red cheeks painted on my face. Honestly though, I kept my hands to myself! 

    We had a blast. It was a college party after all. The weather was typical West Texas autumn, —cool, clear, and crisp, and the atmosphere was loud and raucous, rock-n-roll, and smoky. Word got around, and soon the place was filled with students from other departments. The event spilled out into the front and back yards with people dancing, getting wasted, and us being entertained by the uninitiated students who were getting really wasted and doing stupid stuff, until the snacks and punch were gone and the kegs were floating. And then, in the wee hours, when only a handful of survivors remained, there was the all-night, stoned, sharing and impartation of great philosophy and wisdom between the professor and his favorite students in the living room... lol, you know, until sunrise, when everyone finally stumbled home to crash. We had just about as much fun the following afternoon, returning for hair of the dog while helping Dr. K. and his wife clean up and restore their home and yards. Life was good... still is, but without any more silly Halloween dress-up or crazy parties!

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👉  We invite you to share your Halloween stories, trick-or-treat pranks, or talk about your favorite candy, whatever you wish. 

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1 1 classic candies introduced in the 1960s 

(This was mine and my dentist's favorite.)

Boo !

Meow !

(Here's the best, or worst, Halloween song ever,     —more or less, depending.)

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Monday (We're Sleeping)

 

Making sauerkraut and preparing for cold weather is tiring!

Carry on...

Have a Great Day!

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Open Thread Greetings

 Good Morning!  Happy Sunday, October 29!

The Witch Who Saw God

 

(=ↀωↀ=)meow!

Her nickname was Tailspin because she was always in a tizzy. Isobel (tizobel?) Thompson on paper.

She had two pet cats. Their names were Hidden Knowledge, aka Hiddie, and Higher Power, aka High. Of course, these were talking “cats”, not cats.

Everything she did was for a reason, which she had reasoned out. All things must be managed correctly,  just right to augment her wishes.

She was of the opinion that every move she made directed some facet of reality. It was a lot of work. It started at the bottom with something like Feng Shui and went clear up to Subtle Incantations. Oh, Universe I call on you to bend your fabric to my will for my will is all I know.

She cooked for her cats for they were very important to her. Cats like jellied chicken broth so she was careful to cook the chickens long enough to get a lot of strong broth. Then she chopped up the meat, removing skin and bones and mixed it all together with some supplement powder made in Canada. Her cats were hale and verbose.

Tailspin Thompson didn’t know that she was a witch. She just felt an overwhelmingly strong urge to get things to go right, right being right as she saw it. It’s not that there was anything really wrong with most of her wishes.

Her cat Hiddie was the antithesis of Wisdom. Her cat High was the antithesis of Truth. They were her advisers. OK, they weren’t really cats. They just looked like cats. Real cats never lead you wrong. We all know that! Hideyhoh!

She lived in a 1930s vintage cottage somewhere in California. It was ephemeral in a solid kind of way. The walls contained her beliefs and dreams. She was always home. Of that you may be sure.

One day, in desperation, she decided to go outside of her house and look around.

Ah. Tailspin knew power when she had tasted it. This was power. She had never actually noticed the sun before. The wind paid her no mind, in its glory! All around was power. The very grass pushed up with a mighty unified strength. She began to realize how she came to be standing on the earth rather than floating loose. She felt her own heart beating and knew she had nothing on earth to do with the setting up of that.

She stepped back into her little cottage, and it seemed much less solid. She left the door open and opened the windows too. The two creatures who had appeared to be cats slipped outside and vanished, shedding the appearance of cats as they went.

A subtly scented breeze blew in through the doorway and threw her papers and oddments down onto the floor and swirled them around. For the first time she laughed at them.

She began a life of honest inquiry and contemplation then.

Oh, and she got a couple of real cats to help around the place.

Stoge Tries Again. This Time With Ramona Who Will Talk

 

Stoge is not one who gives up easily. 

