Ray's Blog

AT LAST THE SNOW IS GONE!!!!!

WHEN I WAS A KID I could hardly wait for the snow to come. Maybe I’m smarter now, I’m certainly older.  So, I like to see the first flakes in October but I wish they would just put in an appearance and then go away. This has been a long, nasty winter. I’m glad its done.  The skies have been pale blue, few clouds, and the temperature has sucked the moisture out of the snow and sent it downstream to the valley floor. Lake Champlain is cresting now and it’s high---very high. It will be hard to get the boat in at the dock which is under water and will be for a long time.
     The fields are flirting with green, and the mountains are preparing for what we call up here The Marching of the Green ---- the leafing out of trees that slowly proceeds up the slopes.  It can take weeks. There is still snow up there, and you can ski it if you climb for it.   Some of my most memorable days skiing were spent climbing in the spring for the lingering snow.  Not this year, I’ve other thing to do. So be it.
    I was thinking about Obama, Iraq, global warming, the crooks in Washington and everywhere else, and suddenly I said, hey, it’s spring. Time for renewal, for hope, for change, for growth, for rebirth.
     GO OBAMA!!!!! 

The North Country

THE RAIN CAME IN LAST NIGHT as stealthy as a cat on the prowl: first the slow motion approach, then the crouch, then the burst of energy.  I heard it on the tin roof of our house towards 2 am, a favorite hour for me to be awake.  It has that low level drum-roll comfort that includes heart beat and inward seeking mood set that begins to signal that winter is on the wane.

Don’t worry, there is plenty to come. But, the overall snow-pack has reached its basic limit; from now on it will not build. It will grow smaller despite big dollops of fresh snow on top of it.  The earth below with its grasses and seeds and voles and deep down frogs are getting the message. 

For us up here in the North country, it will be a good 8 more weeks, but we can live with that.  Spring skiing can be great, and the sunsets will be back as the days lengthen.

Yippee!!!!!  I love the seasons, each and every one, but now will come the special ones.

Bis bald! 

~Ray

Merry Christmas

Here is a glorious piece of music. Enjoy it, and Merry Christmas.

~Ray

PS. the blog will be on Hiatus till the new year.

The Winter Solstice.

The Winter Solstice.  What a wonderful thought; darkness is now fleeing.  Redemption is upon us.

So, look at the universe.

Best, Ray

 

 

HAVE YOU EVER STUDIED LATIN?

I did in school years ago.

Puella, puellae --  Girl , girls
Hoc facto --- this having been done  (ablative absolute—what is an ablative absolute?)
Alia iacta est --- The die is cast –Caesar at the Rubicon
Et Tu Brute?  --  Oh, what fateful words

They say it’s a dead language; did you know that there are many languages today that are either dead or dying?  English as a lingua franca seems to be taking over.

What’s in a language?  The images of past and present with a  hope towards the future. The beauty or tragedy of a culture and its peoples.

Rhythm, sounds, passion, emotion.  Words can be like drum beats.  They can be like arrows.  They can be like gifts.

So, thank you Latinum.  In omnia paratus.

CAT TALES

WHO DOESN’T HAVE THEM?  Cat tales I mean.  If you love/hate/like/put up with/or are stuck with a cat or cats this is for you. If you are an only-dog-lover, then skip this. It won’t make any sense to you.  Oh, by the way, I LOVE dogs too; we travel tooo much to have dogs.  Cats are glad when we are gone, they just pretend they aren’t with all the puking and ignoring when you get back. So: cat tales.