After the brush-off she received from Ralph, she decided on another tack. A serious reporter gets her story!
   Therefore, in her Otterly way she searched and ferreted the great forest through for the Home Nest of Ralph, but most of all Ramona, his Other, his True Luv, and all like that. Mrs. Ralph as it were.
   Otters have good noses, so at last she arrived at a sort of artificial branch covered structure a good bit off the pathway used by Mankind and dogs and such. It looked like a rounded teepee made of large fir branches with a lot of smaller material worked in for the sake of structure.
   Ralph was not there. Ramona was.  Ramona is quite glamorous for a Squatch. She is nearly blond; her fur is reddish but light and a bit curly. She stands about six feet tall and weighs around 250 pounds. Hefty for a human lady, but not for a robust creature like Ramona. In fact, she looks fine and delicate next to Himself.

Her statement:
   “We like to live close enough to Mankind to take a little advantage of some of their clever things, and to keep an eye on them.
   “We speak both American English, just from hearing so much of it all around us and Saslingua. People make a lot of noise. Yakyakyak! We speak Saslingua between ourselves.
   “Since Otters obviously don’t speak Sas., we can make do in English.
   “I learned about cooked food from watching people. It was not easy to get Ralph to try cooked meat, or any kind of salad but I kept at him until he gave up. Now he wants to lay his kill on that little grill all the time!
   “I had to have some dishes and pans and some utensils to even think about cooking and serving. He stole them, of course. He stole the salt and the pepper from campers. In Sas., the word for thievery is weet, on the intake of breath. We figure it’s fair game. They have everything. The trick is to find it and get in and get out before anybody notices. We have some tricky ways of getting around, but for right around home it’s get in and get out! For somebody Ralph’s size that is a pretty good trick right there. I mean, look at the size of him.
   “We don’t have thousands and thousands of words in Saslingua. We don’t need them. It’s a very emotive language, but not one of those that require tonal shifts. As you know, in English you can talk all day and rarely use the same word twice! Yeah. That’s an exaggeration, Stoge.
   “I made up a word for cooking. Muntof. Of course, I spread it around in conversation. It’s great to hear your own coinage coming back at ya. A lot of what I do doesn’t really amount to cooking. Sometimes it’s just mixing, but you get the idea. You Otters don’t cook at all do ya? Eat fish and mussels and whatnot, eh? Sweet, girl!
   “I’m getting tired of talking Stoge. English wears me out! Two more things then I need to do something around here. One, I’m thinking about writing a cookbook! No, really! Can you imagine, genuine roughing it by Ramona! Muntof Lempt!
   “The other thing is I worry about people. There are so many of them. They are like bees! They have troubles like when ant hills attack each other. They are so soft, and yet they kill each other. I don’t understand, Stoge. Do you?
   “They talk about God all the time and dress up in special rags and say special words about him and read a special old Book, but then they do mad things like they never heard of God.
   “I don’t know. Sometimes I think we Neff’oon got the best deal in life.”

   So, then little Stoge stuck her pencil in the wire binding of her little pad of paper having written a lot of notes. Then she tucked the pad of paper under her right forelimb.
   Ramona picked her up and held her at head height, they touched noses and said their thanks and farewells in the language of sweet beasts. Ramona set her back on the earth and Stoge took off running down unseen passages back to where she had come from.
   Ramona watched her go, standing with one hand on her hip and the other under her growing tummy. She laughed to herself and turned to her work, deep in the PNW forests of Douglas Fir and Cedar.

Don't Ask Ralph

 

“Wake up Ralph, I need to talk to you,” she says. Her whiskers bristle! She is a little frightened, but she stands her ground, maybe stepping back a couple of notches. 

Ralph has been sleeping. He looks a lot like nothing is there where he is sleeping. A hillock? Something indeterminate. There even seems to be a sort of green cast to him. Is that grass? A person might walk right past or even sit on him! This has happened before!

Then those big old yellowish eyes open up and everything is different. We see his beastly self yawn and look around in dawning disbelief. A stench rises up when he moves. He makes Durian smell like violets in comparison.

“Who are you,” he rumbles, like rocks moving in the earth.

The otter rises up on her hind feet, takes a deep breath and says, “I am Stoge, I write for the Underbrush Review.” She has a small pad of paper and a well-chewed pencil, yellow no.2.

“They sent a cub reporter, literally, to wake me up…………why?” Yellow eyes blink.

“We want to know how you feel about modern conveniences,” she squeaks weakly.

“And what makes you feel content…” She looks hopeful. She knows he has been snooping into the haunts of Mankind. Contentment being something Mankind only thinks about rather than merely experiencing it.

Ralph rotates around to face her, assuming what used to be called an Indian style sitting position. He is emitting a kind of birdlike chirping sound while he considers whether he will dignify this conversation with his participation.

“Look, lady or kid, why ask me?” His voice is so low as to be almost inaudible. Birds hanging around decide to fly away.

“I can’t very well ask people Ralph. Can you imagine how well that would go? You’ve been around… I'd be in a zoo doing demonstrations on the hour!"

“You know Mona, kid? Of course you don't. She is more into conveniences. We have some stuff in the home nest. She found out about bowls and plates around the time she discovered cooking. Forks and knives and spoons! Next, we had to get salt and pepper. So now we have a few pans and a little grill to set over a fire. We have Bic lighters too. People leave them all over the woods. Then she had to figure out a way to wash that stuff.

“Yanno, Stoge, the thing I would like to try, and I bet I could live with is a hot shower! Sometimes on a rainy morning here in the county outback my bones tell me things I don’t wanna hear.

“These soft hairless rascals have no idea how easy they have it. Hot water.  They just turn on a faucet. Anytime!

“Way, way back, when they left us and started making things they changed. They have more comfort and less enjoyment, if the words I hear spoken in houses are any indication.

“Many of them couldn’t live out here anymore without dying, even for a week. When they lost their fur, it was game over! You have to be able to shed water and hold in heat!

(“Hey, don’t write that I have a phone…nobody needs to know that. Millicent Price gave it to me, to get me to talk. She also wants me to call her, not you, if I hear anything interesting in the woods. It’s a drag keeping it charged. I have to sneak around to some external outlets. Those farmers. One of these days one of them is going to be a better shot!”)

“I have all that, Ralph. “Now say a couple of words about contentment,” asks Stoge. 

Ralph stands up. 8’1” tall and 5’ wide at the shoulder. His dark fur rises up and then lays back down. He stretches his great arms up toward the sky, does a little earthshaking stompy dance and begins to talk or chant in Saslingua. He’s going way too fast for poor Stoge. She just looks at him silently. 

He roars, gives her a big wink and fades into the twilight. Laughing like a mountain he says, “go on kid, ya bug me!”

Wherever You Are, There You Go

 

The Tree of Life, Stoclet Frieze, 1905 by Gustav Klimt

ꕥ

A Psalm of Life

BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

What The Heart Of The Young Man Said To The Psalmist.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

   Life is but an empty dream!

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

   And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!

   And the grave is not its goal;

Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

   Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

   Is our destined end or way;

But to act, that each to-morrow

   Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

   And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

   Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,

   In the bivouac of Life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

   Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!

   Let the dead Past bury its dead!

Act,— act in the living Present!

   Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us

   We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

   Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,

   Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

   Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

   With a heart for any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

   Learn to labor and to wait.

ꕥ

A thought for today... 

Life might not always go the way we want it to, but life has a way of always putting us where we need to be.

❤

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Room For Butterflies?

 

                               Photo by Karina Vorozheeva on Unsplash   

Flibbertygibbet

Having used the word.  I decided to look it up in the Urban Dictionary. I was thinking in terms of a person who hopped from subject to subject or project to project according to whimsy.

I think maybe there is room in the world for us flibbertygibbets.  We see things in new ways, we make new connections and try stuff, to see if it might work. We do off kilter takes on normal life. We drive home a different way just to see how it feels to go that way, or because the Spirit said to and we find out later why.

We don't sit on the same darn flower until we die of old age.

We are dependably flighty!  

We are really good at finding lost stuff because we look in weird places for it.

We love you in ways no one else does, for we re-love you at each revealed facet of your personhood. We can do that.