We had a cat named Napoleon, a big, orange tiger, male and sweet as can be.  For 11 years he was the best companion a person could have; always ready for a snug.  Smart as a a whip  ( BTW, are whips smart? I haven’t met a smart one yet.)He took sick one day and soon had  paralysis of the rear legs.  He was one hurting cat.  We did everything we could, massaged him, held him, talked with him, the works.  Just no good. The vet did his best as well.  It was a blocked iliac artery probably from feline leukemia.
     I would take him out onto the lawn and lay down petting him in the sun.  He couldn’t move much, but he would nose out what looked like different grasses and little plants.  He would look at me and then at the grass or plant and nibble them. Was he teaching me a cat’s pharmacopeia? 
     We live in the country surrounded by fields and forests. You don’t have to be afraid of cars most of the time. One day we were out on the grass and  I went into the house for a glass of water leaving Poleon lying there. When I came back I saw Poleon up on his legs, sun shining on his orange fur making it look golden.  He was like a lion, proud, powerful, fully alive.  He looked at me for a moment and then was gone into the thick field grass.
     “Stop!” I shouted, but he was moving fast.  How could he?  He was mostly paralyzed from the waist down?  But there he was headed for the edge of the field where there was an old stone wall. He was dragging his hind legs.
     A fierce tangle of bushes enveloped the wall, and Poleon literally disappeared into the maze.  Gone!  No answer to my calls.  Gone!
     It was his last fierce act of pride and life force.  He wanted to go off and die by himself with his own pride and feelings.
     My wife Shannon and I combed the fields and the bush-covered wall for the rest of the day calling for him. We continued our search into the dark.
     No luck.
     That night I got up about every two hours and with a flashlight went out trying to find and comfort Poleon.  Nothing.
     Well, three pretty sad days went by.  No sign of him.  He wanted to go off to die.
     Early evening of the third day, we were coming back to the house from some errand.  There is a large water barrel in the garden by the front door.  We heard a rumbling sound, low, muted but definitely a rumbling.
     It was Poleon lying by the cool of the barrel purring and purring. His eyes were bright and clear.  His rear legs were worn down to the muscles---all fur and top skin layer gone.  He must have dragged himself for miles, perhaps searching for some herb he wanted, or a special place to die, or for some reason we as humans will never know.
     But he was alive!!!
     What a celebration! A friend helped by massaging him and changing his leg bandages every day for a month and a half (our loved Mikey Levengood); the vet worked on him; and we gave him as much as we could of love and admiration.
     After two months the paralysis left and he walked again.  He never ran very much after that; but he lived for a year and a half, a good, strong life.
     Good on him.  What a cat.  He had a big, bushy tail.

~Ray

PS.

TEN IMPORTANT RULES FOR LIVING WITH CATS... IGNORE AT YOUR PERIL

Bug Dancing

IT’S LATE AFTERNOON AND THE SUN IS SLINKING BEHIND THE MOUNTAINS.  Purple and green-black are the dominant colors beneath the sky.  But against the last slanting light dance a ballet corps of flying things.  Some are of impossible design making you wonder about the richness of our world.  Others are standard fluttering, hovering creatures ( bugs if you wish ) who are doing some last dance before the cold makes them cease.
       Is this dance of celebration?  Is it a last desperate mating ritual  to assure that next year the dance will resume, only with different players?
    I love this dance and watch until the sun is gone and the small creatures settle in the field.  What is their life span?  Will I see them tomorrow or not.  The question in itself is unimportant. I want no Faustian bargain.
     It gets cold fast without the sun, and I retreat inside.

Post Modernism. I’m back at my old shibboleth; can’t seem to let it go.  I guess I’m looking for easy answers to the plight I see worldwide.  If there are no answers to why and how we got to where we are  ----  70 plus armed conflicts right now, two nasty wars,  70% of earth’s population in poverty, global warming exacerbated by our species ----then we might as well just continue on our path.  Nothing to stop us.  At least that seems to be what post modernism means to me.  A culture that sees no moral absolutes, an anything goes philosophy, a get- it- while- you- can approach.  I’m being simplistic, but a head-long dash to self aggrandizement whether it be politicians, business  people, lawyers,  or just anyone who plays a zero sum game and sees no fault in that is playing a fool’s hand in a fool’s game.  For our species, it might be terminal.

That’s why I take pleasure in bug dancing.   Hint: look up modernism and post modernism on Wikipedia.  Look up Milton Friedman ( he had it wrong ) and J.K. Galbraith (he had it right ).

Not many people read my blog, so I can skate out onto this thin lake covering without too much worry.