What is the connection you ask?  Well, both are change agents, the butterfly getting its wings from metamorphosis and the flibbertygibbet just playing the changes.

flibbertygibbet
commonly spelled flibbertigibbet
1) A capricious and unreliable person.
2) a flighty or whimsical person, usually a young female.
3) Historically: a name for a fiend, devil, puck or sprite.
4) Mythology: The name of a particularly obnoxious
apprentice to the Wayland (Weland) smith who was
so irritated by his apprentice threw him down a hill where he was changed into a stone.
In "The sound of Music" Maria is called a flibbertygibbet by the Mother Superior because Maria is out roaming around the hills rather than staying in the convent and behaving as a novice should.
by roisinf November 23, 2009

Made for me by a girl I used to know.

That sounds about right.  I will look at etymologyonline.com also.

flibbertigibbet (n.)

1540s, "chattering gossip, flighty woman," probably a nonsense word meant to sound like fast talking; as the name of a devil or fiend it dates from c. 1600 (together with Frateretto, Hoberdidance, Tocobatto). OED lists 15 spellings and thinks flibbergib is the original.

I used to have a book that dealt in obscure, obsolete and forgotten English words used in this country.  Do you think I know where it is, or what it is called?  I do not.

It was fascinating to read words that have left the body of commonly used words, but that are obviously English words. 

PS.  I am one.  My terrifyingly productive second daughter is not!  

The Potential You

 

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Does anyone truly question the wisdom of the above statement? 

Today, we set the focus on this excellent, 45-page inspirational book by philosophical writer James Allen, published in 1902.  This easy to read and follow volume is best described as a type of owner's manual for the mind. 

The book expounds on the power and workings of the conscious and subconscious mind, and illustrates the sublime and universal truth, —that we are thought-evolved beings, —the product of the thoughts we think and choose to make our own. 

The simple teachings contained within show how we may take charge of our thoughts and develop the practice of being thoughtful in a positive way, thus improving our lives and the lives of those around us.

(The essay is now in the public domain and can be accessed at the link below.)

🤔

AS A MAN THINKETH

BY JAMES ALLEN

FOREWORD

This little volume (the result of meditation and experience) is not intended as an exhaustive treatise on the much-written-upon subject of the power of thought. It is suggestive rather than explanatory, its object being to stimulate men and women to the discovery and perception of the truth that—

“They themselves are makers of themselves”

by virtue of the thoughts which they choose and encourage; that mind is the master-weaver, both of the inner garment of character and the outer garment of circumstance, and that, as they may have hitherto woven in ignorance and pain they may now weave in enlightenment and happiness.

—James Allen

CONTENTS

Thought and Character - 7

Effect of Thought on Circumstances - 11

Effect of Thought on Health and the Body - 26

Thought and Purpose - 30

The Thought-Factor in Achievement - 34

Visions and Ideals - 39

Serenity - 45

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"Man is made or unmade by himself; in the armoury of thought he forges the weapons by which he destroys himself; he also fashions the tools with which he builds for himself heavenly mansions of joy and strength and peace. By the right choice and true application of thought, man ascends to the Divine Perfection; by the abuse and wrong application of thought, he descends below the level of the beast. Between these two extremes are all the grades of character, and man is their maker and master.

Of all the beautiful truths pertaining to the soul which have been restored and brought to light in this age, none is more gladdening or fruitful of divine promise and confidence than this—that man is the master of thought, the moulder of character, and the maker and shaper of condition, environment, and destiny.

As a being of Power, Intelligence, and Love, and the lord of his own thoughts, man holds the key to every situation, and contains within himself that transforming and regenerative agency by which he may make himself what he wills."

𓁿

"The Vision that you glorify in your mind, the Ideal that you enthrone in your heart—this you will build your life by, this you will become." 

Indeed!  See?  

❣︎

““I feel hopeful, focused, full of love.” That sort of statement. It may start out as conscious putting on, but I believe that it will come, with practice, to be real, internal and integral.”

 —pbird (Out Of Central Casting)

 

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It's THAT Time Of Year Again

 Yesterday my Grand daughter surprised me with a 20lb or so kraut cabbage.  It's a bit of a family joke. She was remembering the year that she and Sam were just little kids and I brought them out shopping with me and had each of them carry a huge monster cabbage in a plastic shopping bag back to the car.  My goodness, the moaning! lol!  I wish I had a photo.

Unfortunately, I don't have a crock anymore.  A hamster died in it and then I don't know where it went?

Oh well, I am the only one who would eat the stuff around here.

I believe this is just one of those Sunday open threads, like all are.

Repost. As Good As I'm Forced To Be. Oct. 21, 2022

 What does it count for?  If I behave myself it won't save my soul.

Why does our behavior matter?

What keeps me in line, if I am?

Is it fear of fire?

Possibly this shows a misunderstanding of reality.

If I love my Lord God I will study to find out what he considers to be proper living.  Its both simple enough for your pre-school child to understand and also meat for scholars of the Book.

Ha Rabboni, the dear Teacher in Hebrew, said to love the Lord your God above all things and your neighbor like you love yourself.  Its simple, but deep.  What is love? How can one love his neighbor like he loves himself?  Who is my neighbor anyhow?  Well, in obvious terms, he is one who lives along side.  This could be on any plane.  To love him in this way is to what, do that which benefits him the most?  To help him to Heaven.  To be a friend?  If he needs a couple of things provide them?  

In addition, how do you love God?  Its emotional sometimes and a great deal of the time merely a matter of will.  I will obey whom I love, if he is someone I should obey.  Obviously.  lol.  

But, sparks fly out of my old nature.  I am stubborn and lazy.  My heart is in the right place, but my flesh is a real rounder.

Every day has the same decisions to be made.  It isn't going to be automatic.  Always decisions. Some of this stuff is cultural I think.  What might be impossibly rude and crude some times and places is unremarkable in other places and times.  

I need a humble and contrite spirit.  I am in deep doodoo.  God is God and I am me.  Its about making a connection.  Filling in the valleys and making low the hills.  If it were up to me by myself I would be lost, as would anyone be.

Also, Shabbat Shalom!

Out Of Central Casting

 

Yesterday I had opportunity to tell someone that worry just robs from today and gives nothing at all to tomorrow.

What a clever boots I am. Too bad I don’t listen to myself. 

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(Point the second, I was of the opinion that quitting smokes would not affect me much. There was some roller coaster today. But I am OK. I don’t want to smoke. )

*0*

Third point. This is the one about central casting.

I put on a character in effect, when I say, “I am afraid, or I am depressed, or I am sick, or I am ugly, or I am grieving, or I feel like I am dying.”

Even if no one else hears me I hear myself and the way the mind works is that I will tend to portray what I say. Our minds seem to operate in positives. Funny thing.

Therefore, there are better characters. “I feel cheerful, constructive, strong, careful, wise, kind, good lookin’, lol, etc.”

“I feel hopeful, focused, full of love.” That sort of statement. It may start out as conscious putting on, but I believe that it will come, with practice, to be real, internal and integral.

I have arrived at these positions with help from a wise friend and from the knocks and owies of experience.

But knowing is not the same as doing, so I have work to do. I must be conscious, aware and not reactive.

PS.  I seem to be rather addicted to writing a little bit of stuff everyday. I had no idea that would happen.

 

The Gummi Cure

 

Day 1

I am become death. The despoiler of Gummi bears.

(I must mention here that Oppenheimer mistranslated the B. Gita there. The word really means more like the ending of the world.) 

I noticed all of a sudden yesterday that I was smoking. I looked down at my hand and there was half of a burning Camel in it. How the heck….?

When I checked my recent memory banks, I realized that yes, it was me and that I had been doing that. Again. My coughing can attest to this.

Sometimes I smoke a lot. There were years when I did not at all. I was having babies and all that stuff.

I honestly think I started out just getting a kick out of buying them when I was not old enough. So having bought them I smoked em.

Anyhow, this is my plan. I am taking the Gummi Cure. Whenever I would naturally light up, I am asking He-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed for three Gummis instead. See, I don’t have my own smokes..I smoke his. I love bumming a smoke more than smoking it.

After a few days of this will come the Black Coffee and Forget It Cure.

It’s not hard. I am not needing sympathy, cajoling or soft pillows. I just have to remember not to hit the ground.

Should you desire these shoes, they come in colors by the way, there is a source for them.

Are You The Grandest Tiger In The Jungle?

 

by Henri Rousseau ht Raps

Willie and I were having an important discussion today about whether he was in fact the grandest tiger in the jungle.  I couldn't get a straight answer out of him but he did roll over and expose his roundness agreeably enough.

While I hesitate to believe that he could ever become a pool of lovely melted butter, he certainly is a butterball, though perhaps not quite this grand?

I have a question to pose.  If you could be any cat your heart desired which would it be?

Pretty much my choice, taking a nap. Perfect!

The Tale Of Spider's Sister

Spider’s Sister was a fine worker in wool. 
One day she went out to her loom under the shady Acacia tree. 
But all was not well. Yarn balls were tossed all about on the ground. 
Red, White, Black wool was tangled all together. 
Her fine blanket was undone. 
For the trickies had been there overnight. 
But Spider’s Sister knew what to do. 
She made a plan. She went to the potter woman. 
She said make me a good strong pot with a good heavy lid and it must have a good spider design on it. 
Three days later the pot was done, and it was very handsome. 

That night Spider’s Sister stole out to her loom in the moonlight. 
She saw them there, preparing to gnaw the very warp on her loom! 
Sorrow. 
Despair. 
Fear. 
Death. 
Quick as a jumping spider she grabbed each trickie and she flung it into her fine big pot and slammed on the lid very very tightly! 
Spider’s Sister took the jug down to the river and buried it under rocks. 
That morning she went back to her loom and made all things right. 
Her blanket was even more beautiful than before. 
Red, White and Black. 

That night Spider’s Sister made a fine stew of mutton and corn and chilis for her people. 
She smiled to herself. 
She laughed for her heart was very light.

Some Guessing About Chaco

 

All the Chaco material I have been viewing has really got me guessing and dreaming.  I try to put myself into the world of these people, by applying what I understand about ground level human nature. I find it interesting to consider.

I think Dr. Lekson is probably mostly right.  

Being up here in the land of Potlatch, I naturally wondered if there was some form of conspicuous consumption going on in a different form. I found the number of storage rooms suggestive. Who needs all those storage rooms for their own use? Or were they some sort of merchants?

I try to imagine going through the motions of living in a situation like the canyon.  What would it take to get by? Did they really live on corn? Corn is not enough. Their health would deteriorate.  Beans were not mentioned. Did they have access to meat? Lekson says the noble class did.

I wondered about the high-caffeine herbal drink he mentioned that made you "see things." I began to try to imagine a form of culture that had a strong strain of drug use built in.  What would that look like? 

I believe that people have the same needs no matter when or where, in a very basic way. So, the Chaco people can't have been impossibly exotic. Parrot feathers notwithstanding.

Any thoughts?

Heavenly Bodies In Transit

 

Heavenly bodies in transit. 

No, I don’t mean us riding the bus. 

I refer instead to a magisterial procession, 

Precisely measured and observed, 

But not grokked. 

Perhaps this motion can be felt, 

But not known,

Uprising through the soles. 

So.

We take our places earnestly or 

Flippantly, but dance we must. 

As planets move, so move we.

Eclipse Day Open Thread

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Saturday greetings! Today is annular eclipse day. Live coverage of the event is being broadcast by NASA on YouTube for anyone to watch, regardless of location. All of the particulars concerning the eclipse were posted on yesterday's thread.

Mom always said to never look at the Sun, and she was right. Go figure. Grandma said they used to get a piece of glass and hold it over a match to blacken it with soot, then use that to look through at the Sun. Sounds kinda sketchy to me, Grandma. It's probably best to use eclipse glasses, or better still a shade 14 welding glass, to protect your peepers from the rays. Alternatively, the Sun's image can be cast onto a white surface using a simple pinhole projector. Or stand under a tree, and as the sunlight filters through the leaves, the crescent images will be seen everywhere.

The thread is open, so freely post your thoughts, your prayers, your hopes, your jokes, your fears, your dreams, your schemes, your aches, your pains, your pictures, your favorite music, your story... it's up to your imagination! All that's asked in return is to keep the words polite and aligned with Peace and Love. Make it a great day! 

M E O W !

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UPDATE:  Below is a photo I took during annularity showing the Sun's eclipsed image being projected onto my driveway, as the sunlight filtered through the leaves of a nearby tree. 

